Page 14 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

five

Iwake up earlier than I’d like the next day, thanks to last night’s Ivy refusing to close the blinds. The sunlight is aggressively cheery, beckoning me to the day like there are great things in store for me.

At least at first, those things are two cabinets full of dusty china.

I pull everything out, immediately regretting I didn’t change into an old t-shirt first. I’m covered in filth from the dishes almost instantly. Spreading everything next to the sink, I count eleven dinner plates, twelve salad bowls, eight teacups, and ten saucers. I imagine the set originally had twelve of each and things broke over the years. I grab all the silverware from the drawer, too. Who knows when it was last washed.

Throwing some music on my iPhone, I set about filling the sink with hot water and dish soap. It smells heavenly, frankly. Normally, I hate washing the dishes, but this watermelon-scented stuff Laurel found really is a cut above the rest. I make a mental note to look for it when I get back home.

Home. The word sends a flurry of emotions racing through my mind. Yesterday’s conversation with Laurel flashes back to me. What am I going to do when summer ends? Deep down, leaving my job still feels a little like giving up; giving in to bullies who don’t deserve to dictate my future. And to a certain extent, I suppose that is true.

But isn’t my mental health more important? I think so. I mean, with time, I’m sure I could move past what happened with Kyle. How everyone else treated me afterwards. Is it worth it, though? I’m no longer sure.

Maybe I’ll start looking for other work. It might be a hassle to sell my condo back in Brookline, but perhaps other opportunities near home would be comparable to where I work now. I guess I’d be willing to go anywhere in New England for the right job.

Especially if it meant being rid of Farnsworth.

The dishes take me the better part of an hour, but seeing them laid out on three mismatched dish towels, glinting in the light, is pretty satisfying. I feel fairly disgusting because of all the dust, though. I decide to grab a shower before I head out to the bookstore to meet with Maisie.

When I’m done getting cleaned up, I notice warm, domestic smells wafting from the kitchen. I quickly get dressed and head in to find a solid third of the dishes I just washed already soiled, plus a quarter-cup of batter spilled next to the stove.

“Waffle for your thoughts?” Laurel holds out a plate.

I nod gratefully, choosing to ignore the mess she’s made. I haven’t eaten yet today, and it smells amazing. “Honestly? I’m not looking forward to this.”

“The waