Page 59 of Leave Before I Love You
I nod. It’s all I can manage.
“Now that we’ve seen you’re okay with our own two eyes, we’re going to let you rest, Avery,” Ethel says, arranging all the flowers and balloons and gift bags they brought to my room on the nightstand beside my bed.
“Yes, honey, you get some rest,” Blanche says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You check in with us soon, okay? Let us know when you’re out of the hospital and settled?”
I nod. “Once I get a phone again, I’ll text you.”
“Good girl.” Dottie smiles.
They all give me hugs and kisses and pats of my hands a few more times. Ethel even mentions something about a new resident at The Pines named Darla, who’s a walking fashion disaster and needs my help. But eventually, they offer their goodbyes to my family and head back out of my hospital room, only leaving a trail of their Shalimar perfume in their wake.
When they’re gone, my family stares at me, dumbfounded.
“Who was that?” Beau asks.
“Just my friends,” I say, shrugging.
“Your friends?” my mom repeats. “They look about fifty years too old to be your friends.”
“And they said you were their stylist,” my dad adds.
I sigh, knowing this conversation is inevitable. “That’s probably because I am their stylist.”
“But, Avery, you’re not a stylist,” Beau says flatly.
“You don’t know everything about me, Beau.” I shrug and stick out my tongue at him. “And for the record, I am their stylist. Like Ethel said, I have been for about a year now.”
“Excuse me? You’re their stylist?” Dad asks, crossing his arms. “How the hell did that happen? Last I knew, you were an employee of Banks & McKenzie.”
“Clearly, I’m good at multitasking, Daddy.” I lean back, crossing my arms too. “And I met Ethel at Nordstrom’s last year. She was in this horrid Kate Spade getup, and I couldn’t stand by and let her buy last season’s leftovers from some clueless salesclerk. So, I helped her.”
“And that makes you a stylist?” Beau asks, raising a brow.
“Oh, c’mon, Beau. I think we all know that my sense of fashion and style pretty much makes me a stylist. I mean, it’s one of those talents that some people just have. Like, Edward Einstein and all his number stuff.”
“Albert Einstein, Avery,” Beau corrects like he’s saying stuff I actually care about. “Albert.”
“So, let me get this straight…” My dad still looks baffled. “You just help them pick out their clothes?”
“I don’t just help them pick out clothes,Daddy. I guide them on their wardrobe, shoes, hair, makeup. Istylethem.”
“And they pay you for that?” he asks. “As in, it’s a job?”
I laugh. “No.”
His face falls. “What do you mean,no?”
I scoff. “You don’t get paid for charity work, Daddy.”
“Charity work?” Dad repeats, his voice rising. “They live in The Pines, Avery. Those women have money. A lot of it.”
“Daddy, you know I don’t judge people on their money.”
“Do they at least pay for their clothes?”
“Again, it’s charity work,” I say, annoyed that he’s clearly not getting the point. “You can’t expect people to pay for stuff when it’s charity.”
“Then who is paying for it?”
