Page 17 of Any Second Now
“Yeah. I, uh, do cross-stitch? And sell them online.”
“You do cross-stitch.”
“I do cross-stitch.”
“Like a grandma?”
“No, not like a grandma, like a… millennial, I guess.”
“Well, alright. What do you cross-stitch?”
I shrug. “Sayings. Quotes. I swear a lot.”
Atticus chuckles. “Can you give me an example?”
“Sure. In the last week I’ve gotten four orders for one that saysAbso-fucking-lutely not.” It’s my best seller so far, which I know because of how few orders I’ve gotten overall, carefully tracked within my cross-stitch spreadsheet.
I have a spreadsheet problem, I know.
Atticus bursts out laughing.
“And it has some flowers on it.” I love the sound of his delighted laugh. “You know, to soften the swearing.”
“That is so weird, and so amazing.”
“So good weird?” My face heats.
“Definitely good weird.”
Weird is kind of what I’m going for these days. I want to find what makes me unique, not just be the woman with a spreadsheet plan.
“Well anyway, I need to catch up on some orders.” I try to look casual. “And I might just wait for Lucy to come back from her trip. I don’t have a plan.” I have to kind of choke those last words out.
“Raleigh doesn’t have a plan? You are the most organized person I’ve ever met. You’ve always had your shit together.”
“I’m a free spirit, Atticus.”
Atticus lets out a long, contagious laugh, throwing his head back and exposing the stubbly skin of his neck. “You are not.”
“I am!” I practically stomp my foot. “I’m reinventing myself.”
“As what?”
I shrug. “Not a boring pharmacist?” I became a pharmacist because my mother and I decided it was a stable career path that would pay well and allow me to capitalize on my strengths.
Too bad my detail-oriented nature didn’t notice the fact that Jacob was gambling behind my back.
“Nothing wrong with being a pharmacist.” Atticus sits back down across from me. “And reinventing yourself involves changing into something, not only changing away from something. So what are you changing into?”
“That’s very deep, Atticus, but I haven’t thought that far ahead.” I try to keep my tone light, but his words hit me harder than they should for a throwaway comment.
He’s right. What am I trying to turn into?
“You’re a proper grown up.” He shrugs. “You’vealwaysbeen a proper grownup.”
“Driving around in a pink RV?”
“That’s definitely a choice.” He laughs again. “But don’t be hard on yourself. Back in college, you reminded me all the time that I was a completely unserious person, unlike you. Maybe you could be a little less serious.”
