But we’d been deathly slow all day thanks to a steady, chilly rainstorm hanging low over White Peaks, and weak sales always set me on edge. I guess people felt they could only get metaphysical in good weather or something. In any case, the lack of foot traffic had me tightening my shoulders and searching my brain for ways to bring in more business. There had to be something. Reese, one of the owners, had sensed my tension earlier and asked about it, but I put it down to missing Caressa. Which I did, but that wasn’t the real reason I’d been stressing. The truth is, I don’t want to lose this job.
I’ve been with Inner Power for two years now, and I can’t think of another place in White Peaks I’d rather work. But if we kept having low sales and zero foot traffic, there was a distinct possibility Reese and Kelly might have to let me go. Not that they’d ever mentioned that, but we studied economics in school. I’m not blind to the realities of small business.
I don’t know…maybe I was overreacting.
Maybe I wasn’t.
Maybe I needed to calm down. Meditate. Do a yoga pose, or have a little of that green tea extract myself.
Still, I glanced out the front display window, silently willing customers to simply open the door. Was that so hard? The store is cozy and clean, filled with treasures. Once they come in, I guarantee I can sell them just about anything we stock. Sales, as it turns out, is one of my latent talents. I guess people tend to trust earnest, freckle-faced, redheaded nerd girls. Or maybe they can sense how much I believe in our products. I don’t know.
The rain continued to pelt the street, turning everything a hazy gray. It pinged on the roof, steamed the front door. And no one came in. Dang.
With a sigh, I picked up the ostrich feather duster intending to keep myself busy by making the shop sparkle. Anything’s better than sitting here fretting about the possibility of impending unemployment.
I headed toward the display of crystals, and that’s when I saw her. Jennifer Hamilton.
Again.
She sat on that same park bench where I’d seen her the first time, the day she’d told me she was pregnant. Today, she sat hunched in an oversized gray hoodie she wouldn’t be caught dead in normally. But obviously nothing was normal in her world at the moment. She didn’t have on her usual full face of makeup, and her chunky blond highlights were growing out, exposing a wide alley of mousy brown straight up the middle of her head. Sopping wet at this point. She looked so not Jennifer. So alone, and it made me sad. Maybe she wanted some alone time, but come on. Out there? The rain was really was coming down.
Ever have one of those internal struggle moments?
Count me in, right then.
A pang of that signature Meryl Morgenstern compassion made me forget that, oh yeah, she hated me and my best friends. I tucked the feather duster under one arm and bit my pinky nail, warring with myself over the whole convoluted situation. I didn’t know what to do. Fact: Jennifer Hamilton is Lila’s archenemy now that Lila and Dylan are an item. Not only that, but Jennifer has treated me like a leper since the first day of middle school for absolutely no reason other than the fact that I don’t fit her mold of someone “worthy.” I’d count that as fact number two.
Still, she’s pregnant, friendless, and sitting outside in a chilly rainstorm hanging her head. Dejected. Lost.
Moral dilemma.
What was I to do? Turn away? Reach out? The whole thing was awful.
Some might say her predicament is pure karma in action, that Jennifer deserves what’s befallen her for all the evil things she’s perpetrated over the years. Maybe so, but I just can’t buy into that kind of nanner-nanner meanness. I don’t believe in paybacks. What good do they do?
It only took me a moment to get clear on my decision.
“Reese?” I called toward the back as I set the duster aside and grabbed my rain jacket off of the coat rack adjacent to the door. Reese and her partner (in life and business) Kelly had started Inner Power together, and I loved them like second moms, even though they aren’t old enough to be my moms really.
“Yeah, hon?” The familiar rhythm of the adding machine permeated the shop as background. Reese is old-fashioned when it comes to tallying up sales. So cool.
“I’m going to run outside for a minute if that’s okay.”
“It’s pouring, you know.”
“I have a slicker,” I said. I crossed to the back of the shop and peeked my head into the office. “I’ll watch the front door. If any customers show up, I’ll follow them in so you don’t have to interrupt your work, okay?”
