Never the Bride (12 page)

“I am not accepting nominations.”

I can hear Blake walking around the front of the house. I lower my voice. “I’ve cared about him forever. If I’m hoping for something that won’t happen, would You just tell me so I can get over it?”

“Jessie, you need to learn to trust Me. If you do, the next man you kiss could be the one.”

I get
slightly
caught up in the moment but snap out of it. “No offense here, but You’re not exactly what I’d called an expert in romance.”

He looks amused. “Really?”

“Parting the Red Sea: majestic and very powerful—but not, You know, romantic.”

“Have you read Song of Solomon?”

“Is that in the Old Testament?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

“You might start there. And you’d be surprised how into brides and grooms I am. One Bride in particular.” He plucks the purple pen out of my hand and drops it in His shirt pocket. “I created romance, and I don’t want to see you in any relationships off script. My script. The one I’m writing.”

“Okay, so I’m off script duty. But what am I blogging about?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“See? That’s what I mean. Sometimes You’re very nonspecific, and for an organized person, I just need a little more—”

“Jessie?”

I whirl around. “Need a little more, um, crown molding.”

Blake grins. “Oh, that’s coming. Believe me. What do you think?” He gestures around him. Pride beams from his face.

“It’s great, Blake. Really. Very, very nice.”

“This one’s still available. You in the market?”

This makes me smile. “Soon. Very soon. Okay, not very. And maybe not soon.” I sigh. I really wish God could at least give me a hint or a timeline or
something.
Maybe I should buy Him a BlackBerry.

I was born with a guilty conscience that to this day can’t be explained. It’s one of many odd parts of my personality. I think it’s a mutated gene or something, probably from my mother’s side. Brooklyn does not have this gene and doesn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt over things she really should feel guilty about.

That is why I think it is terribly odd that I am feeling not one ounce of guilt at this moment.

My slacks are wrinkled, my hair is in desperate need of product. Normally I’d be standing in the bathroom with hot water steaming out of the faucet, trying to force the wrinkles out. Or furiously combing/cursing my hair to get it just right.

Instead I’m skipping up the front steps to the office building. The day is glorious at sixty-five degrees, sunshine spilling out of the sky in abundance. I look up and grin, opening my arms like I’m Mary Pop-pins or something.

I fling open the front door of Coston Real Estate. I wave at my desk as I pass by. I start to wave at Nicole, but as she sees me she gasps so loudly I clutch my heart and wonder if I’m about to die in some freak office accident. Racing out of her cubicle with wide eyes, she hurries up to me and clasps my shoulders. “Are you okay? Are you okay?”

I step back. “Nicole, I’m fine. Why?”

“Why?
Do you know what time it is?”

“Afternoon-ish.”

She gasps again. “Something is very wrong. You always know what time it is.”

“Nicole, I’m fine.” Whisking her back into her cubicle, I say, “Really.”

“What’s wrong?”

I sit in her seat. “Didn’t you just hear me?”

She walks around her cube like a squawking chicken. “Jessie, you’re the type of person who would miss work without calling in only because you were murdered. Do you know what I mean?”

I grin. “I know. I know! I feel so liberated.”

“You’re late on purpose?” Her gaze stops on my clothes. “Isn’t that what you were wearing yesterday?”

I put my elbows on her desk and lower my voice. “I was in jail.”

“What?”

“I know. Crazy, isn’t it? But yeah, in jail. Me!”

Nicole stands absolutely still. “For what?”

“Nothing. It was really a misunderstanding. I broke into a church. But not to
steal
anything. I was leaving something there for God and—”

Nicole grabs her purse and digs through it. Her hand emerges with a pill bottle. “Look, I want you to take these. Take two now and one tonight. They’re my hormone pills, and it’s the next best thing to an antidepressant—”

“Nicole, look at me.” I stand up and throw open my arms. “Do I look like I’m depressed?”

“Isn’t the first sign of depression that you stop taking care of yourself—like showering and changing clothes?”

I laugh her off as I take a seat in the small chair next to her desk and gesture her toward her own. She looks like she needs it. “Look, Blake bailed me out of jail, then I went with him to look at some houses he’s building. That’s all.”

