Page 3 of Any Girl But You
So, what did I do? I offered for Noah to not only hang out with me but sleep overnight.
My former therapist would be very, very disappointed in me. Ihatedisappointing people.
“Hey, I just double-checked the delivery, and it looks like the driver left a five-pound bag of hazelnuts off the order,” Luna, my part-time employee, says as she bounces into the back room.
She reminds me of what a little sister would be like if I had a little sister, although we look almost completely different. Her short pink pixie cut, facial piercings, and full sleeve tattoos are almost my alter ego. However, if I ever attempted any of thosethings, I’d look like I was dressing up for Halloween as someone way cooler than me.
“Do you want to talk to him?” Luna asks.
Ugh. I really need to be firmer. The delivery guy, George, is the nicest man, but he often forgets things, and the following week, when he remembers what he forgot the previous week, he forgets something else. I take a tentative step with my new walking boot, pull my shoulders back, and lift my chin.
Be strong, be firm, set boundaries. George will still like me even if I make him go back and get the order.Be strong, be firm, set boundaries…
“Hey there, Zoey!” George says. “So sorry, looks like I forgot the hazelnuts. I’m going to be making a run back through town later this week, on Wednesday. Is it okay if I swing by then and drop it off?”
I swallow a way too big of a lump in my throat and thumb my glasses back up my nose. “Oh yikes. Gosh. Um, you know I really need those. They are, well, a key ingredient to so many of my items. And tomorrow is a heavy baking day,” I lie. Every day is a heavy baking day.
His mouth twists, and I see it in his eyes. He’s disappointed. In the situation, in me. And then he won’t like me. And if he won’t like me, his deliveries might get worse, and people will think I’m terrible. Word will spread around town that I’m unreasonable, that this guy made one mistake, and I’m forcing him to work extra hours.
George taps his clipboard against his leg. “They’re all the way back in Duluth, and it’s the end of my shift. To go there, back here, and back…we’re looking at ninety minutes, easy.”
Don’t do it. Stay strong. He is the one that messed up the order, not me. “Oh yes, of course. Next week is totally fine! I’ll just scoot right over to the grocery store and pick up what I need in the interim.”Ugh. Now I’m so disappointed in myself I mightdeny myself dessert tonight. My old therapist would officially fire me as a client.
Two years ago, after Josie and I broke up after a decade together, I started therapy. Sure, I learned some communication skills, fleshed out some things that led to our breakup, and tried to build empathy for myself for having a failed relationship. The therapist guided me in discovering why I have this deep, intrinsic need for people to like me, why I avoid hard conversations, and encouraged me to take the lessons I learned from my last relationship into any new relationships.
So, what lessons did I learn? For that first year, the one I held on to most was that I will never, ever open myself up the way that I did with Josie. That the pain was so deep, so profound, and that singlehood was a blessing from the gods.
But this last year, I spent my downtime really evaluating what I want and need and concluded that as painful as Josie’s and my breakup was, I’m not giving up my fairy-tale dream. Some people are meant to travel this world alone, and some are not. I’m one of those not slated for singlehood. I want to fulfill my life partner, rescue dog, picket fence dreams. My soulmate is out there. I just need to find her.
I blink away those thoughts and focus on George.
“You’re the best, Zoey!” he says, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “I promise I’ll bring it on Wednesday.”
“Sure thing. Have a great weekend.” I smile brightly and wave. When I turn back, I shake my head. I might not be in therapy anymore, but I know I’ve got to do better. Starting now, I’m not taking any more poop from anyone today, no matter how hard it may be.
I hobble behind the counter to help with customers but wish I could bake bread. A perfect creative outlet is when I work with our custom cupcakes, cookies, and cakes. Adding edible glitter edging on my cookies and designing chocolate stilettos with goldbow tops fills that need in me. But working with dough, flexing my fingers, kneading out my frustrations into a ball of gluteny goodness is heaven.
The door rings and a couple of giggling teens pop in with beach bags stuffed with towels and hats. After they order cake pops and a cupcake, one girl leans towards me. “You’re Zoey? The owner?”
“Sure am,” I say with a proud smile.
She plants her hands on top of the display case with a soft smack. “Oh my God, has anyone told you that you look like Zooey Deschanel? It’s so crazy. Like, you really,reallylook like her. I know the show is super old, but I amobsessedwithNew Girl. The Jess and Nick story… I mean, classic, right?”
Have I heard before that I look like this actress? Maybe only a hundred times. I’m not sure if it’s because I have long brown hair with bangs and glasses, or the blue eyes, or the fact that my name is actually Zoey, but it’s a compliment, so I’ll take it.
Once I send the teens on their way, I return to the kitchen, grab my Sharpie, and scribbleQuinn Leeon top of the four oversized cookie boxes.
Quinn Lee… I’m actually pretty excited about meeting her. I’ve known Morgan Rose for years. She owns a wedding and event planning business in town and is one of my top customers for her clients. And when she reconnected with her high school girlfriend, Frankie, last year, I met her, too. Within a short while, they both started chatting to me about Quinn.A lot.
Spring Harbors is a small-enough town. Everyone heard about Pete and Patty’s Christmas tree farm getting sold to Quinn Lee. For so many years, that farm had served this town. But, from what I understand, it went downhill fast. Josie and I went there maybe five or six years ago to pick out a tree. But it was so depressing, like the place where Christmas dreams go to die, that we never returned.
So yes, I know about Quinn Lee. But every time Frankie and Morgan chat with me about her, I get this underlying impression that they’re trying to set me up. “You two have so much in common,” “Can’t wait for you guys to meet each other,” and “We should all hang out some time,” are common themes through our conversations.
Last year, when they started talking about Quinn, I thought the Josie scars on my heart would never heal and would forever taint any potential relationship. So, for my safety and sanity—and any potential mate’s—it was simply best not to engage. As politely as I could so they didn’t get mad at me, I told them all my time goes into my shop, and I have zero social life. Which was not a lie.
However, now that I’m in a better place emotionally, and those scars have mostly faded, maybe a new…friend…is exactly what the doctor ordered. Things have slowly settled around my shop, and fall—my favorite season—is right around the corner. Walking hand in hand with mitts on and a shared pumpkin latte while watching the leaves change colors sounds wonderful. Besides, I just got off crutches and cannot wait to do something outside.
Speaking of my foot, my gosh, this walking boot is not comfortable. I sit in a chair by the prep stand and elevate until the throbbing stops.
