Page 9

“Six-three,” she said, which made her more than an entire foot taller than me. Standing in front of her made it feel like more.

“Congratulations,” I said for some reason.

She let out a soft sound that was almost a laugh. “Thank you, although I can’t say I’m responsible. I come from tall ancestors.”

“Lucky,” I said.

“Not always.”

All I wanted was to keep talking to her in this bookstore, but I also needed to get the cake home to my parents and they did need to close up.

Ryan let out a long breath. “I should go.”

“Me too,” I said.

She seemed like she was going to say something else, but then shook her head.

“It was nice to see you again, Everly,” she said.

“Without spilling anything this time,” I said.

“Maybe next time I can get you back,” she said.

She could spill anything and everything on me that she wanted, but I managed not to say that out loud.

When I didn’t respond, she said, “See you later, Everly.”

“Bye,” I gasped out, as she walked over to the group cleaning up and said goodbye. She gave me one last look when she opened the door and left.

My body sagged against the bookshelf.

Chapter Three

I woke on Saturday morning with my stomach already churning. I reached over for one of my anxiety pills and the bottle of water I kept on my nightstand. Today I was going to need it. I’d had an edible last night to help me sleep so I hadn’t been awake all night.

As I lay in bed, I tried to think of nice things to calm my racing heart until the meds kicked in. Once that happened, I could hopefully eat something for breakfast so I didn’t head to the party with a rumbling stomach.

I went downstairs and found my parents in the kitchen, making breakfast and singing along with old country songs.

“Good morning, how are you feeling?” Mama said, coming over to give me a hug. She wore a frilly apron that was covered in flour.

“So far, so good,” I said.

“You sure?” Mama said, holding my face in her hands and looking into my eyes.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m good.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” she said, kissing my forehead. In the past I had lied about how debilitating my anxiety was when I talked to my parents. It was only after they’d observed me having a panic attack in a restaurant that they’d realized it was as bad as it was.

“Do you want some pancakes, sweetie?” Mom asked as she flipped several chocolate chip pancakes in the pan. The timer went off and Mama pulled a tray of bacon out of the oven.

“Um, not yet,” I said. “But how about some tea?”

“Coming right up,” Mama said, filling the electric kettle to heat the water up. Normally I drank coffee, but it had a tendency to make my anxiety worse, so I was going to skip it for today.

I sat at the dining table as Mama brought me some tea and I practiced my breathing. Being with my parents helped to distract my mind from spiraling, so I focused on the two of them as they talked to me and sang and danced as they cooked.

“We’ll keep a plate warm for you,” Mom said, making up a plate for me and sticking it in the warm oven.