She sniffles and releases me, giving me one more looking-over. “It’s just…your hair. I’ve never seen the bed-head look on you before. When will you tell Mr. Coston?”
“I guess right now.”
Nicole bites her finger. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”
“Please. It’s not going to be a big deal. I’m replaceable.”
“He depends on you way more than you know.”
“Who knows? Now maybe he’ll have a chance at getting his coffee fixed right.”
I knock on his door, and he waves his hand, not bothering to look up. Then he holds out a finger indicating that he does not want to be interrupted, so I just stand there until he finishes writing. Finally, he stops and looks up. “Jessie!”
“Hello, Mr. Coston.”
He looks me up and down. “Don’t tell me your tire blew again.”
“Why would I tell you that?”
“You look like you’ve been under a car.”
“Oh. No, I haven’t.”
“Well, where have you been? You didn’t bother calling, and that is not like you.” He sips his coffee, eying me and waiting for an answer.
I take a step into his office. “Yes, I realize that, Mr. Coston. And I’m really sorry. I know this is highly unusual.”
“I’ll say. And to tell you the truth, not very well timed. I allow you to do some presenting at our weekly meeting and you’re very distracted. Now you’re showing up a half a day late for work. Normally when I give an employee more responsibility, they sort of rise to the challenge.” He glances at his BlackBerry then back at me, like he’s expecting a response.
“Yes sir. I completely understand. It’s just that, well, Mr. Coston, I hate real estate.”
“Huh?”
I realize it’s hard for Mr. Coston to comprehend life outside of real estate, but I give it a shot. “I think I’ve got other things inside me, you know? Things I’m more passionate about.”
“It took you ten years to figure that out?”
“I had some responsibilities that required me to have a stable job.”
He sets his BlackBerry down and leans on his desk, giving me his full attention. “That’s what I thought you were, Jessie. Stable. But I don’t know the person that I’ve seen over the past few days.”
I take another step forward. “I know I’ve been acting strangely, sir. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, and some, um, unusual circumstances to deal with.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m quitting.”
I’m truly shocked by his expression. It seems he is taking this awfully personally for a guy who until recently regarded me only for my coffee-retrieving skills.
I quickly add, “Of course, this is my two weeks’ notice. I’d never just leave you hanging.” Yes, I realize it would be way more dramatic to walk out, free as a bird, but I’m not wired to be that irresponsible.
Now he’s staring at his Starbucks cup, like it’s the one quitting. “I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“I’m starting my own business.”
He looks up, petrified. “Really? You?”
“Why?”
“You just don’t seem like the, well, the business-minded type.” He gives a sad little smile like that’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to say.
“I’ve learned a lot from you.” Gag.
But it works. He looks thoughtful now. “Well, okay. Whatever you say. But I’ll need you to stick around for about four more weeks.”
Under normal circumstances, I would nod and be agreeable, but instead I say, “I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I don’t want to.” What is wrong with me? It’s like I’m a hardened criminal already His office phone rings and I start to answer it, because that’s my job, but I accidentally knock over his coffee, which spills in a spectacularly messy way. I gasp and hurriedly start blotting with Kleenexes.
He shoos me away from him as he stands and backs away from his desk. He looks angry as he stares at me, but I don’t know which part of all this is making him angry.
After some more blotting, he regards me, looking partly resigned. “Well, Jessie, I realize I can’t stop you if your mind is made up, but if I had a job like yours with a future in a company like this, it would take an act of God to get me to quit.”
It is the end of the workday of my last day of work. Mr. Coston decided not to take my two weeks’ notice. Nicole has helped me box all my stuff. I leave written instructions for the next employee, things he, or more likely she, will need to know, such as line five doesn’t actually light up so you have to guess if someone is holding. Little things like that. I drop my jumbo roll of paper towels into the box. Nicole is taking down my shiny ten-year banner. She rolls it up and stuffs it in.
“Something to remember us by,” she says.
“Isn’t this incredible?” I whisper. “Me? Quitting? With nothing totally lined up. I mean, I feel like…like…”
“Brooklyn.”
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Well, don’t get too carried away. You are starting your own business, and that’s going to take a lot of faith.”
I smile. “I happen to have a lot more faith these days, so it’s perfect.”
A horn blares outside.
“Speaking of Brooklyn,” I say.
“I thought Blake was coming to get you.”
“Yeah. He, uh, was. Then he had an appointment. That’s what he called it. Probably a date.” I shrug like I don’t care. She helps me with one of my boxes as we head toward the front door. “I can’t believe you quit your job.”
“And broke into a church,” I say.
“Yes. And went to jail.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why you won’t give me details.”
“I will. Someday. I promise. It’s just that right now, I think I’ve given you all you can take.”
She laughs. “Yeah. I might need to digest this a little first.” We step outside to cooler temperatures, more like the middle of February should be. She hands me my box and wraps her cardigan around herself. “Good luck. Call me, you hear? I want to know how everything is going.”
“I will, I promise. And come by the shop next week, okay?”