Nicole sits. “That’s all? But what about work? I mean, Mr. Coston was about to have a heart attack this morning.”

“Because he had to go get his own coffee?”

Nicole’s eyes narrow. “No. I had to, actually, but that’s not the point. Jess, you’re a normal, dependable employee. You don’t just not show up.”

“I’m quitting.”

Nicole stares at me for a moment, then opens her pills and pops two, swallowing without water. She looks at me again. “What is happening to you?”

I smile. “I’m starting my own business.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry.” I laugh at my own joke. “It’s going to be wonderful.”

Nicole reaches for her phone and then pulls her hand back again. She looks at me carefully, as if trying to decide which of us needs to
be hospitalized. “Why would you start your own business? Don’t you know how risky that is?”

I stand up. This is too exciting to stay in one place. “Yeah, I know. And I’m the least likely person to take a risk, aren’t I?” I pace two or three steps inside the cubicle.

“You can’t even open the bathroom door without a using a paper towel.”

I step closer to her. “I know this is hard to understand, Nic. It’s hard for me too. I mean, this isn’t like me at all.” I stop and turn to her. “But I’ve had a kind of…spiritual awakening.”

Nicole looks desperate. “That’s how cults start.”

I laugh and reach to grab her hand. “Look at me. Don’t I look happy?”

She nods, tears forming in her eyes. “Yeah, you really do.”

“It’s time for me to move on, you know? Brooklyn is old enough to support herself now. And you know, I don’t even like real estate. If I hadn’t inherited the condo, I’d probably be renting.”

Nicole shakes her head, but then she smiles. “I still can’t believe it.” She laughs, stands, and hugs me. “I’m actually really proud of you. I don’t know how I’ll make it through the day without you, but I’m happy for you.”

I hug her back. “Hey, our friendship goes well beyond the walls of this place. You know that.”

She sniffles and releases me, giving me one more looking-over. “It’s just…your hair. I’ve never seen the bed-head look on you before. When will you tell Mr. Coston?”

“I guess right now.”

Nicole bites her finger. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

“Please. It’s not going to be a big deal. I’m replaceable.”

“He depends on you way more than you know.”

“Who knows? Now maybe he’ll have a chance at getting his coffee fixed right.”

I knock on his door, and he waves his hand, not bothering to look up. Then he holds out a finger indicating that he does not want to be interrupted, so I just stand there until he finishes writing. Finally, he stops and looks up. “Jessie!”

“Hello, Mr. Coston.”

He looks me up and down. “Don’t tell me your tire blew again.”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“You look like you’ve been under a car.”

“Oh. No, I haven’t.”

“Well, where
have you
been? You didn’t bother calling, and that is not like you.” He sips his coffee, eying me and waiting for an answer.

I take a step into his office. “Yes, I realize that, Mr. Coston. And I’m really sorry. I know this is highly unusual.”

“I’ll say. And to tell you the truth, not very well timed. I allow you to do some presenting at our weekly meeting and you’re very distracted. Now you’re showing up a half a day late for work. Normally when I give an employee more responsibility, they sort of rise to the challenge.” He glances at his BlackBerry then back at me, like he’s expecting a response.

“Yes sir. I completely understand. It’s just that, well, Mr. Coston, I hate real estate.”

“Huh?”

I realize it’s hard for Mr. Coston to comprehend life outside of real estate, but I give it a shot. “I think I’ve got other things inside me, you know? Things I’m more passionate about.”

“It took you ten years to figure that out?”

“I had some responsibilities that required me to have a stable job.”

He sets his BlackBerry down and leans on his desk, giving me his full attention. “That’s what I thought you were, Jessie. Stable. But I don’t know the person that I’ve seen over the past few days.”

I take another step forward. “I know I’ve been acting strangely, sir. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, and some, um, unusual circumstances to deal with.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m quitting.”

I’m truly shocked by his expression. It seems he is taking this awfully personally for a guy who until recently regarded me only for my coffee-retrieving skills.

