All the beautiful closeness we shared has dried in the August heat. And I miss him. The old Lucky and Lucky 2.0 and all the Luckys I’ve known.
I wish they were here right now.
Wish I hadn’t ruined everything.
“Maybe you should try to talk to him,” Mom says when we’re coming out of the stockroom after totaling the cash, closing up the Nook later that week. It’s Victory Day, and as the shadows lengthen down the street and twilight approaches, everyone’s migrating toward the historic district. “I hate seeing you unhappy. There’s a lot going on right now, and you’ve been friends for so long, shutterbug. Maybe if you just started the conversation?”
I shake my head, but I can’t explain to her why that’s not possible. I haven’t even told her fully why Lucky and I aren’t a thing anymore, because that would involve more talk about that stupid photo. And Adrian. And maybe we’ve all had enough of this summer.
Maybe it’s best I just let it go and move on.
The funny thing is that I think I could tell her. As far as invisible walls go, things are better between me and Mom since that night after the island when everything came out about my father. Knowing that we’re staying here for now helps. Mom and Grandma have been talking about ways to make things work for all of us. There have been a few tense moments, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.
It’s a process.
“Our breakup was mutual,” I say, and it’s not precisely a lie. I was an absolute dramatic dumbass to Lucky and he shut me out: mutual. So now I’m back to my original No-Romance stance that I took when we first arrived in Beauty. Straying from that policy was my mistake, but it’s not too late to correct it. Probably …
“I don’t like Mopey Josie,” Mom says. “She’s the worst of Snow White’s dwarves.”
“I’m not trying to bring down the flotilla,” I tell her, grabbing the trash bag out of the waste can behind the register.
She rolls her eyes. “I couldn’t care less about the stupid flotilla.”
“Oh, please. You love the flotilla.”
“I love you being happy more.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. Then I think of Lucky telling me to be honest. “Okay, I’m not fine yet, exactly, but I’ll be fine eventually. It’s getting a little better … sort of. I miss him. But I’m trying?”
“I still don’t understand … who broke up with whom?”
“Mom,” I plead.
“Okay, okay. Backing off,” she says, giving me a gentle smile. “It’s just that you haven’t taken any photos in a week, and that makes me worry.”
“That’s not about Lucky,” I say, tying up the trash bag.
“Right. I was afraid of that.” Mom exhales heavily and folds up the end-of-day paperwork. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t told you the truth about Henry Zabka.”
“Nope. That’s the best thing you’ve told me in years.” It’s just not the easiest hurdle to jump. I wake up thinking I’m past it, then I realize I’m still bitter.
Evie emerges from the stockroom with a handful of mermaid pens and says, “You know what? My dad was a good man, and I miss him every day. If Josie needs to miss the idea of a father that she thought she had, then I think that’s okay. Mourn away. But eventually, you’re going to have to make peace with it.” She shrugs loosely. “That’s a little free advice from Madame Evie the Great, straight from the beyond. The spirits say give yourself a break, lady.”
Mom and I stare at her. Madame Evie’s been giving out a lot of free advice lately. Maybe getting rid of Adrian unburdened her.
“What’s wrong with the stool?” Evie says, frowning as she balances over it to refill the mermaid pens near the register. “Something’s different. Wait … where’s the squeak?”
Mom laughs. “It’s a different stool.”
Evie leans down to peer between her legs, a cascade of dark hair flipping over and back as she pops back up. Her freckles darken around her Cleopatra makeup. “What the hell? When did this happen?”
“This morning. It was a gift.”
I take a second look at the stool. Clean lines. Simple construction …
Lucky.
Mom feigns innocence, and I don’t say anything. I can’t. What’s this weird fluttering feeling in my ribcage? Oh, right. The bats are back. Hundreds of emotional bats flapping inside the hollow cave of my chest. I don’t know why Lucky would make a piece of furniture for the store, but it feels overly generous.