Chapter 25
25
Back in high school, Elsie DIDN’T KNOW how to talk to Ginny after they asked her to the dance.
They were quiet all the time, and Elsie was pretty sure it was because they were sad, and she hated that she’d made them sad, but she didn’t know how to fix it. She couldn’t tell them she’d wanted to go to the dance with them. She couldn’t explain the reason she’d said no. Because Ginny could convince her of anything. If Elsie admitted that she’d wanted to say yes, that she wanted to kiss Ginny again, Ginny would convince Elsie it was okay.
But it wasn’t. All the reasons Elsie had for saying no still applied. She couldn’t kiss Ginny because she couldn’t lose Ginny as a friend.
Even if it kind of felt like she might anyway. Ginny was quiet and sad and never came over anymore. Elsie kept calling, texting, walking straight into the Holtz home like she always had. Like nothing had changed. She didn’t want anything to change.
But it had.
Ginny even dropped out of the school-sponsored spring break trip to France. Maybe it didn’t count as dropping out because they hadn’t confirmed they would go or paid any money or anything, but it was all Elsie had talked about first semester. They were supposed to go together.
Instead, Elsie went alone. Not truly alone—there were chaperones and twelve other kids from various French classes—but it felt like it.
The trip was, objectively, amazing. They saw Paris. Elsie ate croissants by the Seine, went to the top of the Eiffel Tower, climbed the steps to Sacré-C?ur. Two girls from her French class tried to get her to go to the catacombs with them, but underground tunnels full of skulls? No, thank you.
Elsie would’ve gone if Ginny had been the one asking, she knew.
After Paris, they took a bus to Chenonceaux and Saint-Malo. They saw the French countryside. Castles. The sea.
Elsie missed Ginny like she would a limb.
She sent them Snapchats of everything. Ginny responded with wow or a thumbs-up emoji or a picture of whatever they were in front of at the moment—the TV in their living room or their grandpa’s old car or just the wall of their bedroom. They always said something self-deprecating with the pictures, something about how their spring break wasn’t as exciting, but Elsie would rather stare at the wall of Ginny’s room than see the Loire Valley if it meant she got to be next to Ginny.
The trip was the longest Elsie and Ginny had been apart since they’d met. Elsie didn’t text Ginny that she was back. She didn’t even go inside her house after her parents drove her home from the airport. She marched across the street, straight through the Holtzes’ front door. Ginny was in the kitchen. Elsie’s body connected with theirs hard enough they almost fell off the stool where they sat. Elsie kept them up, arms wrapped around their shoulders.
It felt like their first real hug since Ginny had asked Elsie to the dance.
“I fucking missed you,” Elsie said. She didn’t have to say she meant it for more than the last week.
“Missed you, Els,” Ginny said.
“I’m never going anywhere without you again.”
“Except, like, the bathroom, I hope.”
“You know what I mean.” She was still hugging Ginny, sort of sideways, so Ginny had to clutch her arm to hug back. “You’re stuck with me for life, Holtz.”
“Works for me.”
They were back to normal, after that.
The week after the honeymoon is worse than that spring break. It’s the longest week of Elsie’s life. It’s embarrassing, how much she thinks about Ginny. She doesn’t know how to fill her time. She used to text them during lulls at the store, get lunch with them every day, and spend some evenings together, too. They’d text through episodes of MasterChef , and Elsie kept them updated on Real Housewives , even though Ginny refused to watch a single minute. Elsie had required daily foster dog pictures.
Ending her engagement with Derrick was the equivalent of blowing up her life. She had to find a new place to live. She had to explain to her family, her friends, everyone—she had to decide how honest she was going to be, how vulnerable. She had to figure out what she wanted on her own. And that was all fine. It was scary, but she could do it, because she had Ginny by her side.
Now she’s got nothing.
She’s got work, and going home to her parents’ house. The sun sets before six—not that Elsie feels any different when it’s light out. Everything is dark and gray, and Elsie spends most of her time when she’s not at the store burrowed in her childhood bed. She’s not quite so pathetic as to take her meals there, not to mention that her mother would simply never allow it.
At dinner one night, with no warning, her mom says, “Where has Ginny gone off to? I bet they could help you out of this funk.”
Elsie’s heart clenches. Before the fight, before Elsie saw the email, the two of them had talked about telling her parents. They’d talked about what they would say. They’d talked about how her parents might not be surprised.
Her mom knows Ginny is what Elsie needs.
Ginny has always been Elsie’s foundation. Her bedrock. She can be herself with Ginny, in a way she can’t with many other people. Or at least it doesn’t feel like she can. Ginny knows her, and she knows Ginny. They fit. They work. Elsie doesn’t know how to make herself work without Ginny in her life.