I quickly add, “Of course, this is my two weeks’ notice. I’d never just leave you hanging.” Yes, I realize it would be way more dramatic to walk out, free as a bird, but I’m not wired to be that irresponsible.

Now he’s staring at his Starbucks cup, like it’s the one quitting. “I think you’re making a big mistake.”

“I’m starting my own business.”

He looks up, petrified. “Really? You?”

“Why?”

“You just don’t seem like the, well, the business-minded type.” He gives a sad little smile like that’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to say.

“I’ve learned a lot from you.” Gag.

But it works. He looks thoughtful now. “Well, okay. Whatever you say. But I’ll need you to stick around for about four more weeks.”

Under normal circumstances, I would nod and be agreeable, but instead I say, “I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I don’t want to.” What is
wrong with
me? It’s like I’m a hardened criminal already His office phone rings and I start to answer it, because that’s my job, but I accidentally knock over his coffee, which spills in a spectacularly messy way. I gasp and hurriedly start blotting with Kleenexes.

He shoos me away from him as he stands and backs away from his desk. He looks angry as he stares at me, but I don’t know which part of all this is making him angry.

After some more blotting, he regards me, looking partly resigned. “Well, Jessie, I realize I can’t stop you if your mind is made up, but if I had a job like yours with a future in a company like this, it would take an act of God to get me to quit.”

It is the end of the workday of my last day of work. Mr. Coston decided not to take my two weeks’ notice. Nicole has helped me box all my stuff. I leave written instructions for the next employee, things he, or more likely she, will need to know, such as line five doesn’t actually light up so you have to guess if someone is holding. Little
things like that. I drop my jumbo roll of paper towels into the box. Nicole is taking down my shiny ten-year banner. She rolls it up and stuffs it in.

“Something to remember us by,” she says.

“Isn’t this incredible?” I whisper. “Me? Quitting? With nothing totally lined up. I mean, I feel like…like…”

“Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Well, don’t get too carried away. You
are
starting your own business, and that’s going to take a lot of faith.”

I smile. “I happen to have a lot more faith these days, so it’s perfect.”

A horn blares outside.

“Speaking of Brooklyn,” I say.

“I thought Blake was coming to get you.”

“Yeah. He, uh, was. Then he had an appointment. That’s what he called it. Probably a date.” I shrug like I don’t care. She helps me with one of my boxes as we head toward the front door. “I can’t believe you quit your job.”

“And broke into a church,” I say.

“Yes. And went to jail.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why you won’t give me details.”

“I will. Someday. I promise. It’s just that right now, I think I’ve given you all you can take.”

She laughs. “Yeah. I might need to digest this a little first.” We step outside to cooler temperatures, more like the middle of February should be. She hands me my box and wraps her cardigan around herself.
“Good luck. Call me, you hear? I want to know how everything is going.”

“I will, I promise. And come by the shop next week, okay?”

We hug awkwardly around the box. I juggle my things down the stairs and have to knock on the window for Brooklyn to notice she needs to pop the trunk. I put my stuff back there, then get in the passenger seat, shifting trash around on the floorboard to make room for my feet. I wave at Nicole as she goes back in. Brooklyn starts to drive off but I say, “Wait.”

“What?”

“Hold on.”

“Did you forget something?”

No, I did not forget something. But I want to remember this moment…the moment that I walked away from everything that was secure and reliable in my life. Just walked away. Gone. Done with. Over.

“Can I go now?”

“Yes, fine. Go.”

We drive for a little bit. “So, um, how does it feel to be jobless?”

My chest tightens. “Very free.”

Brooklyn slaps the steering wheel. “I know! Isn’t it great? See what I’ve been talking about all these years?”

“Now all we have to keep us afloat is our business.”

A silence passes between us. I roll the window down and let the breeze tickle my face. But even with the cool breeze, I feel hot, so I crank on the air. I fan myself. I pull my hair up off my neck. The next thing I know I’ve grabbed a McDonald’s sack off the floor of the car and am hyperventilating my way into a stroke.

“I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!” It really feels like the bag is not giving me my air back. Brooklyn pulls over.

“Jess, calm down. Just breathe slowly.”