“Ready to sleep?” he asks.
I nod. I’m still in zombie mode when I slip into pajamas.
We fall into bed, and while it’s so tempting to lose myself in him, it’s just not the right time to do all the things we want to do. I don’t know how he’s not hating on me for this. His patience isadmirable. And sexy. But I’m just not there. I want to be back to my old self.
God, I barely remember her.
I cuddle up hard and tell him, “I may never be me again. The girl you met.”
“And I may never be me again either. The guy you didn’t meet.”
Dave has a story to tell, seemingly one he doesn’t want to share right now. Yet one he maybe wants to let out at some point. I can wait on us, just as he can.
He leaves in the morning, waking me as he kisses me on my shoulder. Yet again, I don’t get out of bed until the afternoon. When I finally do, I make my coffee and then open a can of food for my feral cat. I about cry when I hear a noise from the bathroom. A first sound. It’s not a cute meow, but it’s some kind of cat sound. Maybe Top Cat is hating on me less. It’s a win, one I wish Dave were here for.
I text him about this.
Dave replies with nearly every happy emoji.
I smile and then bundle up to sit outside with coffee, look over the ocean, and stew about work. It’s stupidly cold by the ocean, but the frigid air on my face helps me focus, and the mess of fleece blankets and wraps keeps the rest of me warm. I like the mix of drinking a steaming beverage while sitting in the cold. Plus, it reminds me of Patrick and our arctic time with the polar bears.
It’s only after a lot of stewing, but I finally resolve that Dave is right.Patrickwas right. I’m going to be okay with saying no to offers and deals I loathe, so I easily shoot off emails, rejecting everything shitty that’s been offered to me. My agent will be pissed, but I don’t care. It’s easy to forget that Barbara works for me, not the other way around. Intuitively, I know what deals totake and not to take. Listening to my gut is going to take some getting used to.
I’m very happy to support places and products I genuinely love, and now I’m okay with shunning the shit I hate. And the truth is that the sponsors I love will still be paying me well. I don’t need to be greedy.
I’m still stupefied that my accounts make me a living. Years ago, when my college posts about how to eat well in crummy cafeterias went nuts and then my later posts with me salivating over local restaurants got insane views, things blew up. All I wanted to do was to highlight and drive people to local restaurants. Small markets, mom-and-pop places. I don’t get why I have such a following. I’m not sexy or styled well. I wear mostly monochromatic loungewear from JAKI, a really messy bun, no makeup. I’m just me. But I guess just being me works?
After I’m caffeinated and I have wrangled my hair into a disheveled knot—one that looks more like an ’80s side ponytail—I shove my right arm into a parka and drape the rest of it over my shoulder.Fucking cast.
My salvaged new car and I make it into town with no ditch disasters, and I park near the food truck because I need to see him. Dave.
After I get there, I stare sort of helplessly at him for a bit as he does his thing until I finally approach the actual counter. And while I know it’s offseason, there is still a group of kids gathered around his free offering of children’s books while the adults are ordering food. These must be locals who love and indulge in all he does.
When I finally reach the counter, my cast must thump against the serving counter more than I intended to because he startles and turns.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His curious look is so cute. “For what?”
I shrug. “I just blew off people and got my life back. And I thought you’d be closed for the day by now. And so I’m here.”
He shrugs. “I don’t have any set hours. Just go by demand, and today has been busy for some reason.” Dave has got to be exhausted, but he doesn’t show it. “And you’re here now,” he notes with a smile.
“So, you don’t mind if I place an order?”
“I do not. Fire away.” He leans in and stacks two fists on top of each other, then rests his chin on top. “Whatcha want, girl?”
There’s some kind of rom-com moment happening now, but I don’t hate it.
Words don’t seem to come my way, so he helps. “Fried oysters? Maybe some kind of chowder too?”
I nod and smile back.
“You got it.”
I settle into a table, a bit shaky, but very happy, and within seconds, I am nearly accosted by Anjanette.
She is not shy as she falls against the table. “So, what’s going on? There’s a thing happening, yes?”
