Page 100 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Sure is. Rebuilt, split back into two business spaces, and up for lease.”

“Do you think Gavin is going to bring it back? A Joe n’ Flow reprise?”

“Oh, honey. You haven’t seen his Instagram? Homeboy is knee-deep in the rainforest of Brazil on a perpetual ayahuasca high. I think Joe n’ Flow is far in the rearview for him, sadly. Don’t worry. I’m sure something equally as amazing will find its way to town. I’ve got to let you go for now, though. I’m headed to lunch with the hubs in Seaport Village. Let’s catch up again soon, okay? Love you, mama. It’ll be okay,” Yas says before she ends the FaceTime.

I feel better after talking to her. There’s something authentic and trustworthy about her candor that makes me feel okay about what I know I have to do next. I grab my laptop from under my bed and pull up the edit button for my online shop.

Are you sure you want to deactivate the ecommerce functionality of your online shop: Moon Batch Apothecary? The public will not be able to shop your store if you do this,the warning reads. I click yes.

Storefront deactivated. You can reactivate by clicking Settings under My Account.

That’s comforting, but at this point, not necessary.

After I get rid of all of the pages except for the home screen, I pull up a new text field and begin typing.

A MESSAGE FROM THE SHOP OWNER

Mere months ago, I was a no one.

Then suddenly, I found out I had a gift. Instead of spending the proper time getting to know this gift, I let others rush me to a false finish line. I let others tell me what my gift was and how it worked. Their version of who I was and what I had to offer suddenly became reality, but it was never the truth. Alas, I got caught up in perpetuating who the world thought I was, so as not to disappoint anyone. I wish I saw it coming, how that would end up.

Lesson learned: You don’t have to know who you are exactly. You just have to know who you’re not. I’m not a witch, and I’m sorry to anyone who I upset by thinking it was a smart business move pretending to be one. I wasn’t sure what I was doing.But I am sure about one thing, and that is that we all have gifts, those things that make each of us unique and special. Whatever yours may be, be sure to get to know it; celebrate it. And above all, believe in it.

Until we meet again, that’s what I’ll be working on…

After that gets posted, I grab my phone and pull up my Instagram. I’ve lost at least a thousand followers between last night and this morning. Hateful DMs that I will never read continue to flood my inbox. I head over to my settings and turn off all comments, likes, and messages, and set my account to private. I upload a final post that’s just a screen shot of the message that’s on my home page. What’s on my heart is officially up, and Moon Batch Apothecary is officially down.

Even I’m shocked by how immediate the silence is. After just a few clicks and taps, there are no more dings. There are no more buzzes. There are no more alerts, light up messages, or pop-ups. The unfounded hate may continue, but it has nowhere to go. I am sheltering in place, just as Yasmin instructed.

In the newfound quiet, I sit back on my bed. My head hits the envelope that Nora handed me. With notmuch else to do, I rip open the pull-tab on the mailer, which is marked “IMPORTANT: DO NOT BEND.”

Immediately, out drops two pieces of paper along with a check. I wonder, for the moment, if this is some forgotten severance package from Gavin, but I know I was paid in full before my move back. He is a solid guy like that, ensuring that his people were always taken care of.

I start with piece of paper number one, a letter. My eye darts to the signature line first, it’s from Betty, Gerda’s neighbor and assisted living buddy.

Dear Moonie,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to inform you Gerda passed away. While I miss my dear friend profoundly, her death marks the end of a four-year battle with pancreatic cancer. I’m just so glad that I could accompany her on her final wish, which was to move into Oceanhurst and play pickleball for the rest of her days. It was never my intention to move there, but as her best friend, I couldn’t let her go alone. We had an amazing time riding out our friendship.

Enough about us.

Before Gerda and I moved to Oceanhurst, she made it clear to me that when her time came, she wanted me to contact you—for a variety of reasons. The first of which is to let you know you are in her last will and testament. Seeing that she and Larry did not have children, Gerda felt as if you were the closest thing to a granddaughter. Therefore, she set aside some inheritance money for you. A check made out to you is included in this package.

Secondly, as you are aware, Gerda’s property was demolished and a three-story, three-unit development took its place. Part of the agreement of the sale was that she’d get rights to the first-floor unit. While there’s no great view of the ocean, the completely paid-for, two-bedroom condo remains vacant—with your name on the deed. She’s set aside a trust to cover the taxes for the next 30 years as well. Should you decide you’d like to take up residence there, the developer’s contact information is on the other page included in this package. At your convenience, you can arrange with him to obtain the keys.

I hope you find your way back to Ocean Beach, Moonie.

All the best,

Betty

Tears stream down my cheeks as I fold the letter in half and stuff it back in the envelope. I have so many questions—so many. Oceanhurst wasGerda’sidea? Gerda was sick and I didn’t even know it? But most of all, Gerda’s gone?

It’s not like we remained pen pals after I left, but for two years of my life, she was—for all intents and purposes—my grandmother, just like this letter from Betty implies. And while we’re at it, she was my mother. She was my friend. She was my soul sister. She was a wonderful spirit.

I flash over to the other piece of paper. It’s clerical in nature—inclusive of the name and contact information of the developer who bought her land—Phil Santos, along with the address and a small blue print of the unit that’s apparently mine if I want it???

This is a lot to digest. So I declare it all “a tomorrow-thing” as I fold up that piece of paper and stuff it back into the envelope

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