Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Paperwork killed me.
It was the least fun part of running Gathered, and today it had followed me home in a canvas tote along with my laptop, a cold cup of Java Jolt coffee, and what I could only describe as a growing migraine behind my left eye.
I'd spread everything across my kitchen table with good intentions.
That had been forty-five minutes ago. Now I was cross-eyed, staring at a spreadsheet that had stopped making sense somewhere around the third line.
I pushed back from the table.
Then pulled myself back again.
I stared at the numbers.
They still didn't make sense.
"You are a grown woman," I told the spreadsheet. "Figure it out."
The spreadsheet said nothing useful.
The thing was, I had wanted to bring this work home even less than usual tonight.
I’d been thinking about my conversation with Little Grandma, knowing she was right.
Knowing that I had to talk to Adam. And once that decision was made, I wanted to act on it.
Unfortunately, I was a grown up and work came first.
I rubbed my eyes and looked at the columns again.
Still wrong.
I was going to figure this out if it killed me, and it just might.
I scowled. If I let it kill me, then I’d miss out on making love with Adam again, and that would be a damn shame. I enlarged the spreadsheet so I could see the numbers better. It helped. I took a bite of the cold noodles from the Pad Thai dinner that I had nuked hours earlier.
If you figure this out, I’ll let you have a treat tomorrow. I tried to tempt myself.
You can go visit Janice and Judy.
Just the thought softened the knot in the back of my neck.
Those two women had a gift for making the world feel manageable.
Their cabin always smelled like cedar and something baking, and the rugs and other textiles they made were the kind of thing that made people stop talking in the middle of a sentence just to look at them.
I always left their place feeling lighter than when I arrived.
I sat up. Looked away from my computer. I would invite Adam. It was a ninety-minute drive to their place. He and I would have plenty of time to talk. It would be perfect. Plus, he would love to meet the ladies. It would be perfect.
The thought settled in my chest with a warmth I hadn't quite gotten used to yet. Two days since he’d told me he loved me. Two days since I had almost hyperventilated, and he had known it and treated me with kid gloves.
Gah!
I needed to clear the air. I needed to tell him everything. Little Grandma was right. It was time to be brave.
I'd made up my mind. I was going to tell Adam how I felt. Not in some sweeping romantic declaration, I was not that woman. Just the three little words. Yeah, that would work. And I could show him my mountain, too.
I thought of the stretch of road I'd been driving since I was seventeen, a pull-off with a view that most people drove straight past without ever noticing. On a clear morning you could see three ridgelines from there, the kind of view that made you remember you were very small and the world was very big. It was someplace I’d never taken anybody before. Not even Chloe.
I wanted to take Adam.
I also wanted to tell him about my parents.
That thought came in quieter, heavier. I sat with it for a moment.
He'd told me about Marie. Not everything, but enough.
Enough that I understood what made him who he was.
I owed him the same honesty. It had taken me a long time to stop feeling like I was my mother's daughter in the worst possible way.
But there were still moments, flashes, when I worried.
It killed me that they were still there, waiting in the dark to bite me in the ass.
Wanda Avery had chosen Norville Avery over her children so many times I'd lost count before I was old enough to drive.
She'd chosen him when she should have protected us.
She'd chosen him when Drake testified against him and Norville went to prison, and she'd turned her back on Drake like he was the one who'd done something wrong. She’d been a shit mother.
It was all about her. Selfish to the core.
For years, I'd been terrified I was made of the same stuff. That because I always wanted to be chosen, wanted to feel like I mattered, that I was like her. But I had stopped being that Zoe years ago.
I wasn't selfish the way she was selfish. I wasn't willing to burn everything down for the feeling of being wanted. I loved people and I'd proved it, more than once, in ways that cost me something real.
I was still sitting with all of this when my phone buzzed on the table.
Adam. I smiled.
Adam: How's the paperwork going?
I stared at the message for a second. Then I laughed, out loud, alone in my kitchen.
Me: Terribly, I typed back. The spreadsheets are winning.
His reply came fast.
Adam: Need reinforcements?
Me: I need a miracle. Or possibly a new career.
Adam: Is there anything I can do?
I sat up straighter. Perfect.
Me: Can you play hooky tomorrow? At least for part of the day?
Adam: What did you have in mind?
Me: I need a treat after all the spreadsheets. I figured I would go up the mountain and pick-up some work from Judy and Janice and stay for a visit. You would love them, and you would love the scenery.
Adam: And I would love the company. What time would you pick me up?
Me: What time would be good for you?
Adam: I could drop James at daycare at seven o’clock. How about at seven thirty?
Me: Perfect. I’ll see you then.
Adam: Stop with the spreadsheets and get some sleep.
Me: Soon. Good Night, Adam.
Adam: Good Night, Zoe.
I set the phone down and looked at the spreadsheet. Then I found the problem. It had been staring me in the face the entire time. The weights were off. There was no way that a cashmere throw weighed six pounds to ship. Our scale needed to be recalibrated.
I closed the laptop.
I ate the rest of my cold pad thai standing over the sink, looking out at the dark backyard, thinking about three ridgelines and what it felt like to be brave.