Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“But you can’t count on me,” I finished softly.
I got it. I truly did. Keller knew me before I’d made the change. Before I realized life wasn’t a rollercoaster of designer bags and mistakes. He knew me as the girl with the driver, with the credit cards, with the house that didn’t match her nonexistent salary. He loved me for who I was. A hang-out buddy. A girl who was quick-witted and always fun to be around. But he wouldn’t necessarily trust me with his livelihood.
And…I couldn’t fault him for it.
I’d given him no reason whatsoever to believe I understood and could participate in the real world. So far.
Nodding weakly, I turned around and rinsed the glass I’d used, putting it on the dish rack. “I gotta go.”
“Oh, honey, don’t be like that! I don’t have anything until two o’clock. We can binge-watch Selling Sunset and eat those organic coconut-date thingies from Whole Foods that look healthy but are actually hella calorie-dense.”
Giving him a tight smile, I grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him into a squeeze.
“You’re fine, Keller. I’m not mad. You’re letting me stay here rent-free until I figure my shit out. You owe me nothing. Please don’t feel like you do.”
He pulled away from me, his whole body jerking. “Who are you and what did you do with my petty, albeit adorable, friend?”
I shrugged. “Maybe I grew up.”
His face eased. “Yeah. I’m starting to suspect maybe you have.”
Armed with my JanSport backpack (admittedly, it was so much more practical than any designer bag I owned), I made my way to Dennis’ first. This past month, I’d made it a point to visit him and his wife once a week. Sometimes I brought snacks and coffee. But this last time, I was short on cash. Maybe after I managed to sell my old designer items to consignment stores.
Ethel opened the door for me, all smiles. “If it isn’t my favorite girl!”
After weeding out their garden and staying for a cup of coffee (“Doing something for others will make your soul feel good,” Ilona told me), I bid them farewell.
“Where are you headed?” Dennis asked.
“Sunset Boulevard.”
“That’s miles away!” he thundered dramatically. “Let me drive you.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No chance in hell.”
“And what about on earth?” he sassed. God, I loved his dad jokes. I was so glad to have him back in my life, even if not as my driver.
“Not here, either.” I paused, frowning as I thought about it. “You know, Dennis, I loved that we were a team for so long. You were my favorite part about Los Angeles. Still are.”
But not for long. He and Ethel were heading back to the East Coast soon, to reunite with their family in Maryland.
“But is it weird that I love taking the bus? There’s something really great about just sitting in front of a window, watching the city zip by, with your headphones and just…disappearing for a little bit.”
Dennis’ mouth widened into a satisfied smile. His eyes shone. “Yes.” He clucked his tongue. “I feel the same way every time I read a book. Goodbye, Hallie.”
I saluted him, winking at Ethel. “Until next week, folks.”
I arrived at Misfits and Shadows, my favorite tattoo shop, half an hour early.
This was a first for me. I was usually in the habit of being late for everything. It made me feel important, sought-after. Not anymore. I was now thriving on being organized, calculated, and always on time.
In one of our bi-weekly sessions, Ilona pointed out that perhaps I was feeling so down about myself because I never gave myself a chance to succeed.
“Always late, never prepared. It’s almost like you want to fail, Hallie, so you can prove to yourself that yes, you are, in fact, all those things you believe people think about you.”
Misfits and Shadows was as wacky and colorful as the rest of Sunset Boulevard. The building itself was all black. Instead of a sign, there was purple and pink graffiti with the joint’s name, decorated with three-dimensional skulls and roses. The artists here were the best. Back in my heyday, when I had very little to do with my time, I would spend hours sitting here, planning my next design with them.
I stared at the name of the tattoo shop, took a deep breath, and turned around promptly, walking in the other direction.
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t handle failing.
It was horrible, and cowardly, and stupid, but it was the honest truth.
Hearing the word ‘no’ was going to undo me.
My phone rang in my pocket. I tugged it out, punching a placebo button on the light to cross the street.
Mom
It wasn’t the first time she’d called this week.
It wasn’t going to be the last time, either.
I should feel bad, but I didn’t. It was complicated. Ilona assured me that it was okay to take some time, step away from the situation, and examine my feelings before I faced my family.