Insipid (40 page)
To my beta readers and friends,
Lisa Rutledge, Tosha Khoury, Laura Wilson
—you remind me that love and loyalty go hand in hand.
For the best book cover yet and for the light that you bring into my life, I love you,
Lindsay Sparkes.
To
Janna Mashburn
for all your support, and to
Melissa Brown
, because I never forget.
And to
Erin Dauer Roth
, editor and friend. You are the reason why I never gave up.
Angela Cook McLaurin
of Fictional Formats—this one is for you. You helped save this book at the last minute. Never mind that you kept sending me pictures of the beach in the dead of winter.
To
Christine Estevez
for believing in me.
To
Denise Tung
for always, always holding my hand.
To
Trisha Rai
for your faith in my stories.
To
Rick Miles
, who never stopped urging me to plug along and who treated me as a friend despite the fact that I was really just a client.
To
Becca Manuel
for so eloquently giving life to my book with your trailer.
And to all the wonderful blogs who signed up for our Blog Tour. I am honored that you are taking the time to read and review my story.
To my Brutus, my Butsy, faithful friend for ten years. I still look around the house for you every single day.
To my friend
007
. Don’t read this book.
Thank you,
Willow Aster
, for trusting me enough to share your big reveal with me.
If I were to describe the year 2014, I would sum it up as The Year That I Left. Not only was I running around the country on business trips, I was lost in heart and mind and soul. For those of you who loved me relentlessly, who pulled me out of the fog, who listened and cried and told me to get my head out of my ass—you are my heroes.
Tarryn Fisher, Lori Sabin, my sisters, Gerri and Tessa
—I couldn’t have survived this time without you.
This book is dedicated to the
Loving Memory of Mary Ogarek (1981-2014).
Thank you for being proud of me. I only wished that we had more time to talk (and laugh) about this book.
Last but most certainly not the least, to my husband,
Bill
-Thank you for never giving up on me. For letting me go because you knew I’d be back.
And I am back. Suitcases in hand, stronger, happier and truer to myself.
This is going to be the best summer of my life.
XO
Connect with Christine Brae:
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Christine-Brae/251960864949578?fref=ts
Website:
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7076627
Email:
And now, a sneak peek into Willow Aster’s new book,
Maybe Maby
Coming July 13, 2014!
I BARELY MAKE
it to the subway on an early Monday morning and sit beside a smelly old man. It is the only open seat. I can hold my breath. Maybe I’ll die that way. My obituary will read:
She held her breath trying to avoid inhaling body odor.
It doesn’t work. I have to keep sneaking quick breaths and the old man asks what my problem is. It kills me when people who haven’t bathed in weeks have the audacity to think I’m weird.
I ignore him and when another open seat is available, I hop up and take it. Old smelly man shakes his head at me and I wave. I can be much friendlier from afar. I smooth down my corduroy skirt and try to subtly yank up my tights. It’s December in New York and cold.
My stop comes and I rush to get off, along with dozens of other people. I count to 127 as the crowd pushes and nudges and smacks their gum around me. I will never get used to all these people in my space, but the alternative is worse: the thought of driving in the city is terrifying. On the 128
th
step, I turn to the right and take the 17 steps to my destination. I rub my finger through the ribbing on my skirt with each step.
14, 15, 16, 17.
Unlock the store.
Whatnot Alley is a gifts and furnishings boutique owned by Anna Whitmore. She used to be a friend of mine, but ever since she had a baby—and became the owner of her flourishing shop—she doesn’t have time for anything as quaint as friendship. I came to work for her as a favor and have now run the store for 3 years. She comes in at least once a week, and my skin is on edge the entire time. Whenever she engages in conversation, it’s to moan about how she never has time for anything. But she would like to have one more child, just one more… as long as it’s a boy. She’s already run ragged, but let’s throw another in the mix for good measure. That’s what nannies are for!
I lock the door behind me. We won’t be opening for a while yet. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock. Okay, I can move on. Moving to the back of the store, I hang my coat on the hook to my right. My gloves go in my purse, which I lock away in the bottom drawer of my desk. Unlock. Lock. If I’m going to have a good day, it takes 28 steps to do all of the above before I start the coffee. If I’m going to have a bad day, it takes 29. It’s a 44 steps kind of day. I have to go back and redo my first steps because it just didn’t feel right.
My grandmother, Mabel, who I’m named after, also had OCD. Speaking of leaving, she sure left me behind with a couple of doozies. Between the disorder and the name, I feel like she should have stuck around longer than my 11
th
birthday to make sure I survived.
Before I do anything else, I put my earphones in and begin playing my ocean sounds mix. Music is too stimulating. I find it hard to concentrate on anything but the music. The crashing waves calm me. It feels nice to know that somewhere it is more tumultuous than in my mind. Once the store opens, I will have to take off my earphones, but when it’s just me, I keep everything turned off. When Anna is in the store, she plays Top 40 radio. Some days it’s bearable; other days I’m certain I will break every trinket within close range. I usually stay behind the counter on those days, where I can only do damage with the cash register.
I take a sip of the coffee I pour in my smoky blue Zojirushi stainless steel mug, rated highest on Amazon for quality. It doesn’t leak, and it keeps the coffee hot for 6 hours. I’ve tested it and found it to be true. I chose smoky blue because it suits my moods more than the cheerful lilac or the completely soulless black. Smoky blue maintains mystery but still has the touch of melancholy. I wish I were a lilac person, but I’m not.
I made my list for today before I left on Friday and I take a look at it this morning. I can already check off 4 things, so I immediately do. I then add to the list all of the vendors I have to call today and check which shipments might be coming in. I tidy up the throw pillows on the few pieces of furniture we carry and straighten the pictures over and over again. Symmetry is a requirement. Anything else is… evil.
At 8:30, I set my phone alarm to go off at 8:53, so I will have plenty of time to gather my notes for the monthly meeting in the small side room. Anna and a couple of part-time employees come to the meetings before we open. I’m the only full-time employee, so Anna asks that I’m always ready to give input if she needs it.
But at 8:37, I begin to get the unbearable urge to wash my hands. The hand sanitizer behind the front counter doesn’t get rid of the dirt. 1, 2, 3, 4 times. I have to wash with water and soap. I take off my headphones and rush to the bathroom, forgetting my phone. I lose track of time in the bathroom washing my hands over and over again. It’s getting worse. I’m not sure what to do.
When I finally get back to my desk, I have just a few minutes left. I take a deep breath, pick up my phone, laptop, and coffee mug and make my way to the back. I’ll be the first one there. It’s hard working with other people who are slow, lazy… normal.
I haven’t even started working yet and I’m already exhausted.
Connect with Willow Aster:
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/willowasterauthor
Website:
Goodreads:
