Page 5 of Nothing But It All
“Stop downplaying it. Be proud of yourself.”
I grab the last of the Bubble Wrap and stuff it in the bin. “I am. It’s just ... surreal, I guess.”
The afternoon that Maddie caught me dancing while shaking glitter onto a project caught me by surprise. I said no when she begged me to let her upload it online. Absolutely not. The only reason I ever agreed was because she did all the laundry and dishes in exchange for the video. If I thought I was surprised that she’d recorded me, that was nothing compared to my shock at the video going viral the next day.
“I’m so proud of you,” Billie says now, beaming. “I just want you to know that. I tell everyone that my best friend is a superstar.”
“Will you stop it? You’re making me all ...feel-y.”
She laughs, getting back to her feet. “The horror.”
“You know what I mean.”
She smiles at me. I return the sentiment.
I’m amazed at the things I’ve been able to achieve over the last year. Once Maddie put my scrapbooking online—videoing me and uploading to social media sites—my hobby blossomed into a business that I’d never had the courage to dream for myself. The more projects I complete, with those customers then showing off my work and tagging me on their posts, the more requests I have. It’s wild and amazing—and so fulfilling.
“Thank you for saying that,” I say. “I appreciateyouvery much.”
She waves a hand through the air before continuing her box smashing.
I stretch my arms overhead, feeling the pull all the way down my back. Sore muscles still surprise me every time they ache. Billie insisted that moving around and getting into a “me routine,” as she calls it, would help me feel better all around.
She wasn’t wrong.
Early-afternoon sun streams into the room, filling my small corner office with light. The room was a guest bedroom until a month ago, when I decided to put the space to better use. I had to. My scrapbooking work had started to take over the entire dining room. Not that we use that room much anyway, but I hated walking in the front door andseeing the mess. So I talked Michael into helping me build shelves and a brand-spanking-new desk, and voilà! I have my very own office space.
It’s not the brick-and-mortar store of my dreams, but it’ll do.For now.
“Where are your kids?” she asks. “I need Michael to help me carry this to the garage. I’m not putting this stuff in my new car and hauling it to the recycling center for you.”
I glance at my phone. “He should be picking Maddie up from Elodie’s. He worked at the farm stand this morning and was grabbing her on the way home.”
“I’ll leave this until he gets back, then.” She tosses a stray piece of cardboard on the pile. “What are you doing tonight? Want to grab a drink and some dinner?”
“Can’t. Maddie has a cheer party tonight, and Michael has been begging to go to this party that’s apparently held in a cornfield. By his level of enthusiasm, I’m pretty sure he shouldn’t go.”
Billie’s eyes go wide. “Oh.Right.The annual Montgomery summer party is about this time of year.”
“I didn’t grow up here, remember? What does that mean?”
She sits again. I drop into my office chair and let my legs dangle over the arm.
“The Montgomery parties arelegendary,” she says.
I cock my head to the side. “So, my son shouldn’t attend.”
“Correct. But don’t you dare tell him I told you that.”
“Great.We’ll fight about this tonight.” I sigh, wishing for a split second that Jack were around to help with this stuff. “If I had the time back that I spent arguing—or ‘negotiating,’ as they like to call it—with my children, I could be a lot more productive.”
“Speaking of negotiations, did you tell them you aren’t going to Story Brook this year?”
I groan.
My stomach tightens as I replay the conversation with the kids a couple of days ago about our annual trip to Story Brook. Thedisappointment etched on their faces. The unbelievability of the levity in my voice as I explained that their dad’s shop and my scrapbooking business were both exceedingly busy, and we wouldn’t be able to go to the cabin this summer.
It was better than telling them that Jack and I had had a fight, ending with us agreeing not to go.How could we ever spend two weeks in a small cabin without killing each other?These days, we barely last five hours. I refuse to put us through that.