She smiled. Her long dark hair was wound into a messy knot at the back of her head with an ink pen stuck through it. “That’s fine. Try and stay dry.”
“Right,” I replied in a wry tone.
The bell jangled over the door as I exited. I grimaced at the tiny bullets of rain that immediately pelted my face, then lifted the hood of my bright yellow slicker over my head and tucked my chin into my chest. The pavement had that chalky rain smell, which I usually loved, but to be honest, right then I couldn’t enjoy it. I was concerned for Jennifer. I was concerned that Lila would hate me for being concerned.
Concern, concern, concern.
I know, I’m a sap. A doormat. A sucker.
Bottom line, Jennifer hates me, so why should I care?
That was the Great Imponderable.
The thing is, if I were in her predicament—not that I ever would be—I’d want someone to reach out. Period. Her fair-weather friends obviously didn’t want anything to do with her now that her life had gone from wild popularity to sad statistic, and she didn’t seem to have anyone else. I mean, her mom wasn’t even sitting there with her. It just seemed so wrong to me.
After looking both ways at the curb, I jogged across the desolate street, my shoes slapping up sprays of water that soaked my socks and the ankles of my jeans. On the other side, I sat on the bench next to Jennifer without saying a word, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. I huddled into myself, stuffing my cold hands into my pockets. For a minute, we stayed that way, tight from the chill, awkward from our not-so-pleasant history.
Finally, she sniffed. “What do you want?”
“Are you okay?”
She huffed, sounding utterly miserable. “Yeah, right. I’m just great. I’m knocked up, exhausted, and my boobs totally hurt. Senior year is ruined, my parents are so utterly disappointed with me that you’d think it was World War Three in our house, and my so-called friends are talking about me behind my back. I’m just peachy, Mary,” she said, with heavy sarcasm. “My life is one big F-ing party.”
A renewed tense silence stretched between us. I guess it had been a pretty inane question now that I thought about it, but she didn’t have to be so bitchy. “Meryl,” I said, finally.
“Huh?”
“My name is Meryl, not Mary.”
“Oh.”
No apology, just more silence. I cleared my throat. “So, what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“About the baby.”
She hiked one shoulder. “Have it. I guess. What else is there to do? You can’t exactly clench up and keep it in.”
I didn’t feel like it was my place to point out all the various options. This whole conversation was weird enough already. “Is everything progressing…normally?”
“I guess.” She glanced over at me then, her narrowed eyes laced with suspicion.
I expected her to grill me about invading her personal business, but she didn’t. I remained silent, giving her the next opportunity to speak.
“You work there?” she asked, hiking her chin toward the pretty purple façade of Inner Power.
“Yes.”
She studied me from head to toe. “You’re not a witch, are you? I heard that was some kind of a witch store.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling. Obviously she’d never been inside, but then again, why would she? We
didn’t carry designer purses. “It’s a metaphysical shop. There’s a Wiccan section, but there’s more to the shop than that. It’s very cool, actually.”
She nodded, then crinkled her nose. “Yeah, but isn’t it run by a couple of lesbians?”
Okay, line crossed. The back of my neck prickled at her judgmental tone, and I stiffened, immediately second-guessing my decision to be the bigger person and come out here. Pick on me all you want, but don’t judge my friends. “Reese and Kelly have been together since college. They’re one of the most loving, stable couples I know. Yeah, they’re two women,” I added, in a snappish tone. “So what? This is the twenty-first century, in case you haven’t noticed.”
My uncharacteristic lashing out seemed to subdue her. After a moment, she said, “I suppose you’re right. I’m not exactly in the position to question other people’s choices, am I?” She shrugged. “After all, if I’d chosen to be a lesbian instead of a post-breakup slut, I wouldn’t be in this predicament, would I?”
