Chapter 35 #3
I had told them about my scars so they wouldn’t have an extreme reaction when they finally saw me.
I didn’t have the easiest time making friends, and I didn’t want to scare them all off.
But the moment Grace met me, she sighed and rolled her eyes before pulling me into a hug as she loudly shouted, “Ugh, you’re so dramatic, Karla.
Your scars are fucking beautiful, you goddess.
” Ever since, she’d been aggressively loving and calling me beautiful every time we met up.
She and Becca were also the ones who convinced me to branch out of my normal black attire.
Now my wardrobe consisted of a lot of earth tones and pinks and lavenders.
When I was betrayed by Missy and Rosie all those years prior, I worried I’d never be able to have true female friendships again.
I worried that I’d end up thinking I wasn’t good enough again.
Thank goodness for Becca and Grace teaching me the opposite of that.
There was nothing more powerful than having women friendships.
Those two girls saved me from the darkness in many ways.
They built up my confidence when I had nothing but insecurities.
They stayed up with me for hours, listening to me talk about my struggles, talk about my fears of always being alone and never finding love.
They didn’t judge me at all. Sometimes they gave me advice; other times they simply listened.
I realized how important it was in life to have people around who would listen to your fears—it made them less scary.
Becca and Grace never tried to turn me into something I wasn’t—it was quite the opposite, really. They opened a space for me to exist exactly as I wanted to—which meant adding some color back to my life. They were both beautiful women, inside and out.
At the same time, Eric and Daniel were the protective brothers of the circle.
They were two guys who stood at least six feet tall.
They towered over us whenever they were around.
While Eric looked like a grumpy, buff linebacker, he was truly one of the nicest people I’d ever met.
He had a full beard and a shaved head and would always make sure to look after us ladies.
Daniel wasn’t as buff as Eric, but he was in great shape, with clear, smooth, tan skin and freckles across his cheeks.
He had brown, wavy hair that touched the tip of his shoulder blades and brown eyes that smiled as much as his mouth.
Whenever I looked at Daniel, I’d find him staring my way with a big smile on his face.
I felt safe with them, and I appreciated that fact.
Whenever we’d go out and some guy was rude or made some snide remark about my scars, the boys went into bodyguard mode.
Eric once got us kicked out of a bar because some jerk called me a monster.
Eric was the only boy in his family, with five sisters and fourteen female cousins.
One thing he didn’t allow was for a guy to disrespect a woman—not in his presence. Daniel felt the same.
And to think, my father was so scared of me meeting strangers on the internet, even after years of online school.
He was hoping I’d make more friends on campus when I received my college degree, but I didn’t really put myself out there to meet people.
I went to class, then went home and hopped online to talk to my friends.
Now Dad invited said online strangers to Spaghetti Monday every now and again.
Our book club meetings used to take place at Daniel’s house, but now they would take place at the bookshop.
My bookshop.
Oh my goodness, I had a bookshop.
I was looking forward to our first book club meeting inside of Second Chance. For the past few book club discussions, my four friends and I would do the Hot Ones challenge to see who could talk about the book while also eating the hottest wings ever.
I always won. I was just like Mom. Though, I still have never eaten sixty-five wings in one sitting.
My stomach rumbled from the mere thought of chicken wings.
Why was I currently thinking of chicken wings?
Oh, yeah, because I was trying to avoid the fact that I had to give a speech to the group of people in front of me.
I’d always hated public speaking. Only a quarter of the people in the audience knew me and could look at me without even seemingly noticing my scars.
But everyone else? I had no idea how they’d view me until I locked eyes with them.
I always noticed the shifts, too. Eyes told stories that mouths never could.
Only a small percentage of people could look without flinching.
Some glances grew somber, sad even. Others cringed from discomfort—not sure if it was mine or their own.
A big group of people would quickly shift their gaze away as if I were Medusa and they were horrified to look me in the eyes.
