“Look,” I say, setting the blow-dryer case down and taking a seat to face Gavin. “You may not want to go back to LA, but I do. Without USC and It’s Ok!, your life is starting over, but mine is still there. I just have to hire back my brand manager, who has a plan to get me back into the scene.”
“That’s what you call a life? Partying, boozing, sayingWhat’s that?”
“Gavin, haven’t you been paying attention?” I make a dramatic sweep of the place. “This whole time we’ve been able to live off the money I made off my paid appearances—my money! And that’s just from the past year. Imagine what could happen if I didn’t have school to get in the way. I’d be able to live on my own and do the things that make me happy for once. And who knows? Maybe I could even support you while you figure out what it is you want to do, so you won’t have to tell Mom and Dad about USC.” When I finish explaining my plan to Gavin, he still doesn’t seem to get it.
“But for how long? Till you’re thirty? Forty?” His pitch growsmore incredulous as the numbers get higher. “You can’t party when you’re fifty.”
“Gavin, I think you relied on ChatGPT to do your thinking for so long that you can’t think outside the box.” I shake my head pitifully. “Of course I’m not going to party forever. My career would evolve into something more multipurpose. I could host events or provide commentary at fashion shows. Maybe I could sponsor multivitamins or be the spokesperson for AARP one day,” I say, half joking, half serious. “My point is, I have a whole life waiting for me that is full of exciting unknowns. I just have to take the first step. So will you help me find something of worth to sell at this hippie farmer’s market?” I look at him pleadingly.“Please?”
“I guess if that’s what you want,” he says, even though I can tell he’s not entirely convinced of my plan. Slowly he gets up to go to our room. I follow him. After rummaging through his bag, he holds out his hands.
“A Ferragamo leather belt and a Burberry tie?” I raise a skeptical brow. “If you don’t think people would want to buy the Dyson Airwrap at this farmer’s market, why would anyone want those luxury items?”
“It’s all I have.” He sighs. “Do you want it or not?”
I guess if the odds of selling any of our items are similarly low, I may as well take the ones that are easily stowable. I haven’t told Callie of this plan, and I don’t have any intention to, either, so I stuff the belt and tie in my bag as I head out to meet her at the convenience store.
“Glad you made it.” Callie beams when she sees me approaching her Jeep.
That makes one of us. Even though I managed to pivot and turn this situation to my advantage, I can still think of at least fourteenthings I’d rather be doing instead of going to a farmer’s market. But I don’t want to seem rude, so I smile back at Callie.
“I hope you don’t mind, but we have a few pit stops along the way. We have to collect the inventory from the others.”
“Of course. No problem,” I say. I’m about to hop in the car when Callie motions for me to follow her.
“The first stop is in here,” she says, heading in to the convenience store.
The door closes behind her before I have a chance to refuse, so I have no choice but to follow her in. I didn’t leave the best impression the last time I was in here (or the time before that).
“Hey, Hal.” She waves at him sweetly.
He grunts at us with narrowed eyes before disappearing into the back room. Happy as ever, I see. Guess I shouldn’t take it personally, seeing as even Callie’s imitable charm doesn’t work on him.
“This store is interesting,” I muse, glancing around. “Wallpaper, live bait, canned ham, and…what are these?” I hold up an item that looks like half a mitten. “Looks like someone ran out of yarn before getting to the finger portion of this mitten.” Too bad, because it’s super cute in an ombre pink.
Callie stifles a laugh. “Those aren’t mittens. They’re mug cozies.”
“What the hell are mug cozies?”
“You wrap them around a mug, and they keep the contents warm and your fingers from getting scalded.” She demonstrates for me by putting the cozy on a mug that is conveniently for sale next to it. She raises it to show me. “Cute, huh?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
“Hal’s going to give us a box to sell at the farmer’s market today.”
I blanch. “Halmade these?” Just as I say it, he reappears in front of us, sporting a glare more menacing than before.
“Crocheting brings me joy,” he says in the most joyless tone. Guess I’ll have to take his word for it. Hal hands the shoebox of crocheted cozies over to Callie.
“Wow, you’ve been busy.” Callie’s eyes widen at the inventory.
“What can I say? There’s been a lot of motivation.”
It’s then that I see the ceramic bowl with his yarn sitting behind the register. On the outside of the bowl, it readsI crochet so I don’t unravel.
“Hang in there, Hal. We’re here for you if you need anything.”
“Eh,” he grunts, waving us away.
