Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“I saw the way you stood up for her in some of those comments. I’m proud of you and also so very happy. I don’t know what this will become, but it has all the promise in the world.”
Yeah… it does.
I spy Atlas heading back and cut the call short. “Listen… I gotta go, but I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Play well tomorrow. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Atlas settles into his chair and slides a fresh brew across the table. My phone buzzes in my hand and I see it’s from Foster in a group chat we have going. Need everyone at the Rustwood Room this Saturday evening around 7. Mazzy singing with Leo. Then I’m proposing. Keep it secret.
I stare at the message, my heart doing something weird. “Holy shit,” I say, holding the phone up for Atlas to see. He’s on the group chat but his phone is tucked away.
He reads it, a grin breaking his face. “About time.”
Big things are happening. Winnie’s meeting my mom Tuesday and Mazzy’s getting proposed to on Saturday. Atlas might be stepping into fatherhood.
And me?
I’m in Montreal on St. Patrick’s Day, in a bar that smells like fried cabbage and spilled green beer, realizing I might be next.
And I’m not scared of that.
Not even a little.
CHAPTER 24
Winnie
As a kindergarten teacher, there’s not a lot for me to do at the end of a school day. I don’t have papers to grade and other than cleaning up my room, my late afternoons are usually mine to do with what I will. Since becoming a part-time influencer, that usually means recording and editing content for posting.
But today is different.
The sun’s out, the air’s warm enough for light layers, and I’m armed with a cup of iced coffee and a stubborn determination to tackle the mess that is my backyard flower beds. The last few days of March are dwindling and the winter kill zone out here is something to behold. Dried-out hostas look like ancient scrolls, a birdbath sits clogged with decaying leaves, and a few flower markers point to withered stems I don’t remember planting.
I’m wearing my oldest leggings, a hoodie I stole from Caleb’s high school wrestling days, and socks that have absolutely given up. Somewhere under the baggie layers, I am a woman of culture.
Right now, I look like a yard troll.
Which is exactly why I decide to film a TikTok.
Propping my phone on a rickety plastic chair, I hit record. “Hey there, garden gang. It’s your girl Winnie, and today we’re embracing our inner disaster as we attempt to bring life to the botanical graveyard that is my backyard. Spoiler alert… I just tried to weed a tulip. And I still don’t know what perennials are. But let’s goooo.”
I end the video by accidentally tripping over Buttermilk’s outdoor playpen, shrieking and cussing like I just stepped on a LEGO. Five seconds later, I’m laughing at myself and posting it with the hashtags #gardeningfail, #suburbaninsanity and #spidersfreakmeout.
It feels good to laugh at myself. To show something normal again. Something not linked to Lucky or romance or average-girl-goes-hockey-glam.
Just dirt, coffee and determination to clear out the mess for spring planting. I work steadily for about an hour, my face streaked with dirt because I keep wiping sweat off it with filthy hands.
“Time for a break, Buttermilk,” I announce, but he ignores me. He loves being outside in his little pen, feeling the stiff blades of dead grass under his thumpers and the breeze through his fur.
I sit on the porch, watching my rabbit hop through a pile of old leaves like it’s his personal mosh pit. I take a sip of coffee and open the app, ready to check early reactions.
The first few comments are exactly what I hoped for.
@pottypatchplantlady: I pulled a daffodil once and cried for twenty minutes. You’re doing amazing, sweetie.
@theweedinghour: This is why I have fake plants. 100% support from my couch.
@cheesequeen87: I don’t know what perennials are either and I’m married to a landscaper.
Then the vibe shifts.
@puckprincess92: You’re still posting like anyone cares? Girl, the only reason people watched was Lucky.
@averageAFfan: Literally no one would follow you if it wasn’t for your hockey boyfriend.
@wagsdontweedit: Imagine being this thirsty for attention. The relationship isn’t even real.
I blink at the screen.
My post didn’t mention Lucky.
At all.
It was just me, being goofy and real, sharing a bit of entropic gardening energy. But that doesn’t matter now. These aren’t my people—not the loyal followers who joined me back when I was ranting about lunch box hacks and bathroom passes. These are people who found me through Lucky. People who don’t get me and don’t want to.
And suddenly, it feels like I don’t have a place anymore. Not here. Not with them. Maybe not even in my own corner of the internet.