I rolled my eyes. “If he’s running a fitness studio, he’s probably young and out of our age range.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m expanding my acceptable age range. Since I’m forty-two, I think I can go fifteen years in either direction.”
I sipped my soup. “Fifteen? So you’d date a guy in his twenties?”
“Funny how you go in that direction. As a matter of fact, I would absolutely prefer a guy in his twenties to a guy in his late fifties. Why go gray-balling before you absolutely have to?”
I choked on my soup and reached for a napkin. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I agree with Dr. Amie.” Susan, a fifty-something, longtime customer, set a few things on the checkout counter. “Go younger. Bill—my gray-balled husband—overeats at dinner then falls asleep on the sofa. He wakes up at two in the morning and starts groping me for sex because he’s had six good hours of sleep, and his prostate wakes him up with an urgent need to urinate. So he figures since he’s up, I might as well wake up and let him do his thing with me. But I’m up late reading, and my body has no desire to be invaded at that insane hour of the morning.”
Amie gave me a wide-eyed look before laughing. “Susan, you have made my day.”
I sat my soup aside and rang up her items while chuckling and lifting my gaze to see if the two other women in the store could hear our conversation. Since I didn’t recognize them, I thought we should keep the conversation G-non-groping-related.
“Pauline told me about your confession at your meeting,” Susan whispered as if that needed to be said in privacy, yet gray balls and two-in-the-morning groping required no level of privacy or discretion.
Such a small town. Zero room for secrets. Gossip was the only form of entertainment that didn’t involve a screen and a Hulu subscription in Epperly.
“It was probably inappropriate given the audience and the fact that it was at church. Sixty-two eighty.” I totaled her products and put them in a bag.
“Pauline said you were a breath of fresh air. Saying all the things everyone else in the group had been dying to say.”
Amie raised an eyebrow at me. “Clearly, you didn’t tell me everything.”
I shrugged, nodding for Susan to go ahead and swipe her credit card. “I had a weak moment, and in turn, a few other women decided to have a weak moment too.”
“Not weak.” Susan shook her head. “Honest. A breakthrough for some of those women. Acknowledging your truth is not weak; it’s strong. It makes you feel vulnerable to let people in like that. So the fact that you did that makes it not only brave, but it allowed the other women in the group to speak their truths too.”
I chuckled, handing her the receipt. “And what truth is that? That our loved ones are dead, but we can’t let go of the irritating things they did?”
Susan tapped her finger on the tip of her nose. “Exactly. Saying I loved him is only half the truth. I loved him, but he drove me crazy … now that’s being honest.”
I loved him, then I despised things about him, then I fell out of love, then I asked for a divorce, then he died.
My honesty was embarrassing, regretful, and tragic.
“Thanks, Susan.” I went with the less-is-more route.
“Anytime. I’m going to pop into the new place across the street. You know … to see if it’s what I’m expecting.”
“Well, report back if it’s something amazing.” Amie smiled, and Susan nodded while heading to the door.
That afternoon, the traffic in my store came to a screeching halt. The holidays were upon us. Late October to November always … always brought a steady stream of traffic. Standing at the door, I squinted to see through the windows of What Did You Expect? But the reflection of the sun obscured everything—except the line all the way down the sidewalk.
Were people really waiting to go inside? For what? Fitness classes? Was he running a flash sale on memberships? Right at the door, taking a step inside the mysterious new business, I recognized Valerie Middleton’s pink hat that I knitted for her two years earlier when she was going through chemotherapy for breast cancer. I texted her to get the scoop on the situation.
Elsie: What’s in the store. I have to know!She quickly replied with a wide-eyed emoji.
Valerie: Um … it’s a specialty store. Sort of.
Elsie: What products do they sell?She replied with a hand-covering-the-mouth emoji and a cringing emoji.
Valerie: Food and other stuff.My store was considered a specialty store.
I sold food and other stuff.
Shit …
I had competition? Going into the holidays, I had some new guy selling his own tins of popcorn, tubs of cheese, and rolls of turkey sausage? That wasn’t what I needed—not with my first holiday season without Craig, not with the store officially belonging to me.