Page 111 of Any Second Now
“Don’t do this, Raleigh. Don’t get involved with someone so fast. Again.”
My insides twist.
“I’m not.”
“Then put that boy out of your mind.”
I scoff, thinking of Atticus Knox being referred to as a boy.
“You loved Atticus.” I don’t know what else I expected her to say. Of course she’s not supportive of me doing whatever it is I’m doing with Atticus.
“Yes, back when you were in college,” she admits. “He was sweet.”
He still is. I bet she’d love him now, too. What’s not to love? He’s handsome and charming and kind and funny and?—
“Raleigh Hayes. Pack up your stuff and get your butt back to Connecticut to restart your life. Forget Atticus Knox. Forget your ex-husband. Start overhere.”
“I’m not leaving yet. The whole point in me coming to Colorado was to see Lucy, and I haven’t done that yet.”
“When does she get home?”
“Soon? Tomorrow? The next day, maybe?”
“I can’t believe you don’t know.”
I’m my mother’s worst nightmare right now. Disorganized, unmotivated, drifting through my days without a plan.
I sit and click through the updated spreadsheet she sent. Already open are a few other spreadsheets: one for my RV and the one I started for Megghen but didn’t let myself continue.
“Here’s my plan.” I go over the timing in my head real quick. “I’ll stay here another week, tops, so I can see Lucy for a few days. Then I’ll drive the Pink Palace back to Connecticut.”
“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”
“Mom! Take what you can get from me, okay?”
“Fine, child.”
I chuckle and we hang up a minute later. I stare at those open spreadsheets and a visceral reaction builds inside me. Why does my life have to be so perfect? So carefully planned? Why not accept a little mess? Isn’t that what I’ve been doing thissummer? I pushed myself out of my comfort zone in so many ways.
With a few clicks, I delete the spreadsheets.
Half-started chicken spreadsheet: gone.
RV spreadsheet: gone.
Updated life spreadsheet from Mom: gone.
I lean away from the table and laugh. Living a life without spreadsheets? The idea is freeing. And a little scary.
Maybe I shouldn’t have deleted all the RV maintenance records, but that’s a problem for another day. Also, it’s in the trash for thirty days before it’s permanently gone.
There’s a knock and I jolt. It better not be my ex-husband.
I walk to the door of the Pink Palace like it’s my funeral procession, reaching slowly for the handle, eyeing Fred, still leaning against the wall.
But it’s not Jacob.
“Hello.” The man in front of me is young, probably late twenties, and has long, curly brown hair and dark eyes.
