It was Skylar’s.
And even though I knew I was no good for her, I also knew I wanted her too much to stay away.
I had the following day off from Coffee Darling, and I went to bed relishing the thought of sleeping in. But, wouldn’t you know it, my body clock was used to waking up early now, and my eyes opened at six and refused to stay closed again. Oh well. I swung my legs over the side of my bed. Maybe I’ll get a nap in later. Might as well get up and get some things done.
By nine, I’d attached all the bin pulls to the kitchen cupboards—laughing to myself when I recalled all the screw jokes from last night—taped off and primed a bathroom, and thought about Sebastian approximately one million times. Despite the slightly awkward ending, the spontaneous date had been a lot of fun.
Besides being handsome, Sebastian was a great listener and he made me laugh. I loved how open he’d been about his OCD, how honestly and self-deprecatingly he’d told me what it was like. My heart ached for him and how tough it must have been all those years before getting treatment, especially without the support of friends. And every time I thought about the beautiful, sad words he’d written about me, I got chills.
He’d said he wasn’t easy to get to know, and I’d meant it when I said I was willing to try.
Would he let me?
While the primer dried, I decided to get started refinishing an old bookshelf I’d found in my parents’ attic. My mother helped me carry it out to the driveway, where I’d laid newspapers on the ground.
She ran a hand over the top, which had several gouges. “Cripes, this thing’s pretty beat up. It was my grandfather’s. It’s called a lawyer’s bookcase.”
“Really?” I said, my ears perking up at the word lawyer. “I’m going to take off the varnish and paint it white.”
“That’ll be nice. He’d be pleased you’re going to use it.”
“I won’t keep it, Mom. It’s for a guest house.” I picked up the can of paint and varnish remover I’d purchased and began reading the directions on the back.
“No, you should take it when you move out.”
Was I imagining things, or did she emphasize the words move out? Was she dropping a hint? My eyes traveled over the words on the can without processing them.
“Where are you thinking of going?” she went on breezily.
“I haven’t decided yet.” I finally looked up. “I didn’t know I was being thrown out quite so soon.”
“Honey, I’m not throwing you out.” Her tone was soothing but firm. “You’re always welcome here.”
“But?” I shook the can. Violently.
“Well, don’t you think you should have a plan?”
“An exit strategy? I’m working on it.” I pulled off the cap, hoping she’d leave me alone to work. When she didn’t, I began spraying.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother cross her arms. She was petite and curvy, like Natalie and me, albeit with a few extra rolls around the middle. Only Jillian got our dad’s long, lanky frame and dark hair.
“Are you going back to New York?”
“I don’t know yet, Mom. I just said I don’t have a plan.” I tried not to sound as annoyed as I felt.
“Well, do you have a deadline in mind? For having a plan, I mean?” she pressed.
I stopped spraying and faced her. “Do I need one? If I’m not welcome at your house, just say it.”
“Sky, don’t be silly. I said you’re welcome. My children are always welcome. I’m only trying to help you think ahead. You don’t want to live with your parents forever.”
I realized that she also meant I don’t want my adult daughter living at home with me forever. She and my dad were probably used to their privacy and routine by now. As if that wasn’t enough, she went on.
“And what about a job? It’s nice you’re working with your sister, but is that really what you want to do, work at a coffee shop?” She held up her hands. “If it is, that’s fine, but—”
“I get it, Mom.” I turned back to the bookcase. “I’ll come up with a plan.”
“OK.” She turned her own dazzling beauty queen smile on me. “Dinner’s at six thirty, don’t forget. I’m making fried chicken,” she said proudly. “Nat, Dan, and Jilly are coming too. Won’t that be nice?” She patted my shoulder and headed back into the house.
Sure. Another family function where we can all compare the Nixon sisters. Which one of these is not like the others?
Usually I looked forward to family dinners, but my mother’s words had cut deep. For the past couple weeks, I’d done a pretty good job avoiding the hard questions, but clearly I couldn’t go on like this forever. If only I had some kind of calling, like Jillian’s to be a doctor, or a dream that was achievable with hard work and dedication, like Natalie’s shop.
As I scraped off the old varnish, I tried to think of jobs I’d enjoy going to every day, something I could get excited about. My mother was right in that coffee shop employee wasn’t really on the list. And as much as I loved the farm, agriculture wasn’t really my thing either. I’d enjoyed the job at Rivard, but there was no way I’d get that position back. I was too ashamed to even ask for it. But maybe something like that…something fun, something that allowed me to work with people, something that allowed for creativity and spontaneity.
Christ. That is the vaguest fucking job description ever. You suck.
I did. I did suck.
By the time I’d taken off the varnish, eaten a quick lunch, and plugged my dad’s sander into the extension cord I’d run from the house, I was convinced I’d never be happy and I should just face the fact that I was a twenty-seven-year-old loser with a pretty face and not much else.
And even that wasn’t going to last forever. Thirty was around the corner, and then forty, and then fifty, and then sixty…decades of wrinkling skin and cracking bones and sagging flesh. But would there even be anyone who cared? My romantic history was as crappy as my job history—I wasn’t even sure I’d ever been in love.
I was still brooding about it when Sebastian’s truck pulled into the driveway an hour later. Immediately my mood improved.
“Hey,” I said, telling myself to walk, not run, toward him as he got out. It’s not like he was offering a life preserver to my drowning ass. “What are you doing here?”
He shut the truck door and leaned back against it, hands in his pockets. The sunglasses on his face hid his eyes, but he was smiling. “I came to see you.”
My insides danced a little. “How’d you find me?”
“I went to the shop. Your sister told me it was your day off and said you might be here.” He glanced over to where I’d been working. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all. I need a distraction, actually.” The kind that happens without pants.
“Want to show me what you’re working on?”
“Sure.” Trying to keep my thoughts clean, I led him over to the bookcase and explained what I was doing. “It was my grandfather’s bookcase.”
“Even better. You have a connection to it.”
“Yes.” I clasped my hands together and rocked back on my heels. “What are you up to today?”
He shrugged, dropping his eyes to the ground a moment. “I had to go into town for a few things, but it’s such a nice day, I thought maybe I’d put together those chairs I bought last night and sit on the patio this afternoon.”
“Sounds nice. It is beautiful today, supposed to hit seventy-five. Can you believe it? In May?” Invite me. Invite me. Invite me.
He ran a hand over his short hair. “You mentioned wanting to see the cabin. I thought maybe—”