Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FINLEY
I used to daydream about driving it around my little town. I’d wave to the locals, but not as me, Finley Harper, small-town girl on the spectrum. No. I was Miss Illinois, blowing through town on her state-wide tour. Sometimes I’d stop and chat with the people.
In one of these fantasies, Penny Freeport—our senior year prom queen and my biggest tormentor—gasps in disbelief, “Finley Harper, is that you?”
I pull over and smile at her smugly while acting like I'm trying to remember who she is. “Yes, I’m Finley Harper,” I tell her while adjusting the giant rhinestone crown on my head. “And you are …”
Staring in complete awe, she answers, “Penny. Penny Freeport. You know, from Mr. Hinkleman’s geometry class?”
I loathed Mr. Hinkleman’s geometry class. My failure there is what led me to being tested. Had I managed a mere two percentage points higher and gotten a D, I might have never known I was different from my peers. But as much as I hated geometry, I hated Penny even more.
“Penny Freeport …” I tap my chin five times before remembering. “Oh.” With a look of pure condescension, I ask, “Do you still live in town?”
This is where she pats her giant pregnant belly and tells me, “I married Jacob Smart. We’re pregnant with our second.” Their first came shortly after high school graduation. Two months to be exact.
“Jacob Smart?” Even though I spent hours upon hours fantasizing about running my fingers through his thick, wavy, black hair, I pretend I don’t know him either. Apparently, I’ve always had a thing for hair.
“Sadly, that name doesn’t ring a bell,” I tell her in my most bored tone before glancing at my watch.
“I need to run. I’m flying to Paris tonight for my date with Wills.
” That was before his wedding to Princess Catherine, of course.
Once the two of them got hitched I lost my best revenge fantasy material.
I’m no home-wrecker, even in the land of make believe.
Jumping back into my convertible, I peel back out onto Main Street and leave Penny in a cloud of dust and disdain.
Now, someone in Elk Lake is selling my fantasy ride at a very reasonable price. While I won’t be able to reenact my favorite fantasy—you know, because I’m not actually Miss Illinois—getting my hands on that car would still be sweet. There’s only one problem: I don’t drive.
That’s why when I woke up this morning, I went online and contacted our local driving school.
I’ve wanted to get behind the wheel for years, but for the same amount of time I’ve been worried I’d get overstimulated and wind up careening off a cliff.
Not that there are any cliffs in Illinois or Wisconsin, but I’ve never wanted to risk it.
Until now. Now my dream car is for sale.
It turns out if I take a six-week class and find someone to take me out to practice for fifty hours, I can be a licensed Wisconsin driver. Take that, all you sixteen-year-olds who think you’re so special with your “Please be patient, new driver” bumper stickers.
This morning, I’m taking pictures of Allie and Margie. They want them, so when the baby grows up, they can show him or her that both its mothers were always present. If you ask me, the whole arrangement is amazing.
When Allie agreed to adopt Margie’s baby, she made it clear she wanted Margie to be part of their baby’s life.
She didn’t want her child to question their place in the world and ever feel like they weren’t wanted.
The amount of love that little person is going to grow up with is positively staggering.
After getting dressed, I put on a brand-new pair of pink socks. I allow myself a full five minutes to relish the feel of them against my skin before putting on shoes. The confinement of the shoe constricts the fibers, making the whole experience moderately less gratifying.
When I walk into Rosemary’s for my morning latte, Faith greets me with a grin. “I talked to Teddy last night about doing a photoshoot for our anniversary and he’s up for it.”
“Excellent. What kind of look do you think you want to do?” Both Faith and her husband are gorgeous and would look amazing no matter who they dressed up as.
“Teddy wants to go with Princess Leia and Luke from Star Wars.”
She doesn’t look very excited at the prospect, and rightly so since Luke and Leia are siblings. I tell her, “Why don’t we do that one for him and then you can pick one that you’d like.”
With a dreamy look on her face, she tells me, “I’d like to recreate our look from the summer when we were kids and had our first kiss.”
Taking the latte she hands me, I reply, “I thought you guys only met a few years ago.”
“We did, really.” She explains, “Teddy used to visit his grandparents here when he was a kid. I used to see him down at the beach, but I never talked to him.” She pauses to sigh. “He was older and way hotter than anyone I ever thought would bother with me.”
Girl, I feel you.
Faith continues, “The last time I saw him, he kissed me the night before he went back to Arizona. After that, he didn’t come back to town until a few summers ago.”
“That was pretty forward, kissing you and then leaving town.” Why couldn’t something like that have happened to me?
My first kiss didn’t come until college.
College. I’m guessing that’s probably because in addition to being a late bloomer, once I was diagnosed, I lost all confidence and subsequently all appeal to the opposite sex. Autism, the gift that keeps on giving.
Faith’s eyes appear to glaze over in memory. “It was like one of those perfect teenage love stories. It just took a long time for us to get our happily ever after.” She puts a sticky bun in a bag and hands it to me.
“You’re going to make me fat,” I tell her. Although, I still take the bag. I don’t fear fat like the average woman. In fact, I figure if I get chunky, I’ll just be softer, and that is my favorite thing in the world. So really, there is no downside.
