Page 57 of Big Dill

This place is mine.

I spend the next half hour walking the room—straightening mats, blocks, and balls, refolding towels. I fill a jug with water and give the plants a much-needed drink. I check the refreshment area, making sure the jugs that will be filled first thing tomorrow are ready, and line up the cups just so.

Honestly, everything is in order. I just want to take it all in, mentally prepare myself for tomorrow. I think about what I’ll wear, what I brought with me. Yoga pants and shirts, thankfully. The one and only department store in town didn’t have much, but I’m fine. My thoughts drift to fashion again—not to what I’ve lost, but what I can build here—even if it’s only on borrowed time.

I grin, hearing Lauren’s voice in my head, encouraging me to go for it, much the same way she once nudged me to gift myself a “lumber snack”.

I owe her a call.

I pull my phone from my back pocket and dial. She answers on the second ring.

“Jami!” she squeals. “I wanted to call a million times, but I knew you just needed space. How are you?”

How am I?

“I’m actually good,” I tell her. “Other than freezing to death.”

She laughs, then her voice softens. “I know it hasn’t been long, but are you settling in okay?”

“Yeah. The town is really cute, and the people are so nice. Not at all what I expected.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. I miss you, though. It’s not the same without you here.”

“I miss you too. Maybe you could come visit when it gets warmer,” I add with a laugh.

“You mean malaria season,” she teases.

My insides lighten. Lauren always has a way of making me feel steadier, more like myself. For a split second, I consider telling her about Brody, but I stop myself. I want to keep that close. Hold it inside. Not share it with anyone, not even my best friend.

It feels wrong.

And yet, it feels exactly right.

We talk for another fifteen minutes. I tell her about the house, the social, the studio, and how maybe, possibly, a new line of pickleball clothing is needed. She gets excited, tells me to go for it like she always does.

I glance at the clock. “I should let you go. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

When I end the call and look up, Brody is standing in the doorway. His brow is furrowed, like he’s just walked in on me reconciling with an ex.

Body stiff, he pushes off the doorframe. “Ah, I didn’t mean⁠—”

“I was just talking to Lauren,” I explain quickly. “She’s super excited about the studio.”

His shoulders visibly relax. “Lauren,” he says. “Your friend from the bar that night?”

“You remembered her name,” I say, my mind sliding back to that night whether I want it to or not.

“I remembered.” He steps closer, even though I know—I know—he’s told himself he wouldn’t touch me again.

“Did you tell her…about me?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“I just…” I shrug. “I don’t know.”