I nodded slightly. “I can see how you’d say that, being a chef and all.”
She leaned in closer. “Focus. These people—the ones with too much going on in their homes—are the same ones you’re about to ask for help in your home. Do you want friends or not?”
The question pushed against my face with such force, I was glad Gabriella held me still.Do I want friends or not?I stumbled through my response. “I mean… I like people—and I do want friends.”
She asked, “You have social anxiety?”
“No. I’m fine being around people. I just don’t want to be around them a lot.”
“Cool. Nobody’s trying to be with you twenty-four seven, either. They have lives, too. I’m just saying, if you want to make friends in a small town, you need to be friend-ly. Not in a performative way. Authentically.”
I nodded. Genuine and authentic, I could do. It was all the pretense for Eric’s job and Terri’s dance team and Eric Jr.’s leagues and even the Parent-Teacher Association that had worn me down. Made me leery of people. And, according to Gabriella, maybe it wasn’t their fault. It was me who had put these expectations on myself to show up a certain way. Proper. Polished. Put-together.
“Another thing,” she continued. “You can’t be judgmental andbeg for help at the same time. I need you to change your energy around this potluck, okay?”
“Not sure how to change my energy, but I’ll try.”
“I mean change your attitude. People can feel what you’re thinking because it comes out in your body language, the things you say, the things you don’t say. It’s your vibe. Got it?”
“Got it. Thank you.”
“You got this.”
I left with Gabriella’s words swimming around my head.You can’t be judgmental and beg for help at the same time.
I parked at the address shared in the group text. The house was modest but inviting, with white siding that had seen better days but still held on to its charm. A wide front porch stretched across the front, its floorboards worn and weathered, with a few rocking chairs swaying gently in the breeze. Flower beds lined the base of the porch, filled with a mix of late-summer blooms and overgrown greenery that gave the house a lived-in, comfortable feel. There were three other cars in the circular driveway, another sign that I was in the right place.
My anti-potluck sentiments played a game of Ping-Pong in my head against my need for friends. Companionship. Elijah was gone. Gabriella had her own twentysomething life. Terri still hadn’t returned my call since she had her father take our grandson away from me, which meant she was colder than I’d imagined. And if I were being honest with myself, I thought my best friend was a little upset with me for divorcing a normal man, when she had been single and hoping for a normal man most of her life.
I pitied myself for not having any friends, no one in my age-group—a peer—to process life with.
Who starts over at sixty years old? How did I end up like this?I’ddivorced Eric, not my life. Not my friends. Yet somehow, when we split up, all my other relationships suffered. Is that a thing? Why hadn’t anyone told me that divorcing my husband would mean isolation? Retiring and moving to Robin Creek hadn’t helped, but I needed affordable housing. I couldn’t turn down mortgage-free, rent-free shelter.
I felt like an outsider in my own life, trying to navigate new relationships while holding on to the remnants of the old.
The knock on my window startled me. It was Sonia, with a smile. “You all right in there?”
“Yes,” I said, reaching over to grab the container with my friendly offering.
Sonia stepped back and allowed me to open the door. Managing my purse, the food, and the door proved quite the feat, and I nearly dropped the food. Were it not for Sonia’s free hand, I would have been eating taquitos with a dusting of dirt, because those weren’t going to waste, period.
“Thank you,” I said to her as she helped me straighten up.
“You’re welcome. Smells good.”
“Oh, it is,” I assured her.
She teased, “Okay, I see you, Joyce! No need to be humble when you can back it up.”
Sonia knocked on the door, and a woman who looked like Eileen’s twin answered. “Hi, Sonia, thanks so much for coming.”
“Of course, Liz. Anything for Eileen.” The women exchanged a solid hug.
Liz asked as she offered me a smile, “Who’d you bring with you?”
“This is Joyce,” Sonia explained. “She’s new to the Chapter Chatters, but she recently moved back to Robin Creek. Her family has roots here.”
Without further explanation, Liz hugged me like an old friend. Warm and tight. “Welcome home, Joyce.”
