Page 37 of Love Redesigned

You can do this, I chant to myself as I exit the car and walk toward the sidewalk.

At least you look good, I add. In honor of getting my shit together, I picked out my best outfit, hoping the pop of color and dash of accessories would boost my mood.

You don’t need to seek everyone’s attention all the time; that old comment made by Oliver’s mother about my clothing rears its ugly, unwelcome head.

I nearly twist my ankle at the memory.

One day I hope you feel comfortable enough in your own skin to stop covering it up, she said before handing me a bottle of anti-agingcream.

You should stop—

“Dahlia? Is that you?” a woman calls out behind me.

My mom stops next to me and turns with a smile.

Nope. Can’t do this.Screw the meds and my therapist’s advice to get out of the house. Helping my family with flowers is one thing, but having to face people is a whole different issue I’m not ready to tackle now that the news has broken about my failed engagement.

Mom grabs my shoulders to stop me from escaping. “It’ll be good for you to catch up with old friends.”

Except I don’t have any friends at Lake Wisteria anymore. The two close ones I made in elementary school live in different states now, and although we call one another to catch up every now and then, I haven’t been able to talk much since I found out about my genetic test. They’re both pregnant and excited about having babies, which leaves me feeling like the odd woman out.

Mom turns me around before I have a chance to bolt for the store. “Nos vemos adentro.” She kisses my forehead before locking the door to the shop behind her.

“I knew it was you! Only you could turn Main Street into your own fashion runway.” Alana Castillo, one of my high school classmates, waves.

Of all the people from my past I could have run into, Alana is the best option. Not only is she nice, but we actually gotalong pretty well in high school despite being part of different friend groups.

Nos vemos adentro:We’ll see you inside.

Her dark hair shines under the sun, bringing out the different brown tones. A tall, handsome, blond man beside her whispers something in her ear before taking off toward the Pink Tutu with her daughter, who is dressed in a leotard, neon green ballet skirt, and combat boots.

I fight the usual oppressive sadness as I force out a casual “Hey.”

You can at least try to sound excited to see her.

Alana wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek against mine. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

She pins me in place with a single, knowing look. “I see.”

I kick an invisible rock with the toe of my boot. “I’ve seen some better days.”

“Is that why you’re back in town?”

“That and my mom’s cooking.”

Ugh.I regret the words as soon as I say them. While I wasn’t able to make it to the funeral service the town had for Alana’s mom because of my filming schedule, I should have known better than to bring up mothers and cooking.

Her warm smile lessens my anxiety. “Not a single day goes by when I don’t crave my mom’spandebonos, so I get it.”

“Those were the best! My mom still kicks herself for never asking your mom for the recipe.”

“If you want, I can teach you both one of these days.”

My brows rise. “Really?”

After living in San Francisco, I forgot what it was like tobe surrounded by people who care. I was lucky if my barista spelled my name right, let alone asked me how I was doing because they genuinely wanted to know.

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