We hug awkwardly around the box. I juggle my things down the stairs and have to knock on the window for Brooklyn to notice she needs to pop the trunk. I put my stuff back there, then get in the passenger seat, shifting trash around on the floorboard to make room for my feet. I wave at Nicole as she goes back in. Brooklyn starts to drive off but I say, “Wait.”
“What?”
“Hold on.”
“Did you forget something?”
No, I did not forget something. But I want to remember this moment…the moment that I walked away from everything that was secure and reliable in my life. Just walked away. Gone. Done with. Over.
“Can I go now?”
“Yes, fine. Go.”
We drive for a little bit. “So, um, how does it feel to be jobless?”
My chest tightens. “Very free.”
Brooklyn slaps the steering wheel. “I know! Isn’t it great? See what I’ve been talking about all these years?”
“Now all we have to keep us afloat is our business.”
A silence passes between us. I roll the window down and let the breeze tickle my face. But even with the cool breeze, I feel hot, so I crank on the air. I fan myself. I pull my hair up off my neck. The next thing I know I’ve grabbed a McDonald’s sack off the floor of the car and am hyperventilating my way into a stroke.
“I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!” It really feels like the bag is not giving me my air back. Brooklyn pulls over.
“Jess, calm down. Just breathe slowly.”
“I am! I can’t catch my breath! I think I’m having a heart attack. My chest hurts.”
“Do you want me to call 911? Or should I take you to the ER? Do you even have medical insurance anymore
?”
I look at her over the paper bag that is rapidly deflating and inflating. I’m pretty certain my insurance continues for a month or so, but right now nothing seems sure.
“I can take you to the free clinic. I go there all the time when I need my birth-control pills filled.”
I roll my eyes and try to get a grip. The last place I want to end up is at a clinic. I close my eyes and…pray God, please help me. Slowly, I feel myself calming down. Brooklyn looks tense.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“You’re not helping my confidence level here,” she says. “I mean, you’re actually making me feel like I might need to go out and get a real job.” She pulls back onto the road, driving slowly.
“Look, Brooklyn, give me a break, okay? This is a big thing for me.”
“I’m just not used to seeing you, like, freaked out.” She glances at me a few times.
I grip the door handle. “I’m not freaked out. I’m having a normal response to the job equivalent of jumping off a cliff. I’m fine now. Did you get the sign ordered?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?” I neatly fold the McDonald’s sack in my lap.
“I placed the order. I mean, that’s what you told me to do.”
“Turn here,” I say, pointing toward Waverly Street.
“Why?”
“Because we need to go to the grocery store. I hope you like ramen noodles.”
ten
“Come on, it’s time to hang the sign in the window!” Malia yells. “It just arrived!” Brooklyn is separating her eyelashes with a paper clip. I’m writing out a deposit slip. I drop everything and rush to Malia, who is at the front of the store.
“Thank goodness,” I say. “That took forever.” A whole week to be exact. In the meantime, we’d been arranging our little corner in Malia’s.
We stand at the large plate-glass window that has been rearranged to include fewer floral arrangements and knickknacks to make room for our sign. Malia is pulling the sign out of the box, but it takes the three of us to get it out. Malia threads the hook with hearty rope, and we hoist it up.
Together the three of us steady and secure it.
“Come on!” Malia squeals. “Let’s go outside and take a look!”
We file outside and stand in front of her store. It actually takes my breath away. Carved from wood, with fancy lettering, it’s painted in vivid, romantic colors: Stone Serenades.
“I like it,” Brooklyn says. “It really stands out here in the window.”
“It does!” Malia says, squeezing both of us into sideways hugs. “I can remember when both of you were born! Now look! Your own business.”
I smile, but inside I’m quivering. Maybe it’s excitement. Or nerves. Or both. I don’t know. It just seems strange for my name to be on something. For me to own it. A feeling of pride rushes over me. Momentarily.
“You okay, hon?” Malia asks me.
“Yes, fine. Exciting, right? Really, really—really!—exciting.”
Malia checks her watch. “Time to open up shop! You girls ready?”
Brooklyn and I look at each other and grin. “Ready!”
Two hours later, I’ve rearranged our little area eight times. We have business cards, fliers, a cute floral arrangement to warm the counter up, and three different forms for our men to fill out. But no men. I decide to lay three feather pens out for them to use, just for the sake of irony. If a feather pen can’t write for me, at least it can write for someone. I can only assume God sees and appreciates the selflessness of it all.
Brooklyn has spent the last hour redoing her makeup and separating her lashes, again, one by one with a paper clip. She’s now studying herself in a tiny compact mirror, pushing at the skin under her eyes. “Seriously. Six pounds of groceries could fit in these bags. Do I look old?”
I look to Malia, who is sitting behind her counter reading a Harlequin novel. “Malia, does my sister need to be committed to the convalescent home?”
“I hear there are a lot of single men there.” Malia smiles, then goes back to reading.
“Funny,” Brooklyn huffs, snapping her compact closed. “Look, it’s going to take me awhile to get on this new schedule. I mean, eight o’clock in the morning? It’s the crack of freakin’ dawn.”
Malia and I exchange knowing glances.
“And where are the customers, exactly?” Brooklyn asks. “And why isn’t there a coffee shop closer?”
