“Do you own a suit?”
I cringed. “No. I guess I could buy one tomorrow, but…would it even fit right? What if I have to have it altered?” The last thing I wanted to do was show up at a fancy cocktail reception in a suit that didn’t fit. I’d be uncomfortable enough in one that did.
“Listen, I know some people,” she said. “Leave it to me. Can you meet me downtown tomorrow morning?”
This was clearly going to be an all-day thing, probably a two-day thing, and I’d definitely need Pete and Georgia’s help with things around here. But I was pretty sure they’d pick up my slack for this cause. “I think so.”
“Good. I’ll text you time and place in a bit. Do you need a haircut or anything? I could book you an appointment.”
I ran a hand through my hair and frowned. “Probably. Thanks.”
“No problem. I’m really glad you called me, Jack. You’re doing the right thing.”
I thanked her again and told her I’d see her tomorrow. After we hung up, I called Pete and Georgia’s and asked if they could cover the farm work for two days. Georgia was scheduled to work this weekend, but Pete said not to worry, that Brad could always pitch in. “You’re doing the right thing,” he said, echoing Jaime’s words. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll need it.”
Thirty-Four
Margot
Having a funner, more fulfilling life was easier said than done, especially with a broken heart.
After Jack rejected me a second time, I vowed to do exactly what I wanted him to do—move on. He had feelings for me, but clearly he wasn’t willing to let go of his past, and I wasn’t sure he ever would. Every time I thought about it, I felt like crying, but I couldn’t save him from himself. I could only work on me.
I focused on my list.
I signed up for cooking classes. Watched online tutorials. Read my cookbooks. Made lists of things I needed in the kitchen and filled my cupboards and drawers with cookware and gadgets. I grocery shopped with a critical eye, choosing local and organic whenever I could. Stopped eating out so much. Invited my friends over to try my pesto, my piccata, my potatoes au gratin. A hundred times, I stopped myself from taking pictures of my culinary triumphs and sending them to Jack so he could see my progress and be proud of me.
I went riding three times and made up my mind to buy my own horse. There was something about that relationship I truly missed. Again I fought the urge to call Jack and share my excitement—there was no one in my life who understood the bond between a horse and human like he did.
Through a friend, I got involved with the Fair Food Network, a nonprofit dedicated to supporting farmers, strengthening local economies, and increasing healthy food access. One of their goals was to increase funding to Double Up Food Bucks, which helps low-income families make healthy food choices and purchase from local farmers. I used my family’s connections to secure funds and support, and I also volunteered to create marketing materials to help spread the word about the program, teach people about the economic and health benefits of eating and shopping local, and advertising the days, locations, and hours of local markets that accept benefits. Was I single-handedly abolishing poverty? No, but the work was rewarding and I felt like I was contributing to the greater good.
And…I got my tattoo. It was mainly inspired by one of my favorite stories, The Awakening, by Kate Chopin. At first I was only going to get a little bird somewhere on my back—a tiny symbol of my own awakening. But then I realized I’d never be able to see it. I decided on my inner arm instead, and I also decided to go with words instead of a symbol. It made the tattoo bigger and more noticeable, but wasn’t that the point? Now when I looked down, I saw these words inked on my fair skin:
The bird that
would soar
above the plane
of tradition
and prejudice
must have
strong wings.
Seven lines of elegant script that reminded me not to let myself be caged by the fear of what people thought or expected. I was my own person, and I could make my own choices. Strength was a beautiful thing.
Of course, it was inspired by Jack too, and I wanted nothing more than for him to see it. Night after night, I went over everything in my mind, trying to find the place where we’d gone wrong, but I could never find it. We were different, but that’s what had given us our spark. I still felt that kick whenever I thought about him. Still craved his skin on mine. Still missed the way he’d talked and laughed and teased me. Still cried sometimes when I thought about his past.
Once, when I was talking with Georgia about new family photos for the website, she made a vague reference to Jack “working on himself.” Though she offered no specifics, my hopes bloomed fresh.
But as the days turned into weeks and I still hadn’t heard from him, they started to wither.