Stacked

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A NYA

Ridiculous . I was being ridiculous. Anya Post, couldn’t you have hidden your frustrations better than that? Overreacting? Tick. Rude? Tick. All those things? Tick, tick, tick. But I couldn’t stop myself. My emotions were a runaway train, a dramatic ride I didn’t know how to stop.

My hand shook as I fumbled for my keys and slipped into my car. After starting it, I put the gear into reverse and willed to steady myself, for my breathing to return to normal. I knew I was being dramatic. Acting that way was one of the hallmarks of my personality.

You determine how you respond, and this is all up to you, I repeated a few times in my head as the music from the car stereo blared, and I drove the car down Front Street. A few months after moving home, I downloaded a mindfulness app that promised to help me keep my emotions, anxiety, and stress in check. After how things ended in Chicago, I needed help, and a full-blown therapist wasn’t in my budget. Three times a week, I pushed through exercises and meditation on the app, often followed by one of the yoga practices offered for premium subscribers.

But whatever training that was supposed to give me wasn’t working tonight. Instead, I was spiraling. The light changed ahead, and I slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop after a small skid. I was driving like a crazy person. What a rip-off. Mental note: I’m canceling my subscription tonight.

As the car idled, I pushed the call button on the steering wheel and prompted the system to call Morgan. She picked up on the third ring, her voice out of breath. “Hey there.”

“Hey.” Still jittery, I tapped the plastic wheel a few times. “I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Why I couldn’t get anyone to help make the float this year.” I swallowed my irritation. “It was Robert. He got them.”

“What?” She sounded confused, and I didn’t blame her. I’d unceremoniously dropped her into this conversation. “You mean the high school students?”

“Yep.” The light changed from red to green, and I sped through the intersection. Two more blocks, a left turn, then a right, and I’d be home. “He must have paid them to do it. That’s all I can guess. But they’re working for him.”

She made a swishing sound through her teeth. “How do you know he’s paying them?”

“We were having dinner, and he showed me what they’ve completed.”

“Dinner? With Robert?” She sounded like she was smiling. I, however, was not.

“Worst of all, he’s doing our theme,” I added. “Lady Liberty made out of books.”

Morgan groaned.

“This sucks,” I said.

“We can think of something else. We have time. I’m still stuck on the fact that you were having dinner with Robert.”

“I didn’t plan on it.” I navigated my car into my neighborhood, a little frustrated with her observation. Couldn’t she see the developing crisis? We were going to have to change tactics and fast. “I was driving by after making a quick run to the post office, and I saw he was there. I just, I thought I’d stop in and be friendly.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I did. That’s all I wanted. He’s a local businessman too, and even if we’re enemies—”

“He’s hot, Anya.”

I recoiled. Well, yes, but... “I didn’t know you thought that.”

“He was cute in high school. Sort of aloof. I don’t think he ever looked my way.” She sighed. “But time’s been good to that guy.”

“ Pfft. ”

“I know you saw that magazine cover. Everybody did.”

Now, it was my turn to smile. “You’re a New Burlington Living reader?”

“Not usually, but the thing comes in the mail every month, no matter what. And that cover was exceptional.”

She was right. It was shrewd too—a guaranteed way to reach a captive audience and drum up support for Robert’s business. Most everyone had social media and phones they were never without, but there was still something important and vital about getting coverage in local media outlets like Living . A certain customer looked for that kind of thing as a sort of silent marker about how much effort someone was making to be part of the New Burlington community. Anyone could rent out a storefront and open a shop—but it took a special sort of person who cared to integrate into the community. Robert seemed to have learned that lesson too. Still, there was no reason to put the man on a pedestal.

Except he’s so alluring...

“Remind me to elect you president of his fan club,” I said.

“Come on, Anya. You’ve noticed how hot he is too.”

I pulled my car into the driveway but didn’t slide it into the carport. “He’s nice looking.”

“Given what we have around here, he’s practically a movie star.”

I blew out a huff. Anything to make her think I didn’t agree with her. “Brent isn’t doing it for you?”

“I’m engaged, not dead.”

I winced. Engaged. How nice that would be, how hopeful. I was happy for Morgan—I really was. Brent was a nice guy. They’d been dating for two years. He treated her well, and he ran the State Farm Insurance branch located in the strip mall on the outskirts of town. Morgan would have a good life with him.

But as thrilled as I was for her, I was sad too. Once she got married, Morgan wouldn’t need me in her life the same way. Our relationship would inevitably change once she folded herself into a solid twosome interlocked by commitment. While that was great, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling a twinge of jealousy.

I wanted what she had. I longed to find someone who could make me as happy as she was with Brent. No matter how many times I donned a “single-and-fine-with-it” cloak, I couldn’t deny what my heart truly desired. I hoped to find someone who’d want to spend the rest of their life with me, someone who’d want to build something greater than what I could do by myself. After all, four hands were better than two.

But so far, there had been nobody worth thinking about. No one outside of the endless merry-go-round of “not-for-me’s” I found on dating apps. If finding a meaningful relationship was hard in Chicago, it was even harder in New Burlington, where single people didn’t seem to exist. Here, I was practically a nun.

An unwilling nun, but a nun, nevertheless. Was there such a thing as an unwilling nun? Apart from Maria in The Sound of Music ... well, she was fine until she met the captain. And this wasn’t the Middle Ages, either...

“He’s my rival,” I said firmly, shoving my romance woes aside. The way things were going, they’d always be there, lurking in the shadows, available whenever I wanted to revisit them. “No matter how good-looking or nice he is, he represents the greatest threat my store has ever faced, and that can’t be denied. Now, he’s even stolen my idea.”

