“Whoa, careful there,” he says, steadying me with a hand on my arm. His eyes light up with recognition. “Bailey, just the person I wanted to see. I heard congratulations are in order?”
I blink at him, confused. “Congratulations? For what?” Did they announce the winners of the contest early? My brain is muddled, but I’m instantly angry that they would change the judgment without telling me.
Marcus grins, adjusting his glasses. “You and Logan … getting engaged. I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.” He grabs my left hand and looks at it expectantly. “Wait, where’s the ring?”
“What? No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” I protest, my voice rising slightly, and I yank my hand away. “Logan and I…we’re not getting married!”
Marcus looks taken aback by my denial. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’d heard—.”
I cut him off, feeling increasingly flustered. “It’s all gossip and misunderstanding.”
“But the way you two look at each other.” He pushes his glasses up. “It’s obvious how you feel.”
My eyes sting with angry tears. I feel like no one is listening to me. When I was a kid, and I’d try to explain my ideas to my parents, they’d talk over the top of me and brush me aside. Then they’d talk about me like I wasn’t there. I thought I’d gotten over that frustration, but I want to stomp my foot and demand Marcus listen—and hear—what I’m telling him.
Marcus holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. My mistake. Sorry about that, Bailey.”
As he walks away, I lean against the shelf, trying to calm my racing heart. I close my eyes, and a tear falls on each cheek. I brush them away quickly.I’m not a little girl, I tell myself, confused at why I’m having such a big reaction.
I hurry through the rest of my shopping, keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with other shoppers. By the time I reach the checkout, my nerves are frayed.
The cashier, a young girl with festive reindeer antlers perched on her head, beams at me as she starts scanning my items. “Hi, Bailey. I just want to say I think it’s so cute how you and Logan are together now. You seem so much happier lately. I hope you two win the contest together. Wouldn’t that be a great story to tell your kids?”
I freeze, staring at her in disbelief. Even the teenage cashiers are talking about me? I don’t know this girl’s name; how does she know so much about me? I’m right back in my old design firm when people would stop talking when I entered the room. My skin crawls with the gossip. “We’re not... I mean, it’s not like that,” I mumble, fumbling with my wallet.
The girl’s smile falters slightly. “Uh. Okay. I—.”
I cut her off, perhaps more sharply than I intended. “Can we just finish the transaction, please?” I need to get out of here—and fast. I can’t take the pressure.
The girl nods, her lips pressed. I feel a pang of guilt, but I’m too overwhelmed to apologize. As I grab my bags and hurry out of the store, the festive atmosphere that had seemed so charming earlier now feels suffocating.
Outside, I take a deep breath, trying to make sense of what just happened. How did I become one-half of the town’s favorite new couple? And why does the idea terrify me so much?
As I walk home, my mind races. The whole situation feels eerily familiar, bringing back memories I’ve tried hard to forget. I remember how my ex had told everyone we were together before I was ready, how the social pressure had made me feel trapped in a relationship I wasn’t sure I wanted, and then getting out of it was harder than peanut brittle. Not to mention, it hurt like a road rash on my heart.
I reach my apartment, fumbling with my keys as I try to balance my grocery bags. As I step inside, I’m greeted by the sight of Gladys, humming cheerfully as she arranges a vase of poinsettias on my coffee table. I groan and set the grocery bags on the table.
“Bailey,” she exclaims, her face lighting up. “I thought I’d spruce up the place a bit. How was your shopping trip?”
I sink onto the couch. “Gladys, did you know the whole town thinks Logan and I are... together?” I can’t bring myself to say engaged. It’s such a big lie. I cover my face. What if he thinks I’m telling people we’re getting married?
Gladys tilts her head, her eyes twinkling. “Oh? How do you feel about that?”
I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up. “People are looking at me differently, talking about me. I feel like I have no control over it.” There’s the issue. Control. The word lights up in my mind like a neon sign.
Gladys sits beside me, her presence comforting. “The only person you can control is yourself. Which makes worrying about what other people do seem silly, doesn’t it?”
I look at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” she says gently, “if you can’t control what people are saying, worry, stress, or sadness won’t change it—but they affect you.” She taps my chest. “In here.”
Her words, coupled with the tap to my chest, remind me of how my heart raced and how I felt closed in and panicky. “How do I stop caring about it?” I think back to all the nasty rumors my ex spread about me after we broke up and how it affected my career. “Their words can have an effect on my life.”
Gladys tips her head. “They can affect some things, but it’s our decision to let them affect our hearts or not. You have such a beautiful heart, Bailey.”
“I want to lock it away so I never get hurt again.” I pull my legs up to my chest and hug my knees.
Gladys puts her arm around my shoulders. “That would be a shame because when you do that, you also limit your influence. Was there anyone at your old design firm who lost a friend when you left.”
