“I don’t actually know what I’m doing. With the shop and the online stuff. Monetizing without turning it into something that feels… intrusive.” I gestured vaguely, as if the concept might be hovering nearby. “Lydia has energy. She’s good at hype. But you’re good at structure and at knowing when something stops being helpful.”
Her expression shifted, surprise giving way to something warmer.
“I was wondering,” I said carefully, “if you would want to be involved. I know you’re already doing too much so you can say no but I would like you to help if you want to.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly recalibrating.
“You really want my input?” she asked. “You’re not just asking because we had the conversation about how it feels to be excluded?”
“I want your opinions. I’m not saying I will agree with all of them, but I want to know what you think about the project,” I explained.
She studied me for a long moment, searching for something. When she seemed satisfied with what she found, she nodded slowly.
“I would like that,” she said. “But only if we’re clear about things.”
“I like clear,” I said.
“And if it ever starts to feel like too much, I can take a step back,” she added.
“Also agreed.”
She relaxed back into me again, a small sigh escaping her. “Okay, then yes.”
We stayed there, sipping our tea and just enjoying the moment. Just being present, and making space for someone else to matter.
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Talent Show
Kitty
The town square looked different at night.
The snow had been packed down by hundreds of boots, the stage lights throwing pale halos across the ground and turning familiar storefronts into something almost theatrical. Folding chairs filled the open space in neat rows, and a low hum of voices drifted through the cold air as people settled in, stamped their feet, and leaned close to one another for warmth.
I stood just offstage with my clipboard pressed to my chest, breathing carefully through my nose to not aggravate my throat. I was bundled up so much it was hard to move and my scarf kept getting in my way.
The cookie exchange and cocoa crawl were done. The vendor market was over. What remained was the talent show, the thing everyone would remember if it went well and blame me for if it didn’t.
I checked the lineup again, even though I knew it by heart. The first act was ready, gathered backstage and looking through the curtains at the crowd. The second act was pacing in a tight circle just beside the stage. The third act argued quietly amongst themselves and I hoped it was nothing serious because at this point, the show was happening. Everything was exactly as prepared as it was going to be.
Caleb was already at the sound board, already having run through his sound checks he was ready to go. Caleb caught my eye and lifted a hand briefly with a smile. I nodded back with a smile of my own.
People were still trickling in, finding seats in the square. Kids darting between chairs until corralled by adults. Performers hovering near the side of the stage, clutching props and instruments like talismans.
I moved through them, checking names, offering quiet reassurance, redirecting where necessary.
“You’re on after the dance trio with the blue costumes,” I told a nervous boy holding a violin. “Just follow Mr. Humphrey when he points. You are going to do great.”
He nodded solemnly, eyes wide.
Mr. Humphrey stood near the microphone, already beaming like a man about to deliver a keynote address. I gently touched his elbow.
“Not yet,” I said. “We want to wait for the top of the hour.”
“Yes,” he agreed enthusiastically.
I wasn’t convinced we were on the same page.
Behind the judges’ table, Dad and Mom arrived together, bundled in scarves and smiling as they took their seats. Dad leaned over the list of acts taped to their table, scanning the names with interest. Mom caught my eye and gave me an encouraging nod with two mittened thumbs up.