“You’re acting like he’s a member of a rival house on Game of Thrones ,” Morgan replied.

“He kind of is. That’s a fair comparison.”

She giggled. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“Guilty.” I thought about the way he looked in the store that evening, how handsome he was despite wearing rumpled work clothes and an old baseball cap. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, and as irritating as it was, Robert Kilgore was the best thing I’d seen in a long time in New Burlington. “He’s a nice guy, though. That’s the worst part.”

“I’m going to let you think about that one,” she said. “Think long and hard about it.”

I laughed too, and we ended the call. I parked in the carport, got out, and made my way inside my house. It was small but cozy, and I was proud of it.. It still needed work—an updated kitchen would be first on that list—but all that could come in good time. For now, knowing I owned something was enough. Renting in Chicago had woken me up to how important that was, even for a dreamer like me. Life cost money, and that was undeniable. Owning this place was at least one positive.

After taking off my sneakers and putting away my purse, I crossed into the kitchen and poured myself a large glass of pinot grigio from the half-empty bottle already in the refrigerator. I sipped it as I padded down the hall to the bathroom.

A long, hot, luxurious bath would help. It always had, though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d given myself room to take one. Most days, I came home so exhausted from the store and the mental gymnastics I went through dealing with customers that I barely found the capacity to do more than space out in front of the TV for a few hours before falling into bed for a night of restless sleep.

No, I wasn’t taking care of myself and hadn’t been for a long time. Robert’s arrival proved that. In the back of my mind, I knew it. If I’d been healthy, if I’d been happy, I wouldn’t see him as such a threat. He and his store simply created new challenges.

Reaching the bathroom, I turned on the water and added some of the bubble bath I got six months earlier during a white elephant gift exchange at the Christmas party for the New Burlington Chamber of Commerce. It smelled like roses and jasmine, and after I took off my clothes, I inhaled deeply as I slid into the warm water. For a few minutes, I leaned against the sloped part of the tub and allowed my mind to wander.

First to the store. Traffic was down. Significantly. It was hard to admit, but it was true. Had been that way for a few months—maybe even the better part of the year. The usuals and regulars who typically came into the store didn’t visit as often, and when they did, they bought less. That was going to catch up with us soon. If I tried, I could make plenty of excuses about why—internet sales, a weak economy, less money for discretionary spending... but none of it took away that reality. We need to kick sales into high gear.

I sank deeper into the water.

Gwen also needed to move to an assisted-living facility, and she probably should do so before the end of the year. Finding her after she fell had cemented that for me. What if I hadn’t shown up when I did? What if she’d been there for days? What if she’d really hurt herself? What if...

I closed my eyes a little tighter.

This isn’t your call to make. I knew that. Gwen wasn’t my mother—I’d been through all this pain already with her, and I knew the decisions had to be made by people directly related to her. Selling the house and moving to a facility would be difficult and must be decided by her kids.

But maybe I could influence them...

I snapped my eyes open. Shit. If Gwen moved to an assisted-living place, she’d need money and lots of it. The store would have to keep going; she’d be more reliant on it than ever. It was an extra jab to my side as I tried to relax in the water. I had to keep customers interested in it and had to figure out a way to get back the ones who weren’t patronizing it as often. I needed prestige. The Green Frog did too.

Which means I must win that float contest. I don’t have any other choice.

My thoughts turning, I rose out of the water, pulled the stopper, and slipped into the bathrobe I hung on the hook behind the door. It had been a long time since I’d been this motivated, but I was. Robert had unwittingly given me an edge by letting me see a sliver of what he planned for the contest. If he was my biggest competition, I’d just been given an advantage I could use against him. I knew what he was doing, but he didn’t know what I was doing.

I booted up my laptop and sat down at my kitchen table. Whenever my head spun like this, the best thing to do was write down every small thought I had, turning it all into a big brainstorm. I will sort through it later. I just need to get it down. Now.

As I drained the last of the pinot, I typed and banged on the computer, my fingers flying through the bullet points of a Word document that would serve as a roadmap for what I wanted to do and how I wanted to take my float to the next level. As I worked, I tapped into the deep recesses of my mind. No, I didn’t consider myself creative in comparison to the people I knew in the theater, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t capable of vision. And maybe some of their skills rubbed off on me.

A half hour or so later, satisfied with what I had on the page, I combed the internet, looking for patterns and examples that would help me illustrate a new, better theme. The initial Lady Liberty idea I had with Morgan had been a good one, but now that I knew Robert was also doing that, we had to come out stronger. Still, maybe we could build upon it. In order to make a splash, I was going to have to push my talents and skills to the next level.

Which was scary.

They were rusty. I was rusty. I hadn’t sewn much of anything since moving to New Burlington. The Singer machine I spent almost two thousand dollars on my junior year of college had been gathering dust in the linen closet, forgotten behind a pile of extra bed sheets. But now, it was my secret weapon.

That machine had been designed specifically for heavy use—costume designers, fashion creatives, and the like. The heavy bobbin and precise needle could go the distance if required, and Lord knew I’d pushed to that limit during senior year, when I designed a four-piece costume collection for a capstone theater class. I had no plans of doing costume design as a job, but I wanted to ace the class. I planned to graduate magna cum laude, and nothing was going to stand in my way.

And it didn’t.

Around eight, I pulled the machine out of the closet, along with some bolts of velvet and satin I still had on hand from my job at Second City. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and I vowed I’d head to the fabric store as soon as it opened the next morning.

I hadn’t been motivated like this in a long time. And it was glorious.