CHAPTER ELEVEN
A NYA
“I can’t believe this.” I locked my phone and dropped it on the nearby chair, frustrated by the latest text. My cheeks warmed in annoyance. “Nobody can help me with the float.”
Morgan stopped cutting open the inventory box. She helped me once a week at the store, and just like most Sundays, this one was slow. We hadn’t had a customer since noon. “Nobody? At all?”
“Not even Brianna,” I said with a sigh. She’d been my last choice despite being one of the more talented art students at the high school. Brianna was a bit of an airhead and not always on time. Still, I would have taken her help if she’d offered it.
But just like everyone else, she was busy. And another reminder that I should have asked them earlier than I did. Bad on me for assuming they’d do it again this year.
“I have no clue what I’m going to do.”
I tore into my box of books, a shipment of early reader editions that never seemed to sell well, but Gwen always insisted we carry. She couldn’t come into the store with any regularity, but she kept a sharp eye on all the orders and sales we made. These were a restock of novels it had taken almost a year to sell. I scooped as many as I could under my arm and crossed to the shelf near the front of the store.
“Any ideas?” I called out to Morgan as I placed the books in their spot.
She took a beat to reply. “No. I feel like using those art students was the best option.”
“I know.” I walked through the store and stopped at the entrance to the back room. “They were so creative, and I loved having their input on the project.”
I didn’t add that, in comparison to them, I was not creative at all . Sure, I’d worked in the theater and did a little bit of everything—building sets, sewing costumes, painting, trimming, lighting—but it was always under someone else’s vision, never mine. Some people had it , that extra spark that allowed them to fashion greatness out of a pipe cleaner or an old paper towel roll. Others had to follow. I had to follow.
I braced my hand on the doorframe. “So, I’m thinking—”
“Oh, no.” Morgan straightened from her work, a set of colorful, floppy children’s books in her hand. “I can guess where you’re going with this.”
“Your bulletin boards are epic,” I pointed out. “They loved the one you did at the country club last Christmas.”
“Just because the staff liked it doesn’t mean I’m talented.”
“You—”
“I’m good with a stapler and scissors.” Still cradling the books, she crossed her arms. “That’s it.”
“Please help me,” I begged. “We don’t have to make it crafty. But I can’t let Gwen down. She loved what I did last year, and she’s expecting something great again.” I stepped into the room. “And it’s huge advertising for the store.”
My friend regarded me but didn’t say anything, which I took as a good sign. At least she wasn’t outright saying no.
“I’ll pay you,” I said. “Whatever you want. You’ve been so good at helping me out here, anyway. You’re a godsend.”
She laughed. “I know when you’re buttering me up.”
I shrugged. “I bet we could come up with something awesome.”
“I’m not going to let you pay me.” Morgan placed the books she carried on top of a nearby table. “But okay, let’s talk this through. What’s the theme again?”
I smiled. She was going to do it. She was going to help me out. She didn’t have to say she’d already decided she would. “Lady Liberty.”
“Predictable.”
“Probably.” I crossed to the metal chair next to the stack of boxes and sank into it. Thankfully, this restocking shipment wasn’t much, and we were more than halfway done. “We could probably go any way with that.”
She took her water bottle from my desk and drank a long sip. “Maybe something with history?”
“That could work.”
“And something with, I don’t know, costumes? And some books?”
“I like that.” I spread my hand. “See, you’re already coming up with better ideas than me. I was stuck on the Statue of Liberty.”
“She could be made of them.” Morgan cocked her head, and I could almost see the wheels in her brain turning, see her slotting in ideas, building out the float in her mind. “We wouldn’t have to spend a lot of money.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Not if we get some of your theater contacts to help us. What about that guy that owns Standing Ovation?”
“He has a lot of great costumes,” I admitted.
“Maybe he’ll lend us a few things,” she said. “Especially some of the more historic costumes.”
“Worth a call.” I brightened. “See, I knew you couldn’t resist the challenge!”
She laughed. “I guess you’re right.”
I rose from the chair and picked up the sorted books she placed on the desk. “I’m glad we stayed friends after high school. And not just because you’re helping me.”
“Me too.”
“You were so nice to me when I moved back. I appreciated how you reached out when you saw my Instagram post about taking this job.”
“I was sorry we weren’t as connected as we used to be, so getting you back in town made me pretty happy.”
I smiled at that. I was sorry about it too. Morgan and I met in first grade, Mrs. Schiff’s class. She arranged the desks in pods, and we sat beside each other. It wasn’t long before we were close, spending the night at each other’s houses, playing on the same soccer team, writing notes we’d leave in the cubby holes of the other’s desk. We stayed that way through high school, but when I left for Kenyon College and she enrolled at the University of Cincinnati, we lost touch. That happened more then, back in the days before social media. I went a few years without talking to her.
But once we reunited, I remembered how much I missed her.
“I’m not leaving ever again.” I shrugged. “At least not until I win first place in the float contest.”
“You were always competitive,” she said.
She wasn’t wrong. Being competitive was a trait that could be good or bad, depending on the circumstances. Right then, it felt like a positive quality. Rocket fuel that was helping keep The Green Frog afloat. So many small businesses were going under all around us. Inflation, online shopping, crime, and more were all threats owners and managers had lost the will to keep fighting.
Not me.
Working at The Green Frog had given me life when I needed it most, an outlet to direct myself when my life in Chicago fell apart. I wasn’t going to let it down; I wasn’t going to let it die off in the face of setbacks. So what if last year’s plan for the parade wasn’t going to work this year? I’d adjust. I’d make changes. I’d make it work.
Always.