Page 24 of The Thought of You

chapter

seven

ADDIE

“Thank you so much for your patience as we resolved this matter,” the customer service representative grinds out.

She’s anything but appreciative after our hour-long debate over dance costumes.

“And thank you for being so helpful, Janice.” I force a smile as if she can see me and end the call while I trudge up the path toward my house.

On top of executing the last few months’ worth of planning for homecoming, along with the reunion, I’m also a volunteer at the local dance studio. Since her niece was unavailable, Iris, the aging owner, called me to stop by the studio on my way home from freshmen float to discuss the new costumes.

They arrived for the holiday recital this winter, but they’re the wrong color. I spent the last hour on the phone with customer service explaining the difference between Christmas red and murder-y red.

We obviously want the former, but the costumes were of the latter.

Janice’s cooperation wasn’t immediate, but I never give up until I secure what I want.

I’m about to call Iris to inform her of the good news when something catches my attention. I pause on my porch, my stomach rolling and gurgling like a sick kitten as a familiar smell wafts over me. Among the sweet aroma from the rose bushes behind me is the distinct smell of fried, greasy heaven.

But it could very well be my mind and stomach playing tricks on me.

I forgot to eat dinner for probably the third time this week.

On top of my ungodly list of to-dos, I’m actually trying to enjoy this week’s festivities.

Homecoming holds some of my best memories from high school. It’s one of the rare times in the past when my mother would put aside her quirky—and often unreasonable—beliefs to enjoy an organized sport. She’d meet me at the football game on Friday night, and then we’d walk arm in arm to the cafeteria for the chili dinner, where we’d see how small we could crush our crackers before letting the pieces rain into our Styrofoam bowls of chili.

When the chili would cool down enough, we’d enjoy the food with the rest of the students and their parents.

We were always an average mother and daughter at homecoming.

My buzzing phone jars me from my quick visit to the past. Sable, the vice principal, is calling, and I almost drop my phone in my haste to answer it.

“Addie! What parade updates do you have for me?” She cuts to the chase, which I appreciate. In that regard, we’re very similar.

I take a seat on the porch chair next to my front door, my tote in my lap, and I fish out my notebook. “I secured enough officers from the police department to kick off the parade tomorrow, so check. Principal Weathers will ride in a golf cart with DeDe and Birdie—check.” I snap my fingers. “Oh, and I went by Daphne’s earlier this week, and she is generously donating a gift basket for our chili dinner raffle. With that added to the list, we have plenty to give away—so check and check.”

The evening breeze picks up into a gust, and I cover my free ear, straining to listen to Sable.

This is my favorite part.

“Well done, Addie. Thanks so much for all your hard work. We would honestly be lost without you,” she praises.

And my heart blossoms like each word of affirmation pumps it full of oxygen. Being complimented is an adrenaline rush.

Each check is music to my ears.

Every job well done is another point in my favor for that future promotion.

With a deep, steadying breath, I say, “Thank you.”

“You are going to make an excellent administrator someday.”

I suck back a breath—that’s the dream.

“Enjoy the rest of your night. Get some rest, because this weekend is going to be absolute chaos.”

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