Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Daisy, Now
“Begin moving your fingers and toes.” The soft-spoken instructor coaxes me out of savasana.
Rather than finding a zen state after having my ass kicked on the mat, all I can think about is Max.
Whatever his parents said to him must have really hurt.
I’m happy to help him and be the counterbalance to what he’s going through with them, if only for a short while.
Besides, helping him means he’ll get back on his feet and out of Harlow as fast as possible, which is what he wants. It’s what someone as intelligent and accomplished as Max deserves.
“The light in me sees and honors the light in you.”
When I open my eyes, everyone in the class has already switched to a seated position. I shoot up to join them, tossing prayer hands up to my forehead with a rushed namaste.
While Gwen thanks folks at the exit, I move tables back to their original spots.
My friend looks radiant as she tells the yoga instructor that they might want to do this twice a week instead of once.
After everyone has left, Gwen flips the Open sign on the front door, sinks into a chair, and lets out an exhausted exhale.
“I had nightmares you’d be the only person.” Gwen had begged me to attend the first-ever wellness class in her shop, offering to pay my admission if I’d help prep the space for guests.
“Would me struggling in downward dog alone for an hour have been that terrible?”
“You have a cute tush. And respectable form.”
“I’m glad you noticed. Although I usually do yoga at home and at a much more forgiving pace. I don’t think I’ll be able to move tomorrow.”
She chortles and then turns to me with sparkling eyes. “Thank you for being here.”
“Always.” I sit on the curved arm of the chair, my limbs loose from all the pretzel shapes I pushed myself into in the past hour.
I’m lucky to have a successful businesswoman best friend, but I wish The Mirage had half of the runaway success she experiences with the shop.
At least one of us won’t be struggling this slow season.
She must get tired of me yapping about money and dwindling reservations.
“You know,” she says, “you could run events like this at The Mirage for your guests.”
I tilt my head to the side, considering the suggestion. “Why can’t I be hit with inspiration like you?”
“Because then you wouldn’t need me, and I’d just be a sad, lonely witch with too many rocks.”
“Unfortunately, barn repairs come first.” I fiddle with the piping on the chair. “It’s been damn near impossible to book weddings with the state it’s in.” Vector images only go so far. Engaged couples want to walk into the vision, not merely imagine it.
“Ugh, I hate those termites. I could punch every single one of them.”
“Be my guest.”
“What if I loaned you some money?”
My eyes flash to her. “No.”
“Just a loan. For the summer, a little extra for the termite damage. You’ll get some weddings, pay me back, and it’ll be like it never happened.”
“Thank you, but…” Money stuff with The Mirage sometimes sparked arguments between my parents. They fought over way more than the financial aspect of the hotel, but I won’t taint my relationship with Gwen by getting cash involved. “I want to handle this on my own.”
“Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
All signs point to me being a crummy hotelier, but she’s still willing to put herself on the line financially for me. Without a word, she stands, situates herself in front of me, and drapes her arms over my body in a protective hug.
“I wish I had a guidebook,” I say with a sigh. “I want someone to tell me what to do.”
“You could—”
“Other than accept money from my best friend.”
“Fine.”
“I don’t need you to always give me solutions.” My words get muffled in her hair. “Sometimes I just want to vent.”
“I know.” She pulls me tighter into an embrace. The doorbell sings an ethereal chime, but neither of us moves because there’s only one person who would enter at this time of night. Moments later, another pair of arms wraps around us.
“Hey, Bob,” I say.
“Hello, my darling.” Gwen greets her life partner.
“Is this a sad hug?” he asks. “Because it feels like a sad hug.”
“Not sad,” I say at the same time Gwen says, “Kind of.”
“It’s not,” I insist and wriggle out of their clutches. “I’m simply overwhelmed from an amazing yoga class that was completely packed.”
Bob’s mouth flies open. “No way! I’m so proud of you, baby.” He stresses the last few words with kisses. “So. Freaking. Proud.”
Gwen and Bob are such a strange match to me.
I didn’t like him at first—my vibrant, incredible best friend is a complete hippie, while he’s a total nerd for numbers.
His idea of a wild Friday night is repairing old watches found at the flea market.
But seeing my best friend deeply in love with such a great guy heals something in me every time we’re together.
“So.” Bob turns to me and keeps an arm draped over Gwen. “Is that the only exciting thing you two talked about?” His gaze turns to Gwen, who gives him the purest smile in response.
