The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

It’s official. This day sucks. First, I wake up swaddled in Mr. Darcy’s suit jacket with the sinking realization that I’ll have to see him all week, and now this? I want to go back to bed so I can wake up again and realize it was all some terrible boozy nightmare.

“But who are you going to sell it to? No one will be as good a partner as you are.”

“I’ve had several offers, but I haven’t chosen anyone yet because I was thinking you should buy my half and become a full owner.”

“Full owner?” The words settle on my tongue like battery acid. Every decision would fall to me alone. Every failure. Every missed opportunity. Me. All me. Alone. “Nah, too much of a headache. I don’t want to bury myself in the upkeep of this place.” I try to sound nonchalant and even pick at my fingernail while I say it so Stacy isn’t tipped off to the panic welling inside me.

“What are you talking about? You’re practically running it yourself already. You’re the idea woman; I just smile and nod and stand here as eye candy for the clients.”

Not true. I mean, yes, the eye candy part is true, but the rest is false. Whether she knows it or not, Stacy is my rock. She’s the one who keeps me from making terrible decisions, doing too much too soon, and quitting when things get hard.

Because, here’s the thing, I’ve already tried to run a company on my own, and I failed. When Ben and I were still engaged, he helped me start a little flower truck business. It was cute, and I swore it was my dream job. I had visions of hipsters everywhere, lining up in their floppy sun hats and crushed denim jeans to purchase one of my bouquets.

It thrived for about three months. And then Ben cheated on me, and I canceled our wedding, and the entire business fell on my shoulders, and I let it go down the toilet. But no one knows Ben cheated on me. No one knows I found the text evidence of his affair in his phone. And no one will find out either.

Why should I backtrack now? My life is good. Secure. And no one even makes me feel bad for not having my own husband and kids to pose with for Christmas photos. Instead, the conversation goes something like this: We’ll get a family shot of Jake and Evie and the kids, and then June, darlin’, we’ll take your photo over there next to the Christmas tree. Smile extra big!

My Christmas cards from the past five years look like I’ve given up on the human race completely and married that Christmas tree instead. Douglas Fir makes a wonderful spouse.

But anyway, I just didn’t have a desire to keep my flower truck going. And sure, maybe I could’ve blamed it on a bit of depression, but there are more situations in my life that point to my “give up when things get tough” personality.

I dropped out of college three credits shy of graduating to go to cosmetology school, and then I dropped out of cosmetology school to spend a summer in London, but then I had to come home because I ran out of money and clean underwear.

This donut shop is the longest success I’ve ever had, and I know it’s all because of Stacy. If I didn’t have her…well, I don’t know what would have happened by now. I like to make everyone believe that I’m a strong, independent woman who needs no one and never wants to be tied down by a man or a family, because I’m happy.

I am.

Really.

H.A.P.P.Y.

But at the end of the day, this version of me is just that. A version. It’s fake. I’m a big faking fakerson, and even though I’m happy to live by the one-date-only rule I made for myself after the Ben debacle so I never end up in another bad long-term relationship, business is the one area of my life that I refuse to go it alone again.

Over the next ten minutes, I try convincing Stacy o

f all the reasons I don’t want to buy her share of the company without actually telling her the real truth. That I’m a liar. Not as tough as I look. That I feel a little broken. That I don’t trust myself anymore.

Finally, Stacy relents, and we agree that we’ll interview the people who have made offers together. Then, she flattens my already deflated heart to a pancake when she says that she has two meetings with potential buyers lined up for Wednesday. WEDNESDAY! As in, two days from now!

That’s not nearly enough time for me to sabotage Logan's new stupid job in California while simultaneously finding him an equally prestigious position here that will pay even better than the other. I mean, who even wants to live in California anyway? Blue skies? Psh, hate them! 70-degree temperatures year-round? Gross! The potential of seeing a famous actor around any corner? Boooorriinngg.

It’s no use, though; Stacy is set on it. And after listening to her talk about the house they’ve been looking at online, and how they will live closer to Logan's parents and start trying to have a family since they will have help nearby, and the school systems, and the restaurants, and the ocean, and the other annoyingly wonderful things that I can’t even argue with, I relent and give her my blessing in the form of another bear hug.

She’s really leaving. For the first time since we were seven years old, Stacy and I will not see each other every day.

I feel like another piece of me is breaking off. “Okayyyy,” she says in a mopey tone as she’s slowly making her way back to the door.

I tell her to hold on so I can turn on sad music over the speaker. And because she’s the best friend a girl could ever have, she complies without question. I turn on that terribly sad song “I Will Remember You”, and once it’s blaring over the speaker, I nod for Stacy to leave.

She gives a sad smile. I give a sad smile. A lone tear streaks down both of our faces as she turns around and walks out the door. It’s the end of an era. I might never see her again.

Just before the door closes, she stops it and peeks her head back inside. “Oh! Don’t forget about the dress fitting at 4:00!” Oh, right. She’s still getting married here at the end of the week, and there are, like, a million tasks we still have to do together before then.

“Yep! Ride together?”

“Sure! I’ll pick you up here at closing.”

“Kluvyoubyeeee.”