Chapter 20 #2
“No,” I grumble. I’m not hungry, I’m terrified. Zoey and Josie are going to get back together and there’s nothing I can do about it. I open a cabinet door, looking for something, I don’t even know what, and slam it shut. Open another, slam it. Another, slam.
A gentle hand touches my arm.
“How about if we give these doors a little bit of a break,” Morgan says and closes the cabinet. “They’re old and fragile and I really don’t want them to shatter before we do the kitchen remodel.”
I tug on the knot around my robe. “I just want some fucking chamomile tea.”
Morgan lifts her eyebrow, opens the cabinet I had just slammed shut, and reaches behind the coffee beans for a box of tea.
I exhale a puff through my nose and press a palm into my head. “Sorry.”
She points to the barstool. I dutifully sit as she puts water in the tea kettle and flicks the stove on. I lay my head down on the cool countertop. A few minutes later, I lift my head as she slides a mug my way.
“Two weeks until opening day,” she says, dunking the tea bag in her own mug. “It’s a lot of pressure.”
It’s so much pressure. Not only are my life savings, plus a hefty business loan, sunk into my farm, so are all of my hopes and dreams. If this fails, I don’t know what I will do. “It is,” I finally say.
Morgan pulls out the stool next to me and sits. “Being an entrepreneur is extremely difficult. Doing this alone as a single woman, without a business or life partner, is terrifying. I get it. I think people underestimate the difficulty in undertaking something like this.”
I squeeze a dollop of honey in my tea and stir. Maybe I haven’t given myself the credit I deserve. So many times, I thought, well, my aunt and uncle left great instructions, and well, I have my sister and Morgan, who guide me, and well, I have Zoey, who helped for a month.
But I did do it, and I should be proud of myself. But I’m not giving myself that luxury until I see if it’s successful. “What if no one shows up?”
“They will,” Morgan says, blowing into her mug and taking a short sip. “It’s like the Christmas field of dreams. Build it and they will come.”
She says this like I know what the hell she is talking about. “What?”
Morgan grins. “Really? The movie Field of Dreams. The baseball movie. You know, the famous line: If you build it, they will come.”
And just like that, I bury my head in my hands and start crying.
A solid moment or two passes before Morgan tugs me in for a stiff hug.
She is not a hugger at all, at least not with me, but she’s Frankie’s proxy while my sister is gone.
So here I am, letting the tears flow, drip down my cheek onto her shoulder.
I stay like this, a minute, maybe two, maybe three, but I’m letting it all out.
The stress of this last decade, this last year, these last few months.
My insecurity that I’m not enough, I’m not worthy, that I’ll get hurt. Broken. Destroyed.
“This is not about the farm, is it.”
Morgan’s not asking. Of course this isn’t about the farm. I know this, she knows this, but I don’t know if I’m ready to say anything. I lift my head and swipe the back of my hand under my chin to catch them. When I catch my breath, I lean back on the stool.
Morgan dunks the tea bag a few more times, then sets it in a discard bowl.
“When your sister came back here last year, she threw my world upside down.” She taps her ring on the edge of the mug.
“I thought I knew my path. My purpose. I was so focused on saving my company, and being strong, and never falling apart, and hiding my feelings. My God, did I hide my feelings from Frankie. For years.”
Their situation differs from mine. They couldn’t have been as scared as me.
Morgan and Frankie share a past. They knew each other, and what love and deep feelings feel like.
All of this is so new to me—the feelings, the yearning, the sensation of my heart always on the verge of splitting and nothing has even happened yet.
Everything is new and terrifying and exciting, and I don’t know what to do.
“Quinn,” Morgan says and meets my gaze. “I almost let Frankie go. I was so close, I practically pushed her out of here. But my God, I’m so glad that we fought for each other. Fought for our right to be happy, together.”
The warm tea slides down my throat and soothes my belly. “But weren’t you scared?”
“Are you kidding me? I was terrified.” Morgan slides back on her stool.
