“Why do you think it’s stuck with you for so long?”
“Because it’s one of the few things I can remember about them. Everything else is just a blur.”
Eudora looks at me, her eyes softening.
“A life always alone and apart, always wary and distrustful, is no life to live.”
I’m realizing that.
“Do you know what the people of the Isles of Shoals say about love?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I really know nothing about where I come from.”
She reaches over and taps my arm. “Well, they say if you can weather the storms of the Isles, you can weather the storm of love.”
“I don’t know if this is love, but it sure feels like a storm.”
“The fae are strong, more than people realize. I think you have it in you, Arbor. I think you do.”
I don’t know about that. I feel crushed and downtrodden at the moment.
“Do they have any sayings about how not to be an idiot?”
She lets out a surprised laugh. “Oh, I’m sure they do, but I don’t know it. However, I have one for you.”
“What is it?”
“Think really hard before you act, and you won’t be an asshole.”
I get the hint.
He doesn’t want my apology cheese. I bet he gave that entire basket to his brother. Bet they laughed about it when I took off.
Pathetic Arbor, trying to buy his way back into Glenn’s good graces.
Still, despite knowing it’s a failed attempt, I can’t help but send him a few potted plants and chocolates the next day. I send some to Eudora as well, for dealing with my shit. I don’t even know her, and I dumped my baggage all over her and her lovely farm.
I’m embarrassed about my life.
It doesn’t help that Glenn says nothing about those plants and chocolates I sent over, and neither do I. I’m pretty sure they’re sitting in the garbage right now. He probably used them for kindling, but I can’t just pretend like I’m not sorry, like I don’t care. I need to dosomething.Anythinguntil helooksat me again.
But it’s a slog and incredibly disheartening as the days pass and he continues to stand and not sit across from me, his eyes moving this way and that, not settling on me at all.
My mind runs out of ideas, and by the time the weekend rolls around, the anxiety around this entire thing has made me stop eating completely. I smell like burned toast and bitter citrus peels.
Not a good combination. But I guess it is a perfect analogy of how I’m feeling. Bitter and burned.
I pick up my phone and stare down at it, sending Attie a message that I won’t make it this weekend. My limbs are tired,and my heart is just heavy. I don’t feel like making such a long drive. I’ll do it once I’ve come out of this funk.
Before it’s even time to clock out, I stand up and walk to my car. I see heads swiveling toward me, but I say nothing. Not to anyone, and most certainly not to Glenn. Why bother? He doesn’t care anyway.
I deserve that. I really do.
I travel the long distance into the city and limp into my loft, falling onto the couch as soon as the door shuts.
I don’t move for ages, just lie there, my head in the cushions, my eyes blinking open and shut.
I need to wash the scent away from my skin, to start over, but I can’t be fucked. So I just lie there, my stomach cramping slightly from lack of food. Probably dehydrated too. It’s been a while since I’ve had any sustenance.
