Chapter 8 Endearing and Ridiculous
ENDEARING AND RIDICULOUS
Shake It Out; The Dog Days Are Over, there was no time to find my new happy.
Around Vero’s first birthday, I received an official diagnosis of postpartum depression.
It’s been a long journey for sure. Dr. Martin wanted me to find something that made me smile that wasn’t related to the kids or my shop, something that was purely mine.
I mentioned the glimmers Santiago is always talking about, and she encouraged me to find and create glimmers of my own, things I could do to boost my hope-o-meter, as she calls it.
So, I found upbeat music and fun outfits.
It started as a therapy practice, and it evolved into me playing dress-up and getting an instant dopamine boost when I wear something I feel comfortable and confident in.
The outfit I’m wearing today makes me feel both—a green, my staple color, summer dress, milkmaid style that flares when I spin. I feel alive every time I wear it.
I still find that some days, acceptance is the stage I live in, constantly adjusting to my life without him.
I definitely don’t bargain anymore; shock wore off quickly, and I’m not in denial—most of the time.
He’s gone, and he’s not coming back. I know that.
But sometimes, in the middle of the night when I fall asleep, I reach over and search for his arm, but the empty space reminds me quickly of everything that happened.
It’s then that the rest of the emotions flood through me, sweeping me under.
Today, though, as Florence +the Machine blasts on the radio on repeat, I find companionship in it—summer thunderstorm outside the window, an empty bookstore, and emotion screaming through the speakers.
Feelings so eloquently strung together in artistic prose through songs and instruments, carrying truth through me. It’s truly fascinating.
It’s days like today when I feel most thankful for being alive, for being able to witness the magic of music, of art, of love.
I think that’s why I love books so much too.
What a beautiful thing it is to fall in love over and over again within the pages of a book, even if it’s not romance, my favorite.
Poetry, women’s fiction, horror, any genre can transport me to a time of peace, love, tragedy, or sorrow, making me feel less and less alone.
Rhythmic claps reach the speakers, my favorite Florence song starting, and it’s impossible for my body not to move, for my hands not to follow along.
I push back from my desk, staying in the rolling chair until I’m in the middle of the vast room, rolling in a circle when the word happiness leaves her mouth.
And suddenly, nothing exists. It’s just me and my made-up stage.
I grab a stapler from the table and start singing my rendition of ‘Dog Days Are Over’.
My shoulders shake side to side as I sing the first few notes and continue dancing on my chair, kicking my feet and throwing my head back as I get ready for the chorus.
I get up, skip, and run around the store, using it in its entirety, grabbing the basket of books that need to be placed back on the bookshelves. I slide them into place, continuing to move my hips from side to side.
“Hey Siri, max volume!” The song blasts, the floor and windows vibrating with each note.
I sing at the top of my lungs, spin, kick my feet, and continue dancing until all the books are back where they go, and the song starts to come down.
I melt with the song all the way to the floor, spin my head in a slow circle, and let go of everything I’ve been holding on to lately.
As the next happiness comes up, I shoot up, throwing fists in the air.
Head bops, hip shakes, spins, and more books in their place.
I shake, letting my hair fall as I bend forward, kicking in a circle with my eyes closed.
I belt the lyrics, louder and louder, my back to the door as I hop and hop back to my chair.
I sit, rolling and twirling in a circle, as the song carries me all the way.
Loud claps fill the space, grounding me back to reality, and as I shake myself back to the present, there’s Holden, clapping in awe, a giant smile on his face.
“Oh. My—”
He shakes his head. “No, no, no. Don’t you dare. That was—”
“Embarrassing.”
“Incredible.” He walks to me in steady strides, his legs impossibly long, his green shirt tight over the breadth of his shoulders, the little leaf tattoo peeking from underneath the sleeve as I heat up like tomato soup.
“I-I-I didn’t hear you come in. I’m so sorry. That was so unprofessional.”
“I would pay to watch you do that again.”
A laugh escapes my lips. “There’s no amount of money in the world that would make me do that again for you to see.”
“That was endearing.”
“Ridiculous,” I counter.
He takes the seat where he was last time, to the left of my cash register, right by the coffee. He disappears in my periphery because I refuse to look at him.
“Empowering.”
“Childish.”
“Childlike,” he corrects, making me roll my eyes and laugh.
Laugh so I don’t cry in front of this man I barely know.
“Is this the norm here for weekdays? I only know Sunday Natalie, and well, this version is very endearing.”
Heat rises in my cheeks again. I take a sip of water from my emotional support water bottle and pretend I’m looking for something on my desk.
“Nothing?” he asks, and I continue to ignore him, mostly because I want the Earth to swallow me whole and for this man to never look at me again. “I mean, I can go, if that’s better.”
I shake my head. “I need a minute to pick up my pride from the ground real quick.”
He’s fumbling with something, but since I’m acting like a fourteen-year-old, I don’t look his way and continue to keep my breathing steady. I can’t believe this happened. Dance like nobody’s watching my ass, because when you do, there’s a chance someone will, in fact, be watching.
I don’t know what I was expecting to happen next, but it’s definitely not this. Suddenly, there’s Florence playing, but not from the bookstore speakers and more from a phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask Holden as he’s spinning in the middle of the bookstore. He looks so silly and giant as he spins, kicks, and throws his hands in the air the way I was doing minutes ago. He tries to mimic my movements, a big smile on his face.
I chuckle and shake my head. “Point taken. You can stop now.”
“Nah, song's not over. I have more moves to show.”
I roll my eyes and lower my gaze, trying to ignore him or pretend like I am, but it’s futile. He’s magnetic.
And absolutely ridiculous.
His hands flail high, hitting one of the hanging lights.
“Shit.” He holds it, stopping it from spinning, and I lose the battle with myself and laugh. “Are you laughing at me, Natalie?”
That somehow makes me smile wider, and my laugh carries louder. “No,” I add between a laugh and a snort. A snortle, as Cara calls it.
What in the actual world?
The song ends, and he tiptoes back to his seat on a catwalk.
“Now, that…that was ridiculous,” he adds, both of us laughing now.
I prep a coffee for him silently, chuckling at the absurdity of the past fifteen minutes, and set it in front of him. “On the house today, for the laughs and the grace.”
“Oh, Natalie, darling. I’m more expensive than a coffee.” He takes a sip. “No matter how good it is.” With a wink, he sets his laptop on top of the table.
“You watched me first, and you don’t see me here asking for payment, sir.”
“You should… That was magnificent.”
Aaaaand I’m blushing.
I know I’m blushing. And if I know it, he can definitely see it too.
"It’s usually slow on weekdays around this time, and it’s raining, so people stay in their homes.
You know Floridians and driving in the rain.
” I let out a sigh and sit in my chair, continuing to explain to this man why I was singing and dancing as if I was home.
“I can’t not dance when that song plays, and well, I let go too hard. "
His hand rests under his chin, a soft smile on his face, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. “Why does it feel like you’re apologizing?”
“Because I am.”
“Why?”
“Because this is a bookstore, not a dance studio.”
“So?”
I shrug.