Faith pushes her glasses up. “You look fabulous, Finley. And what better way to start the day than with a sticky bun?”
She’s got me there. New socks and a sticky bun practically make this the best morning I’ve had all month.
After walking out of Rosemary’s, I stand for a minute and appreciate the beauty of Main Street.
Most shops aren’t open yet, so it’s still fairly deserted.
There’s something about Elk Lake, Wisconsin, that makes me think of Stars Hollow in that old show, Gilmore Girls.
It’s so deliciously quaint, you just want to climb into your TV set and live there. Lucky for me, I already do.
I walk to Happy Snaps slowly while counting my steps—twenty-three from Rosemary’s to my shop.
Occasionally, it’s twenty-four, which means I have to go back to the bakery and get it right.
The good news is that I never make the same mistake twice in a row so I don’t get caught in a horrible loop of walking to and from the bakery all day long.
Unlocking the door, I step inside and tap the light switch three times before turning it on.
I love my shop, and its location on the corner.
Windows facing two directions means twice the light, and twice the shadows.
Even though I shoot in the back with stage lights, I still love the look of sunshine as it dapples on everything it touches.
Once I flip the closed sign to open, I walk behind the counter and open the drawer where I keep the wet wipes and plastic silverware.
I pull out a knife and fork before carefully removing the sticky bun from its bag.
While I love the taste of the caramelly-covered sweet roll, I do not like sticky things.
I savor the first bite, letting the explosion of cinnamon and pecan fill my mouth. Whoever invented these is my hero. I’m halfway through the roll when Allie and Margie walk in. “Good morning!” I call out with my mouth still half-full.
“What are you eating?” my friend demands.
“Sticky bun,” I mumble.
“From Rosemary’s?” Margie asks.
When I nod my head in the affirmative, she turns and walks back out onto the street. “Get me one, too!” Allie calls after her.
When my friend turns her attention back to me, I ask her, “How are you two doing?”
She tucks a strand of auburn hair back behind her ear. “If I wasn’t adopting Margie’s baby, I’d want to adopt Margie. That girl really has it all together, you know?”
“Aside from the teenage pregnancy part, you mean?” I’ve never known of a teenager who was excited to find out they had a baby onboard.
Allie drops her duffel bag on the floor before sitting down on one of the chairs by the window. “Obviously, that wasn’t part of her plan, but she’s dealing with it so maturely, it’s mind-boggling.”
“I’m envious of you,” I tell my friend. “Your whole life is coming together.”
“It took long enough,” she scoffs before adding, “Don’t worry, Fin, your life is moving along just fine.”
“I suspect that’s true,” I tell her. “But I would like to meet someone and have my own love story.”
“You will.”
“How can you be sure?”
She tips her head to the side while staring at me. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”
While I wholeheartedly agree with her, there’s still a tiny niggling doubt left over from my more fragile days. “What if every man I meet thinks I’m too strange to date?”
“Then they aren’t the right men for you. Seriously, girl. You’re just a little different. And different is good.” She assures me, “You’re too good of a person not to have your dreams come true.”
Walking out from behind the counter, I sit down next to her. “Good people don’t always get the ending they deserve.” I’m not being down on myself as much as I’m just speaking the truth.
She pats my arm. “You will, Finley. I believe that from the bottom of my heart.”
“I’m strange,” I remind her. “You said so yourself.”
Plain-speaking can sometimes be misinterpreted as self-deprecation. That’s why I’m not surprised when Allie seems to feel the need to comfort me. “I said you were quirky, not strange.”
“Same thing, though, right?”
“No,” she says sharply. “Quirky is endearing and cute. Strange is eating your boogers on the city bus.”
“Ew.”
“You see?” She smiles smugly. “Big difference.”
I decide to tell Allie the news that’s occupying most of my waking moments. “Thomas Culpepper has booked four more sessions with me.”
She looks adequately surprised by this information. “The doctor/pirate?”
“One and the same,” I tell her.
“Why does he need four more sessions?”
I explain to her how he plans on pulling the prank of all pranks on his parents. To which she says, “Interesting …”
“You sound like you don’t believe that’s the reason.”
Allie kicks her legs out in front of her and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “That might be part of it, but what if he’s also doing it to spend more time with you?”
“Why would he want to do that?” Prickles of embarrassment stab at the base of my neck. I cannot believe he came to me for a head shot and I made him take his shirt off.
My friend waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe he likes you.”
“Maybe he feels sorry for me,” I more accurately predict.
“Why would he feel sorry for you?”
“Because I mucked up his first shoot so badly.” I explain, “He probably thinks I’m a couple of cookies short of a dozen and he’s trying to make me feel better.”
“Even if that’s true,” Allie says, “He’s willing to spend a lot of money to do so, which means …” She flashes jazz hands in front of her. “He likes you!”
I let that sink in for a minute. Could she be right? Could Thomas Culpepper really be interested in me? A chill of awareness radiates from my head throughout my body.
Could I be that lucky?