“Well, the offer stands. If you ever need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks, Claire.”
My watch lights up with a notification, an incoming text from Lex. I pick up my phone from where it sits on the bench that overlooks Main Street.
LEX: Okay, you were right. Sometimes yoga does jack shit to help your thoughts. What do I do?
Lex is normally the early riser in our household. Always waking with the sun and strolling down to the stretch of beach behind our house to set her daily intentions.
But this morning, it was me sitting on the couch before five a.m., coffee in hand—that was conveniently set up under the coffee machine before I woke up—and staring out the back window into nothingness. She took one look at me, said, “Yoga?” to which I nodded, and we both made our way down to the sand to stretch and contemplate.
We sat on the shore for a good half hour before she finally said, “I slept with my new boss.” She left to do a morning of intense Pilates to exhaust her body, but it clearly didn’t work.
ME: Tequila is the only way, babe
LEX: Bring me back an eclair
ME: LOL or pastries, I guess. Couch date tonight?
LEX: How about The Wayside?
ME: You’re suggesting a night out of drinking and dancing?!?! Where was this two months ago? Have we traded roles in life?
LEX: I need to see him.
I’m pulled back to the outside world when I notice a Connors Construction truck zooming past the window. It’s earlier than West said, but maybe he’s running early.
I throw my phone in my bag and pick up my coffee, then head over to the counter to pay for the goodies Liv boxed up for me.
“Can I grab one more éclair in a separate bag?”
“Of course.” Liv pops the dessert into a little box, the same powder blue as her shirt and all around the store, then rings up my total.
“Thanks, Liv. I’ll see you next week.”
I step outside the bakery into the warm air, the sweet smells from the florist next door dancing up the sidewalk.
A maudlin smile crosses my face as I think of the relief that my salon is finally complete, happiness for the next phase of my life, but also the finality of whatever had been between Leif and me. That chapter between us is over, but I’m apprehensive about closing the book.
I stop in front of the doors to the salon, staring through the windows, and think about my mum. My childhood. She raised me with strength and determination.
I think, in her head, if she wore her armour, it would speak to her resilience of not letting the hurt stop her. It would prove that as a single mother, she could raise me well, and we would both go through life as successful, independent women. I don’t think she saw the fact that by walking around with her shields raised, she was letting her hurt define her.
Being brave would have meant not letting the betrayals of my father keep her from experiencing all the things life offered. And life offers both hurt and happiness.
She trusted the wrong person, and it meant, in my life, I walked around without the ability to trust. Not even that. I have lived my life without ever giving someone the chance to earn it.
Leif wasn’t trying to earn it, though. He just turned up every time I asked and gave me his loyalty on a silver platter.
With every opportunity he had to get close to me, he kept stacking the platter with more offerings: his patience, his protection. He was vulnerable and upfront with me, challenging me to do the same and letting me know the safety of his open arms, there and ready to catch me when I decided to let go of my past hangups.
It makes me wonder if I had missed out on other opportunities to feel more because of the walls I’d built. But then I think, if anyone else wanted to do that, to be that with me, for me, then they would have tried. They would have kept showing up and being there even when I tried to push them away.
Leif is the only one who’s ever worked so hard to keep me.
I shake off the thoughts and pull the salon keys from my handbag to let myself in the front door.
The smell of paint still lingers in the air, and I make a mental note to buy some candles for the place.