I manage a nod. Expand Wilde Beauty? I’m not entirely sure if the double-knotted state of my stomach is because I’m exhilarated or terrified.
Sometime during my mild panic attack, Sunny also leaves, although her exit is far less dramatic. She abandons me to a customer-free store with only my sister around to verify that the last ten minutes have actually happened.
“Holy shit, Gems.” Kierst whacks me kind of hard in the chest. “I feel like we’re in a movie. Like, when does something like that actually happen in real life? What are you going to do?”
This is a huge deal. Something I would have only admitted to wanting in my wildest dreams.
“I think I need to talk to Dax.” I reach for my phone on the counter in front of me, but Kiersten moves like a ninja, slapping her hand on top of it first.
“No, Gemma. You need to go home tonight, pour yourself a glass of wine, possibly take a hot bath, and think about what you want.”
I don’t like her tone or the snippy emphasis on you. “Do you have a problem with him? Or are you still pissed off at me?”
“Neither. I barely know the guy, and I forgave you when I finished your latte. What I want is for you to figure out your own opinion first.”
“Why?”
She opens her mouth to speak but pauses. It hangs there open with no sound coming out until she takes a deep breath that makes her nose hiss. “Because you’re absolutely terrible at making life decisions, Gemma.”
Okay. “I’m glad you held back to spare my feelings.”
She shrugs, not arguing with me. “Deny it all you want, but every time you’re faced with something big in your life, you start making lists of things that can go sideways instead of trusting in your own abilities to make things happen. Then you choose the boring safe route.”
“I do not.”
I don’t.
I make plenty of risky decisions. Every single day. This morning I decided to bring back skinny jeans, all on my own. Besides, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to overanalyze major, life-changing decisions. That’s normal adult behavior.
Kierst’s soft, open mom look is gone. Her arms are folded across her chest. She’s not trying to hide the fact that she’s annoyed.
“Humor me for a second. I’ve been thinking about you and this other timeline you are supposedly from, and I have a few theories kicking around in my head. I just want to see if one of them is right.”
“Fine.”
“You said you work for Eaton’s Drug Mart? As a buyer, right?”
I have no idea where she’s taking this. “Yes.”
“And you love it?”
It’s totally a trap. “I wouldn’t say love. It’s fine.”
“Well, the Gemma I know would hate working for someone else. She’s ambitious and smart, so I’m very curious to hear why you pursued that job.”
She doesn’t ask an actual question, but it’s clear from the eyeballs she’s giving me that it’s now my turn to fill in the blanks. She will be sorely disappointed when she hears there was no big drama behind my decision. Yes, four years ago, I thought of starting Wilde Beauty. I had a little bit of money tucked away, a small inheritance from when Aunt Livi’s older sister passed away. Then the job offer came along. I remember feeling uncertain about it. I only applied because one of Stuart’s friends worked at the company and offered to put my résumé on the top of the pile. I interviewed for the experience, and it went well. Then I guess I decided it was a better idea at some point.
“I applied, I got the job, and I thought it would be a good investment in my future.”
Kierst raises her brows half an inch. “You thought it would be a good investment.”
I think back again. That’s exactly what happened. Stuart was so excited for me when the offer came in. We went to a fancy dinner in Toronto. He thought it was the right move for my future. They had a solid benefits package and a generous annual allotment for retirement savings. I wrote the acceptance email during our Uber ride home.
I look up. Kiersten’s eyebrows are still doing their thing. Okay, fine. She might be onto something. Stuart may have slightly influenced me to accept the job, but it’s not like it was a bad idea.
“Can I tell you the story of the night you decided to open Wilde Beauty?” Kiersten asks.
I nod, my curiosity greater than my desire to continue the argument.
“We were over at Aunt Livi’s for margaritas. You had one too many and started spilling all your innermost secrets, one of which was Wilde Beauty. I could tell by the look on your face that you loved the idea. But in typical Gemma fashion, you were freaking the fuck out thinking of all the things that could go wrong. I know you, Gems. I appreciate that you like having all your ducks in a row and your future on solid ground. Lord knows our childhood wasn’t exactly stable. But I could also see how much the idea of your own store excited you. All the things you could make it. Aunt Livi and I could tell you wanted to do it; you just needed a little bit of encouragement to make that leap of faith. So the next morning, I gave you my realtor’s phone number. Aunt Livi gave you the names of her lawyer and account manager at the bank, but then you took the wheel from there. You made Wilde Beauty happen.”
Kiersten’s story sparks a new memory from the night in my timeline. When Stuart took me to dinner, I had two full flutes of champagne, and, just like the margaritas, they acted as a truth serum. I told Stuart about my dream to open my own store. It’s not like he laughed at me or told me it was a terrible idea. He just pointed out all of the risks of owning your own business. Kierst is right. I hate not knowing how things will turn out. I check with Dax before starting a new series on Netflix to make sure I’ll like the ending. I read romance books because I want the guarantee of a happily ever after. I’m low risk. I appreciate predictability.
Kiersten uncovers my phone and hands it to me. “Call Dax if you want. All I’m asking is that first, you take a moment to breathe and think about what you want. Then look around this store and remind yourself that you’re the GOAT.”
“The goat?”
Kierst rolls her eyes. “Riley says it all the time. It’s a good thing.”
Her phone chirps loudly in her purse. She pulls it out and looks at something on the screen.
“I gotta run to an appointment, but call me later so we can talk about this more, okay?”
As soon as she’s out of sight, I pick up my phone to call Dax.
But unfortunately—or I guess fortunately—my door opens, and my store fills with patrons demanding skincare.
It’s another busy day.
A blur of moisturizers and cleansers and SPF 50. The closest I get to telling Dax is a Big news! Talk later? text, to which he replies, Can’t wait to hear it.
My feet ache by six o’clock, but my cheeks also hurt from smiling because the few spare moments I had in my day were divided between thinking about Dax and contemplating Priya’s offer to make more little baby Wilde Beauties happen.
Despite my weary legs, I practically skip down the sidewalk to Dax’s store.