That was true before the trip, but it’s even worse now. In Santa Lupita, Ginny made her feel like anything was possible. Like the two of them together was possible, yes, but it was more than that. Ginny made Elsie feel like what she wanted mattered, like she could—and should—speak up for herself. They focused on her. They listened to her.
Not like Elsie’s family, who talk over her and ignore her ideas and always know what’s best for her. Her mom doesn’t even actually pause for an answer after asking about Ginny; she just keeps talking about Elsie’s life like she isn’t at the table. Elsie doesn’t mind, in this case. Not like she wants to try to explain where Ginny has gone off to.
In other cases, like with the store, Elsie minds. She tries to act like it doesn’t matter, tries to believe it doesn’t matter, but it does. The store is one of her favorite places, but it still hurts to see that sign every time she starts and ends a shift. A standing reminder that her family doesn’t care what she thinks. After her dad shut down her brand refresh idea so hard, she decided she wouldn’t share any of her ideas unless she was asked.
She hasn’t shared an idea since.
Why doesn’t she? What’s the worst that can happen? Her dad might say something mean to her? Oh fucking well. He can’t make her life worse than it already is.
She’s got nothing else to lose. Her engagement is over, her independence is gone, her best friend has disappeared. There’s nothing stopping her from standing up to her dad.
There wasn’t necessarily anything before, either, Elsie just knows better now. She’s no longer fine with fine, not okay with okay, and she’s not okay anyway. Everything feels bad, and going along with the status quo feels worse. This, at least, is something she can improve.
Danielle has taken over the day-to-day finances of the store. Elsie calls her Thursday night while their parents are out to dinner.
In Santa Lupita, Elsie could have whatever she wanted as long as she asked. Here, she isn’t going to ask.
Danielle picks up the phone. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Elsie says. She planned to dive right in with no preamble, but Danielle talks first.
“How many times do I have to tell you to text before you call me? I always think someone died.”
“No one died.”
“Yeah, I figured that out from you not crying when you said hi, but seriously—can’t you text first?”
“Sure,” Elsie says. She doesn’t care. “I’m gonna look into updating the store’s signage.”
There’s a beat of silence before Danielle says, “Dad finally said okay?”
“I’m not asking Dad.” Elsie imagines her older sister’s eyebrows going up. “We’ve been setting aside money for this for almost two years. I’m going to use some of it—all of it, even, since he never let me set aside very much to begin with.”
“He didn’t,” Danielle agrees, “but he wasn’t actually in charge of the budget. So you have more than you might think.”
“What?”
“I can tell him I need your help with—I don’t know—some tax stuff or something, to get you off the register and give you time to research.”
Elsie doesn’t understand. “What?” she says again.
“I’ve always been on your side in this,” Danielle says. “Updating our brand is long overdue.”
This is the first Elsie’s hearing this opinion from her sister. She’s tempted to say what? a third time.
“Why have you never said anything before?”
Danielle lets out a short sigh. “I don’t have time to work on it myself, nor to convince Dad. Never thought saying anything would make much difference.”
It would’ve. It would’ve made a difference to Elsie to have known she wasn’t alone in this.
“I would’ve appreciated the backup,” Elsie says. Last week, she would’ve let this go. But not today. “It always seemed like no one cared what I thought.”
Danielle is silent on the end of the line again, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry. I bet all us kids agree with you. Dad’s just stuck in his ways. And obviously he knows what he’s doing well enough to keep the store going for decades, but he’s not always right.”
She makes it sound so simple. It is that simple, Elsie knows—convincing her father is what’s complicated.
“I’ll talk to Dad,” Danielle says.
“He’s not going to just agree to this.”
“No, I mean—to get you time off the floor,” she clarifies. “Mom can cover the register. Just let me know how much time you’ll need.”
Elsie has no idea. She’s never done this before. She’s figuring it out as she goes.
“Gimme a shift to start, and we can go from there.”
“I’ll text Dad tonight. We’ll find a time for you to stay home and do whatever you need to do.”
Elsie swallows. “Perfect. Thanks.”
There’s a clatter in the background on Danielle’s side of the phone, followed by a wail. “Jesus, what is my child doing?” She huffs. “You need anything else?”
“I’m good.”
“’Kay. I’ll text Dad after I make sure Declan doesn’t need stitches.”
She hangs up.
Elsie breathes. She’d been ready for a fight. Ready to insist this was going to happen, to demand it. Now she just… gets to do what she wants.
Alone in the quiet of her childhood bedroom, she can admit to herself:
It’s terrifying.