I didn’t bother launching into the “homosexuality isn’t a choice” lecture. That’s what I believe, but she could believe whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t bash people I care about in my presence. “You’re not a slut just because you happen to be pregnant,” I said instead. Speaking of judgmental. I hate the crap society piles on women. What about the guy? Was he a slut?
“Well, you’re the only person who thinks that,” she muttered.
I took a deep breath. “What are you doing out here?”
A beat passed. “Sitting.”
Queen of the obvious, this girl. She was shivering violently, I noticed, and her fingers were white. Her normally perfect manicure consisted of chipped purple polish and nails bit to the quick. My (irritating) compassionate side returned. I silently forgave her for the ignorant comments about Reese and Kelly, even though my annoyance about it still lingered. With a sigh of resignation, I said, “You know, it’s cold out here.”
“Gee, really? You should be a meteorologist.”
My face flamed again, but I told myself her snotty tone was a self-protective measure and ignored it as best I could. “Well, if you’re just sitting, why don’t you come inside the shop?”
“What do you mean?”
“There are some comfy chairs. I’ll make tea. You can stay as long as you like and no one will bother you. We’re that kind of shop. Inclusive.”
“Are you serious?”
I nodded. “You know us lesbian witches. Sweet to the core,” I said, in as sarcastic a tone as I could ever manage, which wasn’t saying much. Lila, now she was president of the Snark and Sarcasm Society. I wasn’t even an associate member.
Jennifer flicked a surprised glance my way. “Are you—? Oh. No.” She shook off the notion. “You’re dating that Bosnian guy.”
“They actually name their children in Bosnia now.”
“Huh?”
I sighed. Subtlety was totally lost on Jennifer. “His name is Ismet, not ‘that Bosnian guy,’ and yeah, I was only kidding. But you’re more than welcome to come in the shop. Everyone is,” I added, hoping she’d get the gist that we didn’t discriminate, and maybe she should follow suit.
She hesitated, lifting her eyes to study the storefront again.
“Look, it’s just an offer. I can understand you wanting to get out of the house, be alone, but there’s no reason for you to stay outside.”
After a moment, she asked in a low tone, “Why?”
“Um, because it’s pouring rain?”
“No. I mean, why are you being nice to me?” She met my gaze steadily.
Good question, but unexpected. “I—”
“Face it, we both know I’ve never been the least bit nice to you. In fact, I’ve treated you like dirt for years.”
True enough. A triumphant thrill rushed through me from the simple fact of her acknowledging what a witch (ha ha) she’s always been, but I maintained my composure. And I told her the truth. “Because you’re alone. You’re sad. And you’re sitting in a downpour right in front of the shop where I can see you.” I paused. “I know you don’t like me, and that’s fine. I have all the friends I need. But, like you said, I also know what it feels like to constantly be treated like dirt.”
Her face reddened.
“I can’t stand by and watch you shivering and miserable out here.” I spread my arms. “Think what you will about me, but I’m not a mean person like that.”
“No,” she said, softly. Almost too softly for me to hear. “You aren’t.”
Those three simple words melted my iciness. I jostled her shoulder with mine. “So, what do you say?”
She shrugged, but her voice came out watery sounding, like she could barely hold back tears. “Whatever.”
I stood, then waited.
After a moment, Jennifer stood, too.
As we crossed the street, curiosity got the better of me. I asked, “So, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did you mean what you said about…um…your boobs really hurting?”
“Pain like you wouldn’t believe,” she said, rolling her eyes toward the sky. “Imagine pre-period soreness and then magnify it about a hundred times. And they’re getting ugly stretch marks on the sides, which is probably more than you wanted to hear. I guess it’s a normal part of pregnancy.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. The pain keeps me awake at night. That and the peeing every five seconds. This baby stuff just…sucks.”
I nodded. “Have you thought about adoption?”
Her eyebrow furrowed. “Why would I adopt? I’m already pregnant.”
I laughed that time—just couldn’t help it. The Society of the Profoundly Obtuse has a poster child, apparently, and her name is Jennifer Hamilton. “No. I meant about giving the baby up for adoption.”
