Page 17 of Three Reckless Words

When I saw ‘breakup box,’ I didn’t hesitate.

Because let’s face it, I’ve definitely broken up, and not just witha man.

I’ve broken up with everything: my past, my present, any future I ever imagined.

RIP to the girl I used to be.

The fact that I tried to go along with the wedding at all is proof she was too stupid to live.

Old Winnie, she was optimistic to a fault. She kept thinking maybe, just maybe, thiscouldbe the right move because so many other people wanted it.

If only she’d stopped to consider the hard truth.

It wasn’t right becauseIdidn’t want it.

Stupid?

Yes. Fabulously so.

But I guess that’s what you get when you’re raised to make your family proud above all else. And by proud, I mean letting your father marry you off like a prized asset meant to be leveraged.

Gross.

But now I’m free.

And I’ve decided a healthy part of this freedom means devouring three huge chocolate eclairs in one sitting while I work on relinquishing any and all fucks related to pleasing my dad.

The damage is done. There’s no way he’ll be proud of me again.

So, I might as well enjoy the sugar high and the sunshine.

The summer sun certainly warms my back as I wander along the well-tended paths through the garden.

My fingers are already smudged with dirt, but that’s what I get for not finding gloves.

There’s something peaceful about plucking weeds to pass the time, though. There aren’t that many when this place has perfect maintenance, but still.

There are also so many flowers—the bee-friendly kind like lavender—and I kneel down on the path, clearing space around them.

Lazy bees at work drift by, humming gently around me like this sweet lullaby.

I really hope I get that extended stay. If I can’t freeze this moment forever, I’d like to stretch it out a few more days, at least.

Just me and the bees and this sunbathed garden.

Nothing more, nothing less, and no freaking worries.

Maybe someday I can find a more permanent place like this. I’ll stay for the week, the month, a whole year or two.

I’ll slowly become the crazy bee lady I’ve always wanted to be and live my best life.

No more Dad. No more Holden. No more nasty weddings. No more Springfield.

The thought doesn’t make my throat tighten with anxiety anymore.

I guess that’s the power of bees, because if I was cooped up in some hotel room somewhere else, looking out at the city skyline, there’s no way Iwouldn’tbe sobbing into my wine and pizza.

It’s way too peaceful here for shedding tears.

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