Chapter 32
Kelly
The next morning, I’m at work early, sitting at my desk with the door closed. The faint hum of the laptop fills the room as Dr. Bennett’s familiar face appears on screen. She’s been my therapist for years, guiding me through recovery from my eating disorder, and now, our monthly check-ins are more routine maintenance. I’ve perfected the art of these quick, superficial chats. Today’s no different.
After we say hello, I launch into my update: “Everything’s on track with my new job. I’ve reconnected with an ex-boyfriend from many years ago, and it’s all going well. For the first time since Mom died, things really seem like they’re going in the right direction.” I glance down at my desk, where I’ve neatly lined up my pens by size, and straighten the edges of a stack of papers that are already perfectly aligned.
Dr. Bennett’s eyes soften, her expression encouraging. “That’s wonderful. It sounds as though you’re in a really good place. And how has your anxiety and OCD been?”
“Mostly under control,” I say. “Just the usual mild intrusive thoughts. Nothing I can’t handle.”
I don’t mention how, when stress creeps in, those thoughts get louder, or the food rules about what I can and can’t eat, how much, and when. It’s become second nature now. Too ingrained to feel worth discussing. And I don’t want to worry Dr. Bennett when there’s nothing to worry about. Why would I? None of it’s a problem anymore, especially not the food stuff. I’m recovered.
“That’s good to hear,” she says, but there’s a note of concern, and for a moment I worry she knows I’m skipping over something. “Just remember, it’s not about being perfect. Progress is what counts. Progress, not perfection. You’re allowed to have tough days.”
I plaster on my best breezy smile. “Right. Progress, not perfection. Got it.”
She watches me for a moment. “Well, keep doing what you’re doing. But Kelly, if those thoughts start to get louder, or if you’re struggling, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“Thanks, Dr. Bennett, but I’m good. Really.”
We exchange a few more pleasantries before wrapping up. As soon as the call ends, I snap the laptop shut, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
I stare at the wall opposite for a moment, the room unnervingly still. Dr. Bennett’s words replay in my head—progress, not perfection. It’s a mantra I’ve heard a thousand times, but somehow, it’s not meant for me.
Perfection is attainable with enough work, enough dedication.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly, trying to convince myself that I am fine, that I’ve got everything under control. But there’s that familiar whisper in the back of my mind, telling me I’m only one misstep away from failure. I close my eyes, blocking it out. I’ve come too far to let myself slip now.
I lean forward, tapping my fingers against the desk, once, twice, and line up my pens in color order.
“Everything’s fine,” I tell myself aloud.
I know how to make things work, to push aside intrusive thoughts and doubts. I’ve been doing it for years—smiling, nailing presentations, organizing impressive events, wowing clients. I’ve got my game face on, the one that screams Kelly Charleston has her shit together . And why wouldn’t I? The festival’s shaping up to be exactly what the mayor wanted, and things with Jake really are going well.
I swivel in my chair, the leather creaking under me, and let out a breath, scanning the office oasis I’ve created—I really am fine. More than fine. I’ve been doing great, haven’t I? Work, Jake, the festival—it’s all under control. So what if I avoid carbs or make sure my meals are perfectly portioned? I’m not starving myself. It’s just being healthy. Being in control.
None of it is that big of a deal. I’m a Charleston woman, after all. Charleston women don’t fall apart. They don’t let stress swallow them whole. They handle things. They make sure everything runs smoothly. And these little food rules? They’re just part of the routine. Not a problem. I’m just being responsible.
But then, uninvited, a flicker of Adele’s face enters my mind. The way she pushed the cake around on her plate, how she barely took a bite before hiding the rest in her napkin. That critical look she gave herself in the selfies she was taking with her friends.
A twinge of unease winds its way through me. I can rationalize everything for myself, but for a young girl like Adele? I can’t ignore that. I can’t pretend it’s nothing. She doesn’t have the coping skills I do.
I bite my lip, hoping Jake spoke to his daughter and Jenny after I mentioned it. Hoping they’ll be vigilant and watch for any signs of trouble. The last thing I want is for a kid to suffer.
The memories creep up—those long years after Jake and I broke up, years of increased restriction until I’d lost so much weight my parents insisted on getting me help.
That day comes back to me so clearly. I sat on the exam table, my legs dangling over the edge, my fingers picking at the hem of my sweater. The doctor’s voice droned on in the background, inpatient and treatment options , but the words felt distant.
