Chapter 2
This iswhat it feels like to relearn something basic like walking and talking. Even after six weeks of practice, I stare at the black TV screen. The batteries in the remote control are dead, and I have no intention of replacing them.
No internet.
No computer.
No social media.
No email.
I’ve never sat for this long with nothing to do and no company besides my thoughts. How does one exist with only one’s thoughts? I’ll get a library card tomorrow and purchase some hobby things—Legos and …
I’ve got nothing. If I had the internet, I would search for enjoyable hobbies.
It’s misting outside, but I throw on my rain jacket and take a walk for fresh air and exercise before I reward myself with a nap, or what I’m calling meditation, until I learn how to meditate.
I’m tired.
The pain fluctuates between a five and a six. I’ve been at a ten.
By seven thirty, I’m parked across the street from Drummond’s General like a stalker. As soon as eight o’clock rolls around and the store’s lights dim, I meander to the back alley, where there’s a vintage Airstream trailer and an old, rusty red Ford pickup truck.
I knock on the trailer door.
“Come in!”
The door sticks when I press the handle, so I give it a jerk, and just as it opens, Scottie applies lip balm. “Hey. Welcome to my humble abode.” She beams like always.
I close the door behind me to keep the warm air inside. The Airstream is a mix of hickory and cedar with copper-plated hardware. A narrow galley kitchen separates the bedroom from the bathroom. But those details feel like an afterthought once I get a whiff of the mint.
Mint candles?
Mint air freshener?
I’m not sure, but her apartment in Philly always smelled like a candy cane. To this day, I have a weakness for all things peppermint.
“The simplicity with which you live your life is still one of your most endearing qualities,” I say while surveying the cozy space—a minimalist’s dream.
Scottie threads her arms into her white cardigan and flips her bangs away from her eyes. “As I recall, you didn’t use to find my simplicity so endearing. I think you called my taste in things ‘cheap.’” She shoots me a wry grin while sliding her purse over her shoulder and slipping her feet into the same Birkenstock clogs she had on earlier.
“I don’t remember that.” I frown. “But if I said that, I was an asshole, and I’m sorry. The world would be a better place if more people lived?—”
“Cheaply?” She lifts an eyebrow—a real eyebrow, not one of those fake stenciled ones that looks good from across the street but gets creepier the closer you get.
“Frugally. Consciously.” I clarify.
“Bravo, Price. Your vocabulary has improved. I hope your taste in food has, too. I haven’t chosen a steakhouse for dinner. Sorry. There’s a new plant-based restaurant a few blocks from here. We can walk.” She locks the door and leads me around to the street.
“It might surprise you, but I love plants. The healthier, the better.”
She laughs, making a quick sidelong glance while we stroll up the quiet street sandwiched between a mix of old homes and small businesses adorned with hanging planters and string lights. “Earlier, when we hugged, I sensed something was different about you, but I never dreamed it was a red meat withdrawal. Do tell. How long have you been without meat?”
“Not long enough.”
Sixty days ago, give or take, my last animal sacrifice consisted of poached salmon with yogurt dill sauce, asparagus on the side, and lemon-herb rice. It paired nicely with the three-hundred-dollar bottle of Chardonnay.
“You didn’t answer me earlier. Are you married? Do you have kids?” She prods.
I feel her gaze on me as I keep mine pointed down the street at the couple approaching us with their little dog in a red harness. “That was the dream.”
“Was?”
“When I graduated from college, I thought I’d get a job and work my way up in an investment firm. Marriage. Kids. A mortgage for a home just out of my price range. A car with enough room to accommodate two-point-five kids and a dog. A real dog, you know? A lab or a German Shepherd. Not a designer dog. Maybe a rescue dog with a missing eye or something that not only gave it the character of a survivor but one that would make it look like all of my donations to the animal shelter weren’t just meaningless contributions. We all know those who want to look generous and caring but refuse anything but a purebred with bloodlines of a Westminster Kennel Club winner.”
Scottie playfully nudges me and chuckles. “So what happened?”
“Despite my efforts to conquer the world and claim the American dream, I instead worked myself to death. Well, nearly to death. So I stopped.”
“What do you mean stopped?”
As we pass them, I politely smile at the couple with the dog. “I stopped working. Stopped chasing.”
“You’re jobless?” She laughs like it’s ridiculous.
