Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“Me too. Which is why I’m gonna sell my house.
You were right, too. I was just being stubborn.
That house was so much more work than I thought it was gonna be.
I thought I could handle it. I felt like giving up on the house would be, like, quitting.
Or giving up on Greenstead. So many people leave town every year, and I didn’t want to be like them.
I wanted to prove it’s possible to stay. ”
“It is possible,” I say. I know now, from talking to my dad, from seeing the lives people here made for themselves, that they’re not just staying because they don’t have any better options. They’re staying because they want to.
“But maybe not in that house,” she adds.
“Definitely not in that death house,” I confirm, and she laughs.
I take a bite of pizza, thinking through my conversation with my dad, Marina’s words, the tension-filled Solar Summit discussions at the dinner party and the Chamber of Commerce meeting.
“I’m glad you’re selling it. I think there’s this belief that the only way to be loyal to Greenstead is to recreate the past. But I think building something new can be better sometimes. ”
“I’m starting to see that,” Marina says.
I glance into my drink, trying to hide my surprise. “And if there’s a successful theme park one town over that wants to build a resort in your town and shuttle in a ton of tourists, maybe that’s a good thing.”
She chuckles reluctantly. “I’m selling the house, aren’t I? They can have West Greenstead.”
“Really? So you’re okay with it now?”
Marina nods. “I’ve accepted the fact that I can’t single-handedly save West Greenstead. Why not let Solar Summit clean it up and give it a try? I don’t think it can get any worse.”
“You say that now, until they install a funnel-cake factory and there’s a batter flood,” I joke.
She makes a face, but then she says, “So be it. I love funnel cake and I’m done fighting change.”
When we tune back in to the larger conversation, Randy’s listing the office manager jobs he’s applied for in Falls Point, which leads Jen to talk about a remote social media position she’s applied to at an association in DC.
Tessa tells us that the baking contest judge she’s been in talks with offered her an apprenticeship at her bakery in Richmond, where she can learn the ropes of baking at a professional level and see if it’s right for her.
We raise a toast when she says she’s already accepted the offer.
We toast again when Arun shares that he’s bought a domain for the event management business he’s starting.
“Anything you’re working on?” Marina asks me.
I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous to share that I’ve been looking at job posts and apartment listings in Richmond.
It’s not like this would be a surprise considering how hell-bent I’ve been on finding a way to leave Greenstead ever since I got here.
But it still feels like a betrayal, to want to leave my hometown behind again.
“I’m thinking about moving to Richmond,” I say tentatively, looking around to check for their reactions. But no one expresses an ounce of surprise or judgment. Marina just smiles, and Tessa starts talking about her favorite neighborhoods, and that’s that.
A calming relief runs through my veins. I just might be starting to have my life figured out.
I don’t have a job, and my lease is going to be up soon.
I still don’t know where I’m going to live, or what I’m going to do.
But for the first time in years, I know who I am, and I like who I am.
I have people in my life who I can trust and lean on, because I’ve actually let them in this time.
I’m going to Richmond because it excites me, but that doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned the town I’m from—not this time, anyway.
I know I’ll be back. I’ll visit my dad and Wendy more.
I’ll come to see Marina, and Randy, and Jen, and Arun.
I’ll be back for the next apple festival, if Greenstead uses some of the funding to continue the tradition.
Maybe I can even explore Solar Summit’s resort hotel, if they get it up and running.
I know my life in Richmond will be different.
I’ll see Tessa at her bakery. I’ll fulfill my childhood dream at long last and adopt a dog.
I’ll reach out to Selma, break that work-friendship barrier we’ve always maintained, and see if she wants to hang out the next time I visit DC.
I’ll go places, do things, make friends, make a profile on a dating app, and start living my life now instead of planning for a future when I might be too numb to enjoy anything.
Everything seems possible. The thought fills me with such lightness that I may as well be floating.
After we eat, Randy and Arun clear the table so they can get in a few last rounds of air hockey.
Marina talks to Jen about a Lurv Plus show, Mingle and Match , which makes me realize with a spark of joy that she’s also been avoiding watching Love Quest without me.
Tessa rolls her chair over and shows me a listing on her phone of an apartment in the Fan that she’s submitted an application for.
Our conversation fills this office that once seemed so barren and depressing just a few short months ago.
We talk, we reminisce. Randy, Jen, Arun, and Tessa tell us stories about the office from before my time here, explaining why the clock on the wall is a little off-center, peeling the tape from the flyer hung strategically on the far wall to show us the drywall hole from when Randy and Arun first moved the air hockey table into the office years ago.
We tour the office like it’s a sacred site. It is, for us.
We engage in some light theft, because morals and Ryser don’t mix anyway.
Arun rolls his desk chair near the exit, saying he wants to use it at home.
Randy packs up the party planning supplies he bought on Ryser’s dime, from a weathered HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner to a half-empty box of birthday candles.
Jen packs her keyboard in her purse, saying it’s more comfortable than the one she has at home.
Tessa claims her monitor without explanation.
I can’t think of anything I want to take. I look around the office, but nothing calls to me. I haven’t bonded with this place in the same way they have. I don’t have the years of history they do.
But these people, though: this group of self-professed screwups walking out the door with me, Tessa lugging her monitor under one arm, Arun rolling his chair, Jen and Marina talking behind us, Randy locking the doors of the office for the last time.
These people, I will take with me. I will stay in their lives and keep them in mine.
And that is the very best souvenir I can possibly imagine.