Page 48 of Steeped In Problems

The shrieking stopped, like Erica’s presence alone could will her offspring into silence. “Whoa, Kristy. I didn’t look at the screen when I picked up. You okay?”

Kristy tried to breathe. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The fundraiser was a disaster. Mark showed up and ruined everything. I think the shop is finished. I think I’m finished. I don’t know what to do.”

“I wish I could have been there, but I had a last-minute meeting. Zach had filled me in when I got him, but now I wantto hear it from you,” Erica demanded, all the breezy energy gone, replaced by full attention.

Kristy launched into it: the weeks of planning, the bake sale, the car wash, the chaos, the hope, the barn dance, the almost-kiss with Tanner, Mark’s crash-landing, the aftermath, the final tally that left them two thousand dollars short and Kristy lower than she’d ever been. She didn’t sugarcoat it, didn’t make herself sound better. She just dumped it all, voice shaking and small, and waited for Erica to say she’d call back later or just hang up.

Instead, Erica spoke slowly, “Okay. I might have an idea.” A rustle of paper, a clatter as if she was knocking stuff off a desk with one arm. “Come over. I’ll make coffee and bribe the twins to leave us alone. Can you be here in an hour?”

Kristy’s brain stalled. “I—yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’m not letting you turn into a tragic small-town legend.”

Kristy hung up, the first bloom of hope in her chest since last night. It almost made her cry all over again.

She slid off the couch, almost stepped on her laptop, and went to the bathroom. The mirror showed a mess: hair somewhere between “loose bun” and “feral,” eyes puffy, nose red. She splashed water on her face, wiped down with a towel that smelled like citrus and guilt, and started to look for real clothes.

She chose jeans and a green blouse, then changed three times before ending up back in jeans and a different blouse. She didn’t want to appear as though she was asking for a loan, but also didn’t want to look like she was above asking for one. She compromised by pulling her hair into a ponytail and dusting her cheeks with whatever powder was left in the bottom of an old compact. The effect was...less haggard. Good enough.

The drive to Erica’s was ten minutes, eight if you didn’t stop for the crosswalks in her neighborhood. Kristy made it inseven. She parked behind a Tesla with a “Boy Mom” sticker and a Jeep plastered with decals from every National Park in the continental U.S.

Erica’s house was the opposite of Kristy’s apartment. The driveway was professionally plowed, and the porch was decorated with an actual seasonal wreath instead of a tangle of expired delivery flyers. Even at 8:00 a.m. on a weekday, every window glowed with warm light.

She braced herself for the Turner boys—ten-year-old twins who had weaponized chaos—and rang the bell. Erica opened the door before the chime finished, dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt that said “CEO of Snacks.” Her hair was perfect, her eyeliner sharper than a hypodermic.

“Get in here,” Erica ordered, dragging Kristy inside.

The house was pure Turner: giant dog, giant noise, walls covered with framed photos and vintage book collections. The boys were out back, launching something off the porch with a slingshot. The dog looked up, sniffed Kristy’s shoes, then went back to sleep.

Erica led her to the kitchen, which already smelled like fresh bagels and the kind of coffee that was too expensive to admit you bought. “Sit,” she commanded, sliding a mug across the counter.

Kristy sat, feeling half-human. Erica handed her a plate with an everything bagel the size of her face, with a side of cream cheese. “Eat. I can’t help you if you faint.”

Kristy took a bite, chewed, and tried not to sob at how good it tasted.

Erica waited, arms folded until Kristy looked up. “So. Let’s save the Brave Badge.”

Kristy set the bagel down, hands trembling. “I don’t know if it’s savable.”

“Everyone thinks that. Right before something’s saved.” Erica smirked. “Now tell me exactly how much you need, what you tried already, and what you want to happen next.”

Kristy did. She gave numbers, names, and every embarrassing detail. Erica listened, never interrupting except to scribble something on a notepad or refill her coffee.

When Kristy finished, Erica leaned back and cracked her knuckles. “All right. Here’s what we do.”

Kristy waited, pulse pounding.

“I’ll invest in the business, not loan—invest. Silent partner, no weird strings.” Erica’s expression was dead serious. “Consider it my way of paying it forward. Or atoning for the twins’ future crimes.”

Kristy blinked again. “That’s...amazing.”

Erica sipped her coffee and shrugged. “I have my moments.”

“But are you sure...”

“Let me worry about what I can do. You focus on making the Brave Badge the best it can be.” Erica leaned in. “Can you do that?”

Kristy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her mind was already whirring, recalculating the odds, reframing every failure as a pivot to what came next.

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