“I am.”
She hums for a few seconds, her head bowed and her hands in her pockets. “What do you do all day?”
“I contemplate life, but I’m thinking of finding a hobby. Do you think my hands are too big for knitting?” I hold out my hands in front of me, fingers spread wide. “Curling has always intrigued me. If it’s good enough for the Olympics, surely it’s a challenging hobby.”
“Ha! I’d pay money to see you in a curling club.” She nods to the right.
I open the door to the bustling restaurant, catching an immediate aroma of herbs and something sweet like a fruit pie.
She steps inside. “Table for two?”
“I can seat you at the bar.”
Scottie eyes me.
“I’m good with that,” I say over the woman on the corner stage with a guitar singing “Stay.”
We’re seated at the bar at a ninety-degree angle to each other. The shaven-headed waiter hands us menus and begins his spiel about tonight’s specials.
“I’ll have the hot bourbon apple cider and the falafel wrap,” Scottie says.
I quickly scan the menu. “I’ll have the warm veggie salad, and water is great.”
As I hand him the menu, Scottie gives me another wide-eyed look. “If you’re trying to impress me, don’t. I plan on getting dessert.”
Inspecting the dimly lit restaurant with candles on the tables and walls of hanging plants, I grin. “I promise I’m not trying to impress you.”
“Did you have bypass surgery? A near-death experience?”
My gaze returns to her. She’s never looked more beautiful. “No bypass. No near-death experience. It’s time I take my life and my health more seriously.”
The bartender delivers my water and her spiked cider.
Something flits across her face, making her smile falter for a second. She just as quickly recovers. “Kudos on taking care of your health, but never take life too seriously.” She winks.
“True.” I laugh. “Tell me about your life. You own a general store. That Airstream is in great condition. And you haven’t aged a bit. Well done, you.”
Scottie smirks after sipping her drink. “I’m an overworked, underpaid employee at the general store I don’t own. And speaking of not owning things, the same couple who own the store also own that vintage Airstream. However, that rusty truck is all mine.”
“But you’re happy.” I cross my arms on the bar.
She doesn’t have to answer. I already know she’s happy. It’s why I’m here. People like Scottie don’t need to search for happiness. They are the happiness that everyone around them desperately wants to experience.
“I am.” She cups her mug with both hands, eyeing the rising steam for a second. “I’ve been here for ten years and love it here. I have a satisfying job, as simple as it is. Some people think Austin is pretentious. But I adore the kind of people who shop at a general store—kind people who appreciate simple things and a simple life. They don’t haggle over prices and appreciate local goods and the people who make them.”
This woman doesn’t disappoint.
“That’s great, Scottie. Really. I’m not surprised you’ve stayed true to what matters in life.”
She eyes me as if she’s weighing my sincerity. “Thanks.”
“Is it a fair assumption that you’re not married? No kids? And yes, I’m assuming because your residence is rather small.”
She nods several times. “Fair assumption. I’ve never been married. No kids. I’m waiting for the universe to open that door. But I do have a date next weekend, so there’s hope for me. However, I’m a little nervous.” Her nose crinkles.
“Why is that?”
“He’s the grandson of a customer who shops at the store nearly every day. Herb is my favorite customer.”
My eyes widen. “A matchmaking grandfather. That’s pretty special.”
“And scary.” She sips her drink and rubs her lips together before canting her head. “What?”
I grin. “Nothing. I just can’t believe I’m having dinner with you.”
“I know. It’s such a small world.”
No, it’s not. It’s a massive world with nearly eight billion people, and it took a while to find her.
“Why is your date scary? Have you at least talked on the phone?”
“No.”
“Just texts?”
“No.”
“What?” I laugh.
“Herb, the grandpa, set it all up. One day, he asked if I’d consider going on a date with his grandson, and the next day, he gave me a date and time to meet said grandson for dinner at a sushi restaurant thirty minutes from the store.”
“That’s it?”
“I know he’s a ‘shy’ welder who loves kayaking and hiking.”
The waiter delivers our food and refills my water glass.
“And you said yes?” I retrieve my fork from the rolled napkin.
She bites into her wrap and chews for a few seconds. “Herb is the nicest guy. So I figured it”s worth one date if his grandson is anything like him.”
