Page 7 of Scrooge

“So who was the guy you were chatting with on the street earlier?” Jillian asks, and my brain immediately snaps back to the well-dressed, handsome, yet irritating man.

“No one. Just another city suit.” I try to downplay the encounter, even though I’ve been thinking of not much else since it happened, his broad shoulders and his chiseled jaw still on replay in my mind. As are his smoldering eyes and the way he looked back at me as he rounded the corner.

She gives me a small smile, like she knows exactly what I am thinking.

“You know, just because Jaryd was an asshole, doesn’t mean all men in suits are,” she says, and just the mention of my ex sends a shiver down my spine and turns my blood cold. We both know “asshole” is too kind of a description of someone who decided to put his fist in my face.

“I try not to judge, and don’t want to generalize, but in this case, it’s hard not to.” I grab my earlobe, pulling on it automatically. The nervous twitch I developed as a kid is something I never grew out of, to the annoyance of my mom.

“Hmmm, is that why you are pulling your ear? You only do that when you are nervous. Did the suit man make you nervous, Haylee?” my sister teases, and I roll my eyes at her before dropping my hand, the sheer will I need for the movement almost debilitating.

“No. Not at all,” I say, moving my eyes from her to out the window. Our trip home is almost an hour into New Jersey. Our train is full of commuters just like us.

“Hmm, you need to start dating again,” she murmurs, and I huff.

“That sounds about as appetizing as being stabbed in the eyeball with a hot poker.”

“You can’t stay single all your life.”

I’m already shaking my head before she’s finished.

“Watch me. I’m going to get a cat and become a cat lady,” I tell her jokingly. I hate cats.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, but I can sense something on her mind. When I look back at her, I see her face filled with worry.

“What’s wrong?”

“What will you do when the shop closes?” she asks tentatively, biting the inside of her lip.

“The shop will not close.” I say it with confidence, rolling my shoulders. I need to find a way to keep us going.

“It’s time to be realistic, Haylee. Even if it doesn’t close right away, it will eventually. You’ve seen the decline in our sales. Kids aren’t as into toys like they once were, not with all the technology around now. Maybe you should put your creativity to good use. All those paintings you create are taking up too much room at Mom and Dad’s house anyway.”

“It’s just a hobby,” I tell her, shrugging off her comment. My ex’s voice replays in my head. Jaryd hated my paintings, said it was an immature, time-consuming hobby that I needed to get rid of if I was serious about a relationship with him. Since then, I have only painted at my parents’ place and don’t really share my work with anyone anymore.

“You are really good. You could show your work in a gallery. People would buy it,” she says, and I grab at my earlobe again, a move she doesn’t miss.

“Hmmm, confident with everything else, but when it comes to you and your own ability, not so much, eh?” Her eyebrow lifts, waiting for my denial, and I take a deep breath. Showcasing my art pieces would be a dream if I could get over the crippling anxiety I have developed surrounding it.

“Just leave it,” I tell her, sounding exasperated.

“We need a plan B. Mom and Dad will move into retirement. Any money we make between now and closing at Christmas will fund them. But us? We need a plan,” she enunciates, and I can feel myself frowning.

“Ifyou need to, you will find something.”

“I have two kids to support, who have a deadbeat absentee father who shows up periodically asking for money…”

“Another asshole,” I add on a sigh.

“Seems we can pick them.” Bumping her shoulder into mine playfully, we both let out a matching groan of frustration, which at least makes us chuckle.

“Why can’t you go into finance? You did that at school, and you have managed the books at the shop before,” I ask her, and she thinks it over for a moment.

“Maybe… I enjoy numbers. I like budgets.”

“It doesn’t matter, though. I’m certain we won’t need a plan B.” I sit up straighter and shift to look into her eyes. “We will keep the shop.”

“I love your positivity, even if it is misplaced this time.” As she looks back at me with a smirk, maybe even a flicker of hope, the familiar feeling of dread crawls up my chest just thinking about our predicament. I am about to look away so she can’t spot my doubts, but her eyes widen and her teasing smile drops.

---