“It’s going to take some time,” I say. “A lot of this is going to be word of mouth. Right, Malia?”
“That’s how my business grew. A few loyal customers recommended me to their friends.”
“We just need to make a good impression,” I say, “so that’s why you, flopped over the counter like you’re dead, are worrying me.”
Brooklyn groans. “As soon as that bell chimes, I promise I’ll be chipper and lovely. Until then, let me rest.”
I check my watch. “This is probably a good time to show you this. I special ordered it for you.”
Brooklyn’s head jolts up. “A gift?”
“Not exactly.” I pull out a box from under the counter, open it, and remove a stuffed bunny suit. Holding it up, I wiggle it to try to get another expression to come to Brooklyn’s face. But it’s total deadpan.
“What is that?” she asks, her voice low.
“It’s a bunny suit.”
“I can see that. Halloween is months away, and usually I go as a witch.”
“Look, we need some gimmicks, okay? Something to get people to come in. A cute girl in a bunny suit, standing on the corner of the—”
“I don’t think so!” Brooklyn says, grabbing the suit and throwing it on the counter like it’s a real rodent. “And why would you buy a bunny suit? Shouldn’t we have a cupid or a heart or something?”
“Look, money is tight and the bunny was on clearance. Just hear me out,” I say as Malia comes over to see what’s going on. “You’re an actress, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“And the one thing that Gary said drew you to him was that you were willing to tackle tough roles?”
Brooklyn puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. “Uh-huh…”
“This is your moment to shine, Brook. I mean, our business depends on it. We have to bring in customers or we’ll have no income. Do you get what I’m saying?”
She is standing there, arms crossed now, not saying a word.
“Let me put it to you this way. If we don’t get some customers coming in, you’re going to be forced to buy Cover Girl makeup and use hair products from Wal-Mart.”
Growling, she snatches the bunny suit off the counter. “Fine!” she says. “But I’m not doing this all day!”
I nod my head energetically. “A couple of hours, tops. When the traffic is heavy out there. And listen, I heard this is how Jessica Simpson got discovered.” Totally making that up, but I gotta feed her a bone. It seems to work.
“I can play it up, believe me. Before we know it, we’ll have a ton of gorgeous guys coming in. Now, can I take my lunch break, please?”
I check my watch. It’s barely after ten. “Yeah. Go on. I’ll hold down the fort and try to keep all these gorgeous men at bay, okay?”
Brooklyn grabs her purse. “Not that I’m complaining, but opening this business is no way to remedy singleness. Every single gorgeous man who enters these doors is going to be in love with someone else.”
I watch Brooklyn fly out the front door. I sit back down on my stool, pondering her words as I stroke the bunny suit. I actually hadn’t thought of that.
Terrific. So I’m in a life-or-death-and-taxes job that I took on to be obedient to God, and there’s absolutely no chance of meeting my Prince Charming.
I realize I’m choking the bunny. I need some dark chocolate. Now.
I know I am sleeping well when I open my eyes and I’m on my back. Any other position tends to signal some sort of nightmare or a battle with stress-induce
d insomnia. This morning I am on my back, but for some reason, my eyes fly open like I’ve just experienced something terrifying.
“Ah!” I scramble backward and grab my sheets. My head hits the wall.
“Morning, sunshine.” God smiles.
I catch my breath—only to feel slightly embarrassed to be caught sleeping in. My guilty conscience is kicking in again. “It’s Sunday. My day to sleep in.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince myself or Him.
“Correction. Your day to go to My house. Legally this time.” He sits on the edge of my bed. “The pastor dropped the charges and has been praying for you. The least you can do is say hello.”
I groan and cover my head with the sheet. When I peek out, He’s still there, tapping my purple pen against the nightstand He’s perched on. Yes. He’s actually sitting on my nightstand, His legs curled up to His chest, holding the clock, the only thing on the table.
“I had a dream about You last night.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t pretend You don’t know everything.”
He laughs. He actually gets my jokes. That’s funny. “So you’re talking about the one where you want to have Me incarcerated?”
I nod.
“And you’re the judge, plaintiff, and lawyer?”
“Uh, yes.” I throw the sheets off, and my feet hit the floor.
He hops off the nightstand and starts making my bed. “I kind of liked the part where I, acting as My own defense attorney, dump all those purple pens out on the table as evidence.”
“Yeah. Hysterical.” I wiggle my feet into my slippers and move to the other side of the bed to help Him. “I am upset. You’ve put me in a position of meeting only unavailable men.”
“Nothing is impossible with Me. Now, come on. Time to get ready.” He gestures toward the bathroom. I go in and grab my toothbrush.
“You know,” I call through the open door, “it didn’t go so well at the shop. We didn’t have any customers. Not a single one. We could use some help, especially since all this was Your idea. Did I mention I won’t have health insurance anymore?”
God pokes His head around the corner. “Listen, I have to go. Sunday school is starting.” He smiles. “I’m just messing with you. I can be in more than one place at a time.” I laugh. “But I should let you get ready. Make sure you say hello to Pastor Landry got it?”
Never the Bride Page 10
