Page 30 of What I Should've Said

“This is exactly why you need an assistant.”

“Breeze, if I’m going to hire an assistant, I’m going to find someone who can challenge me. Someone who can provide an edge. Someone who can be a true asset to my creativity. Someone I can trust. What I don’t need is some gopher to get my groceries and make me coffee. I can handle that shit on my own.”

“I’m not telling the curator from MoMA no.”

“You want me to tell him?”

“No, I want you to get your head out of your ass and realize you’re being stupid.”

“Bye, Breezy.”

“Bennett! Don’t you dare—”

I hang up the phone before she can say anything else.

Though, I’m not surprised when two texts chime in a few seconds later.

Breezy: YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE.

Breezy: And since you’re RUDE AS HELL and ended the call before I was able to tell you everything, Logan called me this morning. He was asking about you. Wondering what you’re up to and how you’re doing. He’s in New York for some kind of movie premiere.

My response is instant.

Me: You can tell Logan to fuck right off.

Breezy: Yeah, that’s pretty much how I expected you to respond.

My older brother is a self-involved, narcissistic snake. He’s also a pretty popular Hollywood actor, and the only thing we have in common is our last name and that we slept with the same woman—who just so happened to be my girlfriend at the time.

Out of nowhere, I hear the words Josie told Clay Tuesday night at the bar. “Sometimes we have to make exceptions and do things we absolutely don’t want to do because it’s for the people we love.” Words I know I need to hear myself. For Summer and for Breezy.

Before I can overthink it, I type a text onto the screen and hit send.

Me: I have a finished painting you can sell. Large. Abstract. I’ll send you a photo by the end of today. And you can tell MoMA yes.

Ready to think about something else, anything else, I shove that conversation out of my head at the same time I shove my phone into my jeans pocket and start looking inside my fridge to see what else I might need from Earl’s.

It just so happens, the front of the grocery store is where the town keeps the board for employment ads. I can get groceries and take the first step to finding someone other than fucking Paul.

Sometimes, small-town life isn’t so bad.

Norah

With guilt hanging over me like a poncho since “the incident,” I’ve been trying my best to make up for the clusterfuck of an arrival I made to Red Bridge.

I wake myself up, before Josie’s alarm even goes off, get ready for work, and pack a little snack bag for Josie along with my own every day. When we get to CAFFEINE, I try my best to watch and listen and learn everything I can, but I’m sad to report, it’s still not going well.

Wednesday, I forgot about the cookies in the oven and nearly smoked out the coffee shop. Sheriff Pete called the volunteer fire department and made us evacuate the building until they arrived.

Thursday, I tried my hand at the espresso machine, only to cause a death rattle even the manufacturer isn’t sure how to fix. It still works, technically, but it’s much slower, causing even Josie, Todd, and Camilla—who are all experienced baristas—to turn down making some drinks when customers request them.

Friday, I didn’t break anything, but I forgot to put the lid on the trash cans behind the building, and we came in this morning to an alley full of raccoons chomping on leftover muffins and expired fruit.

Which is why I’m currently cleaning up soggy trash.

I blow my hair out of my face and pick up the final scraps of mangled fruit. I toss them into the third trash bag I’ve filled since Josie put me on cleanup duty, set the bag in the garbage, and secure the lid. You know, like I should have done last night.

As I head through the back doors, I snap off the elbow-high yellow rubber gloves and toss them into the sink to clean later. Once I give my hands a good wash and scrub, I make my way to the front of the coffee shop and find Josie rearranging the glass cabinet with fresh cookies and muffins.

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