“Shy sounds like code for you’d better be ready to carry the conversation for the entire night.”
Scottie wipes her mouth and nods. “Yes. I thought about that. If I’m not getting a good vibe, I’ll bore him to death with the minute details of my hobbies. If I like him, I’ll work my magic and get him to tell me his deepest secrets.”
“Magic? Is that like a spell?”
“You were under my spell, Price Milloy. Don’t act like you don’t remember.” Mischief shines in her eyes.
“That was a long time ago. I don’t think you remember me as well as you claim to.” Am I fishing for just the opposite? Absolutely. I remember everything about Scottie Rucker. But she walked away from me too easily to imagine I made much of an impression on her.
“You weren’t the guy who sat around contemplating life and eating salads. That I remember with complete clarity. You had a plan, and it was pretty darn close to world domination. You woke up at five to exercise. Showered by six. And you made it to your dad’s office before anyone else.”
“Ah, yes. I was an exhausting overachiever. A real ass.”
She remembers. Damn! My whole day has been made.
“Price.” She laughs. “Stop. You weren’t an ass. I envied your drive and work ethic. Your passion for setting goals and achieving them. I felt goalless.” Her chin drops, and the lighting isn’t great, but I think she’s blushing. “You were the one who got away.”
Scottie remembering absolutely anything about me is enough. I don’t need to be the one who got away. But I’ll take it. I’ll take anything she’ll give me. I’ll swallow each morsel like a pill that will let me live forever. I’ll wear her words as a magic cloak of immortality. Unfortunately, I have nothing to give her in return.
“As I recall, you gave me the boot. You punted. That’s not the same as getting away. If a certain someone let another someone get away, it was I who let you get away … or push me away.”
She lifts her gaze. “You didn’t fight me on it.”
“I did what you asked me to do.”
Her head tips backward in a hearty laugh. “Who does that?”
“You told me not to take myself too seriously, to slow down and accept a few things in life that were less than perfect. And you told me I’d die before I reached thirty if I didn’t get more sleep and drink less coffee. Sometimes, I send my mom cards with handwritten notes ‘just because,’ per your sage advice. And you told me that letting go shows more love than holding on.”
Scottie’s lips part. “I-I can’t believe you remember all of that.”
I shrug, glancing out the window just over her shoulder. “My point is … I took my cues from you. Maybe I was the overachiever getting good grades, but you were the more emotionally intelligent one in our relationship. So I listened to you. I trusted you. And I wanted to love you how you deserved to be loved, so I let you go, too.” When I return my gaze to her, she blots the corner of her eye.
“Jesus, Price, that’s not fair. I knew nothing. I was a nineteen-year-old girl with too many feelings about you and life. So I wrapped them in false confidence and tried to Yoda you.”
“Yoda me?” I chuckle.
“I feigned wisdom and maturity so you didn’t get stuck with a girl who had no idea what she wanted to do with her life.”
I wait for her to look at me because I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this vulnerable. “Yes, you did,” I say. “You knew you wanted to live it. And you knew I wanted to conquer it. I would have stolen the essence of what made you so extraordinary. And you would have …” I find the hint of a sad smile. I can only imagine what she would have done for me, but I don’t want to say it.
“We would have ended badly,” she says, resting her hand on my knee. “Your dreams were too big, and mine were too small.”
I shake my head. “Mine weren’t dreams. They were goals. I’m not sure I’ve ever really dreamed—not consciously.”
“Well,” she removes her hand from my leg and pops a tomato into her mouth, chewing it around her smile, “it’s never too late.”
My lips part to refute that, but I press them together and opt for a slow nod. What would happen if I let myself dream? What would my dream be? I can’t imagine. Not now.
After eating and enjoying the live music, I set my napkin on my plate. “Thank you for having dinner with me.”
She curls her hair behind her ear, staring at the half-eaten cake on her plate. “Give me your phone. I’ll share my contact information. We need to do this again.”
“I uh … don’t have a phone.”
She laughs, but it quickly dies. “Are you serious?”
“Serious. But I know where to find you. And I can give you my address. If you’re ever in my neighborhood, we could take a walk or sit on the sofa together.”
She pulls her phone from her purse, giving me an incredulous expression. “Sit together?” After bringing up a new contact and adding my name, she hands me her phone. “Sure.” She chuckles. “I’d love that.”