Chapter 5 #2
“Thanks, Birdie.”
“Of course. I’m so glad you’re here. And I’m also glad you didn’t marry Tyler the turd. That boy never made sense for you. I know why you were going to do it. But it wasn’t right.” She shakes her head.
“I’m running out of time, Birdie,” I say softly.
My stomach twists just thinking about my predicament. None of my friends or peers or anyone I know has to deal anything like this.
“There has to be another way,” she says as she shakes her head. “I will never understand why your grandmother had that stupid stipulation in her will. You’d think it was the 1950s. Better get barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen while you’re at it.”
Bile creeps up my throat at the thought of chaining myself for life to Tyler. What a miserable existence that would have been. It was almost my sentence, and I escaped just in time.
“I only have a few months to get married, or the company defaults to a trust. Then, my family loses it,” I say, feeling anxious just saying it. “We could lose everything. I can’t do that to Dad.”
“Tyler was not the answer,” she says dryly, “and your father would understand.”
But he wouldn’t. Our entire lives revolve around the business. It would mean ripping everything away from too many people I care about.
“My grandmother had her reasons.” She was one of the good ones in my family. While her stipulation doesn’t make a lot of sense on the surface, I understand her reasons.
She was fighting the patriarchy. Well, sort of. In her own, slightly warped way, she was protecting her legacy and her eldest granddaughter by forcing her to choose love and marriage, first and foremost, which would then secure her future.
Unfortunately, in her efforts to do a good thing, she tied my hands. This idea of hers likely made sense for a woman of her time, but not a modern woman. I was going to college and learning the ropes of the business. Finding a husband was low on the priority list.
And then, time just sort of slipped by rather quickly.
Now we’re down to the wire.
“I thought we were in love,” I say as I think about my almost-husband and how close I was to completing this requirement. “Now I know it was all bullshit.”
The anger feels good burning through my veins. Hurt over the cheating and the feeling of failure at keeping our company compete for space in my head, but it’s fading a bit. There has to be another way through this will stipulation. If anyone can find it, it’ll be me.
As far as the pain Tyler and Belladonna caused me, I vow to drag my way through it and to the other side.
Birdie leans back in her chair. “I have an idea.”
I take a bite of eggs. “Okay...”
“What if you stay here for the summer and I help you figure out what you want to do?”
“Like, the whole summer?”
“The whole summer,” she says as if it’s already decided. “You were supposed to take six weeks off to travel with Tyler the turd anyway. I highly doubt your father would mind if you worked remotely from here in Coconut Beach. It’ll do you good.”
I snort at her calling him that now. Because it’s true. He is a turd. “Yeah. I was going to travel.”
“With the turd,” she adds.
“With the turd.” I laugh, shaking my head.
“The trash takes itself out.”
I giggle, the sound surprising and real. “Did you just quote Taylor Swift?”
She shrugs. “Girl is wise.”
I can’t remember the last time I laughed over a casual breakfast. Lately, breakfast for me has been a protein shake on the way home from the gym. My nervous system thanks me for this moment. It needed a vacation too.
“You can stay here,” she continues. “Work on getting back on your feet. No pressure, just breathe.”
Relief fills me, and the fear eases up a little.
I wrap my hands around my ceramic coffee mug and let the warmth seep into me like a hug.
Maybe this is exactly what I need. Where else can I go?
Back to the penthouse that I shared with Tyler?
Back to the job that I’ve already taken six weeks off from for my extended honeymoon?
The paparazzi are probably chomping at the bit to figure out what happened and where I disappeared to.
If I went back home, it would be a nightmare.
I would have no privacy. Here, at least nobody but Birdie seems to know me. She’s my safe spot.
I think it’s settled.
We finished breakfast, and I feel better. Nothing can fix a bad day better than a Birdie honey biscuit, and that’s proved true once again.
Birdie hums as we clear the table. I wash up our dishes and set them in the dishwasher. I’m still wrapped in that fragile feeling that everything is unstable.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. We’re going to yoga,” Birdie says brightly.
“We?” I blink. “I have never done yoga in my life.”
Of course, this woman isn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Shoes on,” she calls as she disappears down the hall, returning with two rolled mats strapped neatly together with matching water bottles, like she’s had this planned.
“Matching,” she says proudly. “Because I’m thrilled to have a new yoga partner.”
I stare at the pink and teal mats that are entirely too cheerful for this early morning, when I’m fighting a hangover.
“I don’t know how I feel about yoga,” I admit as I go to my room to throw on a sports bra. “I’m more of a cardio person, Birdie.”
“I know. You and your running, I swear. You wouldn’t catch me running. And if you did, you should find out what’s chasing me,” she says as I hear her filling up our water bottles.
I slide on flip-flops by the door where Birdie always has extras.
Birdie pats my arm. “You’re going to love yoga.”
“Have you ever done yoga?” I ask as I eye the brand-new mats.
“No, but we have a new class that Summer teaches, and I have been dying to try it out,” she says excitedly.
The beach is already bustling with people when we arrive.
We make our way past them to a quieter area where waves roll in steadily off in the distance.
The sand is warm as I slide my flip-flops off and feel it between my toes.
God, I missed this. When was the last time I felt the sun on me and the sand under my feet?
When was the last time I let myself feel anything?
Someone who looks like she could be a sister to me stands on her mat at the front of the class. She has long blonde hair like mine and green eyes, and she smiles as we walk up. “Hi, Birdie. Glad you two could make it.”
Birdie waves. “Hello. This is my Silvie.”
My Silvie. I smile at how she introduces me. She’s always done that for as long as I can remember.
The woman greets me with a wave. “I’m Summer. Welcome.”
I nod. “Good morning. Thank you, although, I’m not sure what I’m doing.”
She laughs. “You’ll do great. This is a beginner class.”
We roll out our mats and settle in. I lower myself onto mine carefully, head still a little fuzzy, body not quite sure what it thinks about stretching right now.
The class starts slowly. Breathing. Gentle movement. Summer’s voice is calm but playful, guiding without demanding.
At first, my mind fights it. Wants to wander. Wants to sprint. Wants to control something.
Then I look up.
The ocean stretches endlessly in front of me, sunlight dancing across the water. Waves rise and fall without asking permission. Without rushing. Without apologizing.
My breath starts to match their rhythm.
I wobble and laugh. I nearly tip over once, and Birdie squeezes my hand like we’re sharing a secret. No one is perfect, but everyone is relaxed and having fun.
By the end, my muscles hum, and my head feels clearer. Not fixed, but steadier and clearer. Wow. That was pretty amazing.
As we lie back on our mats, staring up at the sky, a quiet thought slips in. Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can rebuild myself one day at a time, right here, with sand between my toes and nothing expected of me except showing up.
For the first time since I ran, that feels like it’s possible. Showing up feels easy.