The harsh, sad, or uncomfortable looks still stung the most. It was a reminder that I wasn’t the same as everyone else around me.
There was something so amazing about being around your loved ones.
It seemed like you’d forgotten that you had any scars at all, both inside and out, and you could just be .
. . free. Then around those who didn’t know you, all of those odd reminders came rushing back, reminding you of just how different you truly were.
Still, I had enough guts from my family to step onto that stage and welcome both the familiar faces and unfamiliar ones to my new dream.
And I’d do it with one of the great tricks that Uncle Landon taught me: Fake it till you make it.
I’d pretend I was playing a character, someone who wasn’t me.
Someone who had a ton more confidence than I could’ve ever held within my own bones.
Plus, my dad was in the crowd. If I needed a true safe space, I could lock my stare with his and feel instant comfort. Fifteen-year-old me would be happy to know that mine and Dad’s relationship was the strongest it had ever been. She used to dream of such a thing.
Before speaking, I found my father’s stare.
He nodded once, gave me his cheesy wink, and I felt instantly safe.
“Hi, everyone! Thanks for coming out today. For those who don’t know, I am Karla East, the owner of Second Chance Bookshop, and it is an honor to have you all out here to celebrate the grand opening!
We have so many fun things planned tonight, from specialty book-themed cocktails, featuring EastHouse Whiskey, to book giveaways, sales, and live music later on.
But first, I’d love to introduce you to an individual who has been one of the biggest inspirations to me since I was a teenager.
She is a former teacher of mine who turned into a long-term friend.
“Joanna Rivers is a Chicago native who has been in love with the written word since birth. She is a brilliant mind with a tender heart, and she recently published her first novel at the young age of seventy, and I cannot wait for you all to hear her read a few excerpts from her debut, Wish for Me. I’ve been lucky enough to read this masterpiece, and while it’s not a used book, it is a book that you’ll hold on to and hopefully pass to another one day.
It is my greatest honor to welcome Joanna to the stage. ”
The crowd applauded, with a few extra cheers coming from my family, because they knew what a big influence Joanna had had on my whole journey.
Joanna walked to the stage, holding her book close to her chest. She was grinning from cheek to cheek, and I swore for a moment I saw my seventy-year-old friend’s inner child shine through. Not only was I living my dream that evening; Joanna was, too.
That was the cool thing about creative dreams; they could intertwine with other avenues of creativity, too.
“Hi there. Thank you, Karla, for such a warm welcome. I’ll make sure to slide you the cash I promised in exchange for that introduction.
” Joanna beamed. The room snickered at her humor.
She sat her novel against the chair in front of her and started removing the first two layers of her cardigans.
“If you are wondering why I am wearing so many layers of cardigans, it’s because I am the definition of an ice-cube human being.
But it appears the only way to warm me up is putting me in a room with a handful of strangers waiting to hear me read my words out loud. That and whiskey.”
Although she was being humorous, she wasn’t completely joking.
Sweat dripped down her forehead, and she looked pale in the face.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one with a hatred of public speaking.
Though, with Joanna being a teacher for so many years, I figured she wouldn’t have been as nervous to approach a crowd.
Perhaps her first time as an official author was bringing about her nerves.
She took off her last cardigan, patted her chest, and cleared her throat.
“Now I know the beauty of Second Chance Bookshop is that it brings life to old books and brings them to a new home. I love that, and I’d like to think of myself as an old book of sorts,” Joanna said as I walked with a glass of water and napkins over to the stage.
I sat them down on the table beside her chair.
She thanked me before grabbing a napkin to pat her forehead.
She continued speaking. “You see, I’m seventy years old, which is pretty old.
And I have a few weathered pages of my own.
Life has tossed me a million ups and downs.
From a successful, rewarding career as a teacher to the heartbreaking passing of my dear husband.
And now, I’m standing here as something old with something new,” she said gesturing toward her newborn book.
Her beautiful baby.