“You told him?” I ask Gwen, deflated that she would share everything I told her about Max with her partner. It comes with the territory of knowing someone who’s also found their soulmate, but I sometimes feel like I have to share my best friend.
“Wait, told me what?” Bob says, his brows forming a V.
“About Max.”
“I did but only—”
“Who’s Max?”
“Max, my love,” Gwen says, reaching for Bob’s hand. “Remember? Childhood friend, came back to town a couple weeks back.”
“Oh, Max.”
“I saw him a couple days ago, too.” I adjust the pile of pamphlets advertising The Mirage, pretending not to count them. “His sister texted because they were busy clearing out his storage unit from high school. His stuff’s in the barn until further notice.”
I leave out the part where Max and I almost kissed. After watching his arm muscles flex while moving stuff around and then having the heat of his body so close, I got caught up in the moment. At least any time that’s happened, I’ve stopped myself from taking things too far.
“For how long?” my friend asks, although I know what she’s really asking—will he be here for long?
“A few months, at the most.”
“As in moon-waxing-and-waning-fully months?”
“The barn is a temporary solution. When we got drinks, he said—”
“Wait, you got drinks?” Bob’s eyes go wide.
“Sweetie, I told you this. Remember?”
“I’m sorry. My mind’s…it’s been elsewhere.”
Honestly, I’m relieved Bob hasn’t absorbed every humiliating detail about my personal life. “We went to Sal’s, and I felt kind of bad for him. Sounds like the rug’s been pulled out from under him at his last job, so he’s in shock.”
“Jeez. Well…” Gwen pouts. “You need to be careful.”
“I am.”
“I know you think you are, but using the barn for his things? Going to old haunts together for pitchers of beer?”
“We each had one beer.” My defensive shackles rise. “Singular.”
“Doesn’t matter. You have been more than gracious in helping him out, but that does not mean you have to put yourself out there anymore. You’re busy, you have your own life, and—”
“Okay, babe,” Bob says, resting his hands on her forearms. “You shouldn’t get worked up. You know…”
“You’re right.” Gwen bites her lower lip, and a girlish laugh escapes her. “You should say it.”
“No, you.”
“Say what?” I ask, confused by how my friend went from protective mama bear to giggling schoolgirl in three seconds flat.
“Um, well, I…” She loops a hand in Bob’s and rests her head on his shoulder. “We’re having a baby.”
“A baby?” I look between the two of them to make sure I heard her correctly. “You’re pregnant?”
“Mhmm. You’re gonna be an auntie.”
I go in for another group hug because the surprise has sucked the words out of me.
Gwen talked about wanting to have kids one day, and I envisioned us in our thirties, pregnant together and raising our babies.
That left me with years before the pressure to settle down.
I didn’t know she and Bob wanted a kid now.
And gracious friend that she is, she let me ramble on about Max and the hotel while she had news like this.
Gwen tells me she’s feeling extra everything lately. Extra tired, extra hungry, and extra irritable. As she goes into details about how Bob plans to build a wall in the bonus room to make the nursery, and all the wisdom her doula has already imparted, my heart swells with joy.
And maybe, just maybe, a bit of fear. I don’t have a sliver of a doubt that she’s hired an amazing birthing team. My fears are unspeakable. Selfish. Because as Gwen gushes about the journey she’s about to embark on, I can’t help but wonder if I’m being left behind.
“Psst. Daze.” Ava waves at me and gestures to the empty seat to her left. I already know Gwen won’t be here—she’s so nauseous that Bob had to fill in at the shop—so I snag the spot. Settling in, and still sore from that yoga class, I do a double take when I see who’s sitting on her right.
Max nods a silent greeting to me, smiling in a bewildered oh-you-go-here? kind of way. He must clock my confusion because he says, “Driver,” under his breath and points to his chest.
Ava attends meetings for the Harlow Sustainability and Desert Preservation Committee with regularity, as any overachieving high school kid would. She only has a learner’s permit, so one of her parents ordinarily accompanies her. They typically wait in the car, though.
Harlow’s community center has a neutral look—sand-colored walls and laminate flooring—and attendees fill more than half of the metal folding chairs facing the podium.
Ms. Willow, a stylish sixty-something who moved here for retirement, stands at the front of the room.
Her waist-length braid sways as she guides discussions on fundraisers for trail maintenance and proposals for increasing the minimum wage for park workers.