Chapter 1 Faith
ONE
FAITH
After a long day at the office, I turn into my driveway as my tires crunch over the leftover snow from a couple of nights ago. It’s a Cape Cod-style home with natural shaker siding, a farmer’s porch and a two-car garage—which is convenient tonight.
I pull into my garage and finally take a much-needed deep breath when I slide my car into park and turn off the ignition.
I suppose being the boss has its perks, like leaving early—something I took full advantage of today.
As my heated seats begin to lose their comfort, I gather my bag and mug and head inside.
I flip on the light that illuminates the stark-white kitchen with sparkling countertops and gleaming hardwoods.
My great-aunt left me this solid built home in Saxville in her will a few years back.
Growing up in this small lakeside town in New England, it was perfect for all my college friends to move into for a couple years after graduating.
When they decided to purchase their own homes, it was time to have some updates completed, especially the kitchen.
I love walking in and feeling like a blanket of love wraps around me. It’s my safe place.
My bag hits the island with a thud, and I remember my laptop is in there and hope I didn’t break anything.
I let out a long sigh, knowing I need to get back into work-mode before I throw the towel in for the night.
There isn’t much to do, but I’ll make a few notes then get ready for tonight’s dinner.
Being a therapist and running my practice is a dream come true. The amount of paperwork I have as a therapist would probably come as a shock to some. Thankfully, we’re mostly digital, but there are still notes to be compiled—probably one of the most tedious tasks of the job.
I don’t think there will be a time when I don’t have clients, but I am working toward decreasing them to focus on my transition to the practice owner.
I’m so grateful for the amazing staff. They’ve done a great job migrating some of my clients to other therapists, and I can count on them to get the job done.
My clients are incredibly important to me, so if they aren’t quite ready for the transition to a new therapist, my staff can pick up on it and we can postpone the transfer.
As I sit at the island and stare at the files, I’d rather slide into comfy pajamas, turn up the heat and snuggle on my couch to watch a rom-com.
I’m a total introvert who loves her alone time and romantic movies.
There’s no time for that at the moment. I take my scrunchie off my wrist and toss my hair up into a messy bun.
I’m ready to get this done.
Since music helps me focus and write my client notes, I fumble around in my bag and snag my phone. I find the Client Note playlist and then press play. I shake off the day and write my notes. The faint scent of my apple pie candle lingers from this morning.
As I finish the last of my clients’ notes, my heart jumps out of my chest as my three best friends Kendall, Lane, and Addison barge through the front door. I lost track of time. When they step into the kitchen, they stare at me—probably wondering what I’m doing.
“Why aren’t you ready?” Kendall asks with her arms outstretched.
She is the most outgoing of the four of us and can be opinionated and pushy, but I love her.
Let me reiterate—we love her. When I needed someone the most, she was there for me back in that first year of college.
Nothing has changed. She is my ride or die friend with fiery red hair that demands attention everywhere she goes.
Her CrossFit body, which everyone is jealous of, and piercing green eyes that are full of life and energy, only amplify her even more.
“I really don’t want to go!” I slouch in my chair.
“Too bad.” Kendall raises her eyebrows. “It’s girls’ night, and you need to spill about your date with Colin. The group text you sent had zero juicy deets.”
The date was my admin’s brilliant idea. She thought we’d be a match. By the time I left, it felt like my ears were bleeding. Let’s just say there won’t be a second date. I really don’t want to rehash it, but I guess that’s what I’ll be doing later.
“You are impossible.” I nudge her shoulder and give her a fake smile. “Giving you a play-by-play of my date will be my pleasure.” I dramatically curtsy.
Kendall’s heart is always in the right place, but sometimes I don’t want to share about my awful dating life.
It feels like I’ll never find the love of my life, and of course, my mind instinctively drifts back to Jude—a rare breed.
It drives me crazy that I do that. Whenever I think of my ideal guy, it’s my ex who I picture.
Kendall taps the face of her Apple watch. “You have ten minutes to get ready because we’re leaving.”
I love my friends and spending time with them. When I’m with them, it always ends up being just what I need, so I suck it up and get ready.