Mom sat across the room, her arms folded over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line. I stole a glance at her, hoping for some sign that she understood, that she was with me on this. But instead, her gaze was fixed on the doctor, her jaw tense, eyes dark with disappointment.
When the doctor finally paused, she turned to me, her voice careful, measured. “Kelly,” she said, in that tone that was always so calm, too calm, as if I’d somehow done something wrong again. “How did we get here?”
I felt my stomach drop, the shame curling around my ribs. How did we get here? As if this was all my fault, as if I’d just failed at being me . I looked away, biting down on the inside of my cheek, fighting the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t let her see me fall apart—not then, not ever.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. But what I really wanted to say was that I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to be a disappointment, that I wanted to be better, to be enough.
I shake my head, not wanting to remember the disappointed look on mom’s face, the shame that spiraled through me. Not now. Not when things are going so well.
Ugh. Why am I thinking about all this shit? Thank God no one in Harbor’s Edge knows about any of it, and no one in my family ever brings it up, keeping it firmly in the past where it belongs.
And this isn’t about me, it’s about Adele. I’m fine. She’s the one I’m worried about. I make a mental note to ask Jake about it tomorrow, after the lunch we have planned with Adele. Maybe I can watch her during the meal, get a better read on what’s going on. Maybe she’s fine, and I’m just worrying for no reason.
I put it all out of my mind and work solidly for a few hours, meeting with the festival committee and the town’s social media manager, before I take a break for lunch. It’s freezing today, and I tug on gloves and a hat before walking to Main Street to meet Nora for lunch. There are still small patches of snow and ice on people’s lawns, and the wind off the ocean is frigid.
The bell over May’s bookshop door tinkles—a sweet sound, a throwback to simpler times. I push inside, the scent of old books and fresh coffee hitting me. I spot Nora immediately, her presence a sunbeam slicing through the shadows.
“Kelly!” Nora’s voice is full of energy, her usual exuberance lighting up the room as she waves me over. I’m relieved to see her. I got in late last night, and between rushing out the door this morning and getting to work, we haven’t had a proper chance to catch up.
“Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat opposite her. We place our orders with May, a transplant to Harbor’s Edge who used to be an English professor but now owns the bookstore—coffee, strong and black for me, and a frothy latte for Nora—then settle into mismatched chairs by a cozy corner of the café. It doesn’t take long for the subject of Jake to come up.
“Spill it,” Nora says, leaning forward with her latte in hand. Her eyes are sharp, but there’s warmth behind them. “Your brain’s doing that thing again—where it’s somewhere else. You’ve got a smile on your face and it’s got nothing to do with the coffee. No offense to May.”
My smile widens. “It’s Jake.”
Nora quirks an eyebrow. “So you’re telling me you’re deeply, passionately in love? Jake Tanner’s swept you off your feet?”
She’s hit the nail squarely on the head, but I school my expression. “I’m just surprised by how good everything is. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Nora takes a slow sip of her latte, her gaze never leaving mine. “Jake’s a stand-up guy. I think you two are perfect for each other. And you deserve this, you do.”
I lean back, letting her words sink in, drumming my fingers on the wooden table, a staccato rhythm mirroring the racing thoughts in my head. “He invited me to have lunch tomorrow with Adele,” I say, my voice dropping a notch. “As his girlfriend. To be honest, I’m a little nervous. Jake thinks it will be fine. But what if it’s not? What if Adele doesn’t like me? What if this whole thing gets too complicated?”
Nora leans in, her blue eyes catching the light through the window. “Adele’s a great kid. And you got on well at the party, didn’t you? Just take it one step at a time. Don’t overthink it.”
I let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Overthinking is my middle name.”
“Kelly Overthinking Charleston,” Nora teases. “Seriously, though, you’ve got this. She’s Jake’s daughter, not a mythical creature with horns and sharp teeth.”
I laugh again, Nora’s words soothing some of the nerves I’ve been battling since Jake invited me to lunch. “Thanks. I’ll try not to imagine her sprouting tentacles at the table.”
“Just be yourself. Adele’s going to see what we all see—a smart, strong, kick ass woman. And if she’s anything like her dad, she’ll appreciate that.”
“Thanks, Nora.”
Maybe this isn’t a disaster waiting to happen. Maybe it’s just lunch. Plain and simple. Maybe things are finally moving in the right direction.
Harbor’s Edge might be big enough for second chances after all.