Page 26 of Is This for Real?
“I think this will make her feel better.” He looks at me. “I’m telling you, she’s stressing out about the store.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand. I mean, she takes care of herself. She works out.”
He looks pale, less sure of himself.
“But the doctor said she’s going to pull through, right?”
“Yes.” He stands. I stand, too, but stay by the table. “Anyway, thanks for letting me come over. Thanks for helping out with the store. I should get home to Willow. I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning to go to the hospital.”
“Yes. She’ll be okay, Jamie,” I say, hugging him chastely. “She’s a knock-’em-down, get-back-up type for sure and—”
He cuts me off. “I know she’ll be fine.” His façade is back up, and I don’t dare cross behind it. “She will.”
I nod and walk him out. Hugging myself, I climb back up the stairs and let myself into our empty-feeling apartment.
I don’t have time to work on windows for the store. I’ve got to revise the first book to add more backstory, send it to the developmental editor, and finish my second book. My chest tightens. I have to create a website. And I’ve signed up for two writing courses. Plus, I was hoping to build up my mini business and make more stock to sell. My head feels heavy in my hands. My fingers rub my forehead in circular motions.
I pull out my planner from my desk drawer. My gaze catches on my framed first rejection. Next to it is the picture of my mom with Theresa when they were young. When Jamie and I were just babies. They have their arms around each other and huge smiles. Best friends. My mom’s smile is so open. Both my parents were open books—or maybe blunt is a better term. I think it was their Dutch background. Olivia inherited that, but somehow it had the opposite effect on me. I closed up. I hated my life being dissected in public. But I still was more open than many—until it cost me Michael and demanded too much emotionally from me.
My mom is glowing with that vitality she had. The tears I’ve been holding back pour out of me.
Chapter eight
Ilovereadinghospitaldramas, but I don’t want to be in one. Jamie, Willow, and I walk down the sterile, green hall. A nurse pushing an IV bag on a metal roller enters the room in front of us. Jamie and Willow are holding hands. I’m nervous about seeing Theresa weak and not herself.Game face on.
Theresa’s hospital room smells like Vick’s VapoRub. She is sitting up in a narrow bed. The curtains are pulled back, and Theresa is chatting with her roommate. She looks good—a little frail, but cheerful. I breathe a sigh of relief. Jamie’s glance meets mine, and he smiles at me as if he can feel the tension leaving my body. He hugs his mom.
Theresa introduces us to her roommate. I give Theresa a hug, a bit gingerly with all the wires attached to her. She hugs me back. I should be conveying strength to her, and instead I’m drawing sustenance from her.
My eyes tear. Apparently, I didn’t exhaust all my crying last night.
“Don’t cry,” she says.
“I can’t help it.” I wipe away the tears with my sleeve. I can’t seem to stop. I gaze at the picture of the sailboat on the wall and focus on happy days sailing.
“Why are you crying? You didn’t even cry like this when your parents died. I’m going to be fine,” Theresa says. I hug her.
I did cry back then. Huge, wrenching sobs alone in my bed at night. I just didn’t do it in front of them.
“I’m just going to check with the doctor about how you’re doing,” Jamie says. He and Willow leave the room, and Theresa clutches my hand.
“What am I going to tell Jamie? The store isn’t doing well,” she says.
“I thought things were going okay?” I ask in surprise.
“No, I just can’t compete with online shopping and rent going up. Maybe if we did more marketing outreach.”
“I’ll try to see what I can do with my Instagram marketing and dressing the windows, but I don’t have much experience.”
“Maybe if Jamie takes it over, it will do better,” she says. “Are you sure you don’t want to take it over? You’re almost up with your two years.”
“But maybe two years wasn’t enough time,” I say.
“Two years is a long time. You should get a paying job. I’m worried about you. You need to have a paying job to support yourself. Then you can do whatever you want on the side. But don’t do what I did and not have a job outside, thinking my marriage was going to last, and then be at a loss when it all falls apart.”
I’m not even relying on getting married. I wish Theresa understood. She should be my ally, having started her own business.
I say, “You weren’t at a complete loss. You opened up the store, and it’s done well for many years.” It took Theresa time to find the products that would sell in the store’s neighborhood. And every time she doubted herself, my mom, Olivia, and I said,You can do it.
“It’s not that I want you to give up your dream, but be realistic. Get a nine-to-five job and then write at night.”
