“But?”
“But he didn’t ask me.”
Edie nods slowly.
“He saw I needed help, and he decided what the help should be. He signed a year lease. In his name. Then he took me there like I was supposed to walk in and be grateful.”
“Were you?”
“For half a second,” I admit. “Then I felt trapped.”
Edie doesn’t say anything right away. That makes me nervous because Edie always has something to say.
Finally, she points at my notebook. “What help do you actually need?”
I look down.
The question feels simple enough.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
I shake my head. “No, I know what needs to be done. I made a list of what stresses me, but I don’t know what kind of help I’m allowed to ask for.”
Edie’s face softens a little. “Allowed?”
I hate that word now that it’s out.
“I’ve been doing it myself for so long. It feels weird to say I need somebody else.”
“Needing help is not a character flaw.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.
She reaches for my notebook and turns it toward herself. “Okay. Let’s do this. If you had someone helping you, what would you hand over first?”
I don’t even have to think.
“Emails.”
Edie writes it down.
“Booking requests. Scheduling. Confirming payments. Sending reminders. Answering the same five questions over and over again when the answers are already on the website.”
She keeps writing. “Good. What else?”
“Social media. Not the creative part entirely, but posting. Drafting captions. Making sure I actually share the content I record instead of letting it sit in my phone until it’s useless.”
“What else?”
“Supply inventory. I always think I have more brushes than I do. And cups. And paper towels. And table covers.”
“What else?”