“I’d already experienced heartbreak with Frankie.
True, gut-level heartbreak. The kind that makes you timid and tense and makes you question everything, makes you question if it’s worth ever trying anything again because the pain was so raw, and real, and you’re not sure you can go through it again. ”
My chin trembles again, and I quickly sip the tea.
This is what I’m talking about. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to put myself through that.
What if I’m terrible at relationships and clam up and don’t know how to act and destroy everything.
Losing her friendship feels as gut-wrenching as not telling her how I feel. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s Zoey, right?” Morgan asks.
I arch my brow.
“Sorry. Of course.” Morgan crosses her arms and takes a breath. “Well, you obviously have feelings for her. And from everything I see, she does, too. She practically lights up like the star on a Christmas tree every time you walk in the room.”
My chest lifts. “She does?”
“Do you not see that? I mean, I’ve known Zoey for at least a decade, and even though we aren’t like close friends or anything, I’ve certainly worked with her enough over the years to get insight into her personality.
Her baseline is always friendly, always nice, always giving.
But with you, everything is elevated—her smile, her laugh, her mood.
Everything. It’s clear you amplify her happiness. ”
Tea or not, my insides warm at this. Morgan is not the type of woman to blow smoke up my ass to make me feel better.
If she is saying this about Zoey, she must mean it.
But tomorrow, after she sees Josie, everything might change.
And I’m totally helpless to stop it from happening.
In fact, I need it to happen. I need Zoey to compare, contrast, and do a full cost-benefit analysis on her ex-girlfriend before I say anything.
If I say anything. “She’s meeting her ex-girlfriend for dinner tomorrow,” I choke out.
Morgan’s lips pull together. “Josie? Huh. I didn’t know she was back in town.”
I nod and stare at my mug. “What’s she like?”
Too long of a pause follows. I picked the worst time to hold my breath while waiting for a response.
“I mean, she’s a nice woman,” Morgan finally says. “I only knew her through town and a few events that we attended. Oh, and I chatted with her once at the animal shelter, when I went with my brother to bring in their hamster—don’t ask. But, yes, she’s a nice person.”
This is not making me feel better. I want to hear that Josie is terrible and evil and rides a broom at night. Not that she’s some sweet woman who works with sick animals.
“But, Quinn.” Morgan sets her hand on top of mine. “So are you.”
I let out a short chortle. “I’m not really that nice.”
“Are you kidding?” Morgan’s voice rises enough where my head snaps up.
“You are one of the most loving, giving, gracious people I know. When you find your people, you love them so hard, with all of yourself. You are smart and brave and funny and hard-working. You are absolutely the real deal.” She sits back and gives me a stern look.
“And I won’t hear you say another bad word about yourself. ”
I rest my head on her shoulder and sigh. “You’re a pretty good sister when Frankie abandons me.”
She laughs. “You know she’ll be back on Wednesday, right?”
So maybe I do deserve someone. I’ve always loved my lifestyle, wanted my lifestyle. But since meeting Zoey, I see that I might want something more. My eyes are opening, just a tiny bit, to the possibility that my dating style thus far might have also been a means of protection.
“Listen,” Morgan says, cutting through my thoughts. “You are a fighter. Always have been. If you have feelings for Zoey, you go fight for her. Take a chance, tell her how you feel, put yourself out there, okay? Fight for her. But also know your worth.”
I reach over and give her a hug. A firm, solid hug, then withdraw. “Thank you.” I’ve used up all my words for now. I need to get out of this kitchen and get some clarity. I grab my mug and march to my bedroom. Inside my room, I pace, and think. Pace and think.
And then I clean. I spend the rest of the day, until the early hours, unpacking everything, organizing, throwing laundry in the wash, hanging everything up, until my room is damn near glistening.
The cleaner the room, the clearer everything becomes. My mind opens, my body shifts, my chest lifts.
I know exactly what I need to do. I just have to put a few plans together first.