Page 88 of Britta & the Beach Boy
Britta
I was okay the first few days after Dex and Stella both left. I had plenty to keep me busy, and Stella texted me about a million times to make sure I was okay. Dex called and texted too and sent some pictures of where they are, but the time difference made it difficult to really communicate.
Then Stella’s texts slow to a trickle. Obviously, she hasn’t forgotten me, she’s just busy managing Georgia’s socials now thatAt Home with Georgiais back on air. But I’ve spent the past five years talking to her every day, and it’s weird not to. I’ve always been surrounded by family—even when I went to college, I was only an hour away and came home often.
For the first time in my life, I don’t have that, and I didn’t anticipate how lonely I would be without it. Especially in an enormous city full of unfamiliar faces.
To make matters worse, as soon as Stella’s texts stop, Dex is basically unreachable. I don’t think he’s ignoring me. He’s just in a really remote area. But, for whatever reason, his unintentional silence makes me feel more forgotten than Stella straight-up ghosting me. I miss talking to him, and I hate being alone in a great big house that still doesn’t feel like home.
Days stretch into a week filled with too much space and quiet for my thoughts to replay our last words.
Our last kiss.
Did I make a mistake kissing him that day on the boardwalk? I didn’t answer his question about whether our marriage could be more than a business arrangement, but my kiss left little room for interpretation. In the moment, I meant that I’d like to see if our marriage could be a “long-term deal.”
But in the week and the distance that separates us, I grow less sure. I hate missing Dex as much as I do. I hate worrying that this dull ache will become more painful the longer we’re together. Leaving is part of his job. And it’s part of why I agreed to this—he’d be gone too often for me to get attached.
Now, here I am, only a few weeks into being Dex’s wife, and I’m already attached to him like weeds to Velcro.
The second week Dex is gone, I spend as much time atAnnie’sas possible. Mostly because I’m days away from taking ownership, but also because it’s too noisy and busy for me to get lost in thoughts of Dex. When I’m not there, I’m on the phone with Dad or my brothers, getting their advice about everything from business practices to renovation ideas, and counting down the days until they arrive to help with renovations.
When I’m home alone, it’s too easy to give into my loneliness and pull-on Dex’s Rip Tide hoodie, then check my phone at leasta thousand times an hour to see if he’s answered my texts or tried to call even though my phone stays silent.
I should be thrilled the day Annie turns over the keys to me and slips her apron over my head. I will officially have too much to do to think about Dex. This is the first day of owning my first business that’s completely my own. It’s the start of a (mostly) new store, a new direction, a new life.
But even though Annie is staying on a few hours a week for the first few months to help with the transition, I am terrified. Capital T,Terr-i-fied.
I don’t tell Annie this, of course. Her step is a thousand times lighter after she turns theClosedsign for the last time and walks out the door. But I’m overwhelmed by a thousand different emotions. I sink into a seat and spend the next hour sitting alone at a table, staring at the espresso machines, small kitchen, white wood-paneled walls, and theSurf City Highpicture of Dex and his friends.
It’s all mine, and there’s no one here to celebrate with me. Bear and Adam are on their way from Idaho, but I told them they didn’t have to be here until tomorrow, when we’ll be able to work a full day. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I could make the first cups of coffee in my shop and toast my success with my family.
And with Dex. I wish he were here, too.
I’ll be able to toast with my brothers tomorrow, but I don’t know when Dex will be back.
Annie’swill be closed for a week while I renovate before re-opening—new name still to be determined. There’s a lot to do before then. I have a plan drawn up of what needs to be done and where to start, but I’m too overwhelmed to look at it, even if I could find the motivation to turn on an overhead light. Instead, I rest my arms on the table and drop my head into them.
Dusk settles outside. The dining area grows dim with only the light outside the front door shining through the tinted plate-glass window. I’m not sure how much time passes. I fill the time by giving myself an internal pep talk. It’s a good talk with lots ofyou’ve got thisandyou’re living your dream.I don’t believe everything I say, but I’ve almost convinced myself to at least look at my list when there’s a knock on the locked front door.
I pick up my keys and clutch the pepper spray attached to them. I’m not expecting anyone, and the neighborhood can feel a little sketchy after dark. But I felt that way aboutBritta’swhen there were thousands of summer visitors I didn’t know in town. The two large shadows outside the glass door, though, have me worried enough to pull out my phone in case I need to call the sheriff’s department. But as I creep closer, the shape of the shadows grows surprisingly familiar, until I’m certain who they belong to.
I unlock the door and swing it open so my brothers, Adam and Bear, can walk in.
“What are you two doing here?” I throw my arms around them one at a time, feeling my strength return when they squeeze me tight.
“We knew you’d need us sooner than you thought you did,” Bear says, with his arm still slung over my shoulder.
“You know me too well.” I wrap my arms around my giant baby brother’s waist and hug him again, tight enough to almost stop the tears threatening to fall. Adam pats my back, and I pull away from Bear and face them both. But then Adam screws up his face, and I sense an oldest-brother-lecture coming on.
“We brought ebelskiver pans in case you want to add those to your menu.” Adam has two tones: gruff and tender. They’re both combined now, and I’m as surprised by his words as I am by his early arrival.
“I hadn’t planned to, but I think that’s a great idea.” A way to bring Mom andBritta’shere.
Adam offers me a half-smile that disappears as quickly as it appears. “Where should we start with getting you ready to open?”
I resist the urge to hug him again. Bear could take it, but Adam holds his emotions close. The fact he’s here is as emotive as he’ll get to saying he’s always going to look out for his little sister, no matter how far away she lives. I tuck back my smile and jog to the table where I’ve left my overwhelming to-do list. I hand it to Adam, and wait as he reads it, the lines between his eyebrows growing deeper by the second.
When he finishes, he sighs and presses two fingers along the middle of his forehead to his temple, then hands the paper to Bear.
