Page 32 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“Okay, who made you this casserole? It might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Angela. Must be a Texas dish.”
“Is that where she’s from?”
“Can’t you tell by the accent?”
“I guess so.”
From there, Gramps goes on to tell me about various Texans he’dmet in his life. The tale begins with a cattle rancher he’d met in the Ontario airport in 1971 who’d tried to get him involved in his Ponzi scheme, and ends with the police officer who’d chased Gramps through the Houston suburbs in an attempt to give him a parking ticket. When the officer finally caught him, Gramps pretended he only understood Polish.
“So you got out of the ticket?” I prompt.Talking his way out of a tickethas always been Gramps’s favorite type of anecdote.
“I got out of the ticket.” He chuckles and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Przepraszam, Oficerze, nie rozumiem.”
I wake up early so that I have time to take care of all the logistical stuff on my to-do list before my workday starts. To start with, I need to return my rental car. It physically pains me to think of how much EZCar would charge me if I kept the little red Yaris for another day, let alone another week. Other items on my list include stocking up on essentials and notifying my parents and my neighbor, Sam, that I’m not coming home yet.
Gramps offers to follow me to EZCar so he can drive me home afterward, but I decline.
“It’s right in the middle of Reina Beach. I’m going to run some errands up there and then I think I can take the bus back here.” I peer at the maps app on my phone. The bus option seems straightforward enough. Gramps gives me a weird look, probably because he hasn’t been on a bus since the 1960s.
I return the car with little fanfare. The teenage employee couldn’t care less that I’m returning it here instead of at the Tampa airport like I’d planned.
I step out of the air-conditioned lobby and into the midmorningheat. Next up, errands. I squint through my sunglasses at the list I’d typed on my phone.
Shampoo and conditioner (full size)
Hair cream
Face wash
Face lotion
Smoothie ingredients
Work snacks
Frozen pizzas
Wine
I would also love new bedding, but I’m doubtful they have a suitable home goods store around here. I could order some online, but I should probably stop spending money since I’m about to spend all of mine on Pebble Cottage.
I scan my surroundings: an ABC liquor store, a high-end seafood restaurant, a gas station. The downtown core of the town, such as it is, is a few blocks south. There are plenty of stores there.
Hopefully, I use my phone to search for the nearest Target. No luck. The closest one is ten miles away. Why did I return the car before running errands? Okay, what about Ulta? There is one slightly closer, but according to my phone, it would be a two-hour walk.Great.I’m not even going to bother searching for a Sephora.
Cursing my foolishly laid plans, I walk toward the cluster of downtown shops. The atmosphere is pleasant enough—there’s a sidewalk lined with shrubs and the beach is right across the street, giving me a perfect view of sparkling blue water and white sands—but I can barely enjoy it because of the heat pounding down on me. I’m wearing a Seahawks cap and a white linen top over denimshorts, yet the sun is relentless. I wipe sweat from my upper lip and grimace as it drips between my breasts and shoulder blades. After a five-minute walk, I’m in a bustling part of town—as bustling as this town gets, anyway. Families troop down the path toward the beach, pulling wagons full of towels, floats, and coolers. Tourists buzz from one shop to another. There’s even a cute café with people sipping cappuccinos at rickety sidewalk tables.
I pause and gaze around from one side of the street to the other, trying to figure out where to go. Shouldn’t there be some kind of local beauty store? Like a Bethany’s Beauty Corner or a Helen’s Hair Haven?
“Can I help you find somethin’, hon?” A woman wearing a bedazzled Mickey Mouse shirt has paused beside me. She peers at me over the top of her oversize sunglasses.
“Oh!” I startle, not expecting a stranger to talk to me, and then feel bad for being startled. She’s just being polite. “Do you know if there’s a beauty store or something nearby?”
“Like a hair salon?”
“No, a store for buying skin-care products and hair products?”