“Oh. Duh. Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Because of…the boob thing?”
“That, and the constant worry.” She shrugged. “My brain doesn’t seem to work right on sleep deprivation.”
“No one’s does.” I pulled the door to the shop open and the bell jangled. “It’s me, Reese!” I called out.
“Okay, hon,” she hollered back, distractedly.
“Reese,” Jennifer said. “Is she one of the—?”
“Owners,” I said sharply, cutting off whatever ignorant comment she was about to make, because I truly didn’t want to punch a pregnant girl, even if she pushed me to the edge. “Yes, she is.”
The warmth and soothing vibe of Inner Power wrapped around us like a hug. I watched Jennifer rubbing her hands together, taking it all in. She looked pleasantly surprised that we weren’t sacrificing goats or virgins or something in here. Oh—I guess I should’ve left that virgin part off, just to be sensitive to the situation. “So? Adoption?” I prompted, since she hadn’t answered.
She unzipped her soaked hoodie and shook it over the entrance mat, the water droplets making little ploppity-plop sounds as they hit the rubber.
I pointed toward the totally cool coat tree fashioned out of real tree branches, and she hung it up. I did the same with my slicker.
“Well, since my parents are threatening me hourly unless I do put the baby up for adoption, yeah, I’ve thought about it. But they’re just being such jerks, always hammering it into my head that I’m a disappointment.” Her chin quivered. She pressed her lips together until it stopped, and I extended her the courtesy of acting like I hadn’t seen. “That fact alone makes me want to do the opposite of what they want,” she finished, her tone bitter.
“Yeah, but be realistic. Are you ready to be a mom?”
She blew out a sigh. “No. No way.”
“Then forget rebelling against your parents and think about what you want to do.” I raised my palms. “I mean, do you really want to pull an ‘I’ll show you’ with your parents and wind up with a baby at
seventeen?”
“No, you’re right. It all just sucks. I’m overwhelmed and just…overwhelmed.” She hiked her shoulders and let them fall. “I don’t know another word for it.”
I decided to drop the subject. Instead, I spread my arms to encompass the cozy store. “So, this is the place.”
She peered around again. “It’s cute. And it smells good in here.”
“Essential oils. And candles.” I gestured toward the super-comfy chairs in one corner of the book section. “Feel free to look around, but if you want to just sit, those chairs are the primo spot.”
“I’ll sit for now. I’m so exhausted.”
“I guess that’s normal, too. Right?”
She nodded. “Especially in the first trimester.”
“Do you want some herbal tea?”
Her nose crinkled. “Do you have hot chocolate?”
I nodded. “My own private stash. Marshmallows?”
“Sure.” A small, pensive look strained the corners of her mouth. “Meryl, wait.”
I stopped. Turned. Crossed my arms.
“Let me just…say something.”
She hesitated, and I have to say it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Jennifer looking genuine, free of agendas or meanness. It softened her sharp edges and actually made her look pretty—no makeup, dressed like a slob, bad dye job and everything.
She cleared her throat. “I still don’t fully understand why you’d be this nice to me after…everything. I mean”—pain and, dare I say, embarrassment? tightened her eyes—“it’s definitely not how I’d react if the situation was reversed, which says a lot about my personality, I guess. But…thank you. I mean it.”
I chose my words carefully. “Some people don’t see the point in being nasty for nasty’s sake,” I said, before heading to the back for the cocoa.
Just remember how nice I’m being once your trauma ends.
And how good it feels when people aren’t evil to you.
I wished I could say it out loud, but that’s Jennifer’s life lesson to learn in her own time. The best I can do is lead by example, I suppose.
*
Two hours later, Jennifer was sound asleep in one of the narcolepsy chairs (my pet name for them, because they were soooo comfortable) with alternative birthing books piled up around her. I tiptoed over and glanced at the open one on her lap. I’m always curious about what other people are reading.
Father Knows Best Page 7