“We have reservations!” Addison yells as she brushes her fingers through her light brown, short hair and then throws her thin frame on my couch. She groans about the possibility of being late for our reservation.
There’s a tinge of red on her cheeks, probably from her annoyance that I’m not ready.
When you are on time, you are late, according to her.
It’s been a constant battle since we met in college.
She would leave me behind if I couldn’t get my act together and be ready on time.
Nowadays, she’s a little more lax, but not much.
Despite her being a homebody too, she’s always lively when we’re all together.
I scurry to my bedroom, swapping my black pants for the jeans draped over the chair.
In the full-length mirror, I catch a glimpse of my hip tattoo.
When I see it, I pause for a few moments to think about the vivid reminder of its significance.
I kiss my fingers and gently touch it, honoring the moment.
As I finish pulling on my jeans, I turn slightly to catch a glimpse in the mirror.
My blue eyes are bright with excitement as the denim hugs my body, accentuating my curves.
Thankfully, I’m slightly taller than average height.
Otherwise, I’d look more plump than curvy.
And those squats are definitely paying off.
As I search for a top to wear, my favorite cozy sweatshirt catches my eye, tempting me to put it on. I consider it briefly but opt for my black sweater. Pulling it over my head leaves me with a wild bun and hair sticking out everywhere.
I head to the bathroom to fix it. When I open the drawer to my vanity, I rummage around for a hair clip and find one at the bottom.
I’m always searching for those suckers. I pull out the scrunchie, dampen my brush, and then run it through my shoulder length, brown hair with blonde highlights, smoothing it down.
The clip works perfectly as I twist my hair up and secure it.
A swipe of clear lip gloss and a touch of mascara refreshes my makeup.
I feel a surge of energy, a complete turnaround from just ten minutes ago.
Thinking about tonight’s dinner, I smile.
I see the image of us ladies having dinner, replacing the one of me on my couch alone, and I finally feel ready to go out and in record time.
The boots I want to wear are by my door, so I scoop them up and put them on. They thud loudly, as I head downstairs. You could hear me coming from a mile away. I make my way through the house to the living room where my friends wait for me.
“You’re in a better mood. We won’t stay out too long, and then you can come back and cozy up in your favorite blanket for the rest of the night.” Lane taps me on the back to reassure me as we all hop into Kendall’s car. If I ever need to be comforted, Lane is my girl.
She’s like the mom of our friend group—very level-headed and hardly ever gets upset. Her patience is off the charts, and I guess you’d have to be when you’re a kindergarten teacher. Not sure how she does it, but those kids are her life.
She sits in the backseat with me and leans in to whisper, “You know you can say no to her, right?”
It’s rare I say no to Kendall. “It’s fine. I’ll continue to bust her anyway. Colin was a shit show and we all can have a good laugh on me.”
“Your hair looks amazing tonight. Kinda jealous,” I say, staring at Lane’s wavy blonde hair.
“I washed it,” she says, deadpan.
We break out into laughter. All she has to do is wash her hair, and it looks fabulous. I need to wash my hair, blow dry it, and use the straightener to get my hair to look halfway decent. Otherwise, my hair looks like a frizzy mess.
“Isn’t that convenient?” I roll my eyes playfully.
Addison connects her phone to the car, and our playlist lights up the screen. Next thing I know, we are singing along to Macklemore’s “Glorious.” Our hands are up in the air, and our hips are moving in our seats. The energy in the car is contagious as we drive the thirty minutes to the restaurant.
By the time we swerve into the line for valet at Buena Vista, a very popular Italian restaurant that opened a few months ago, all of us are ready for a great time.
This frigid cold air in February is ridiculous, and the last thing we want to do is walk to the restaurant from the parking lot.
After a few minutes, the valet opens the doors to let us out.
We all get out and walk to the entrance.
Once we step in, the rush of warm air hits our faces, along with a mixture of fresh bread and pasta.
The hostess—a young girl dressed in all black—greets us.
“Do you have reservations?”
“Yes, we do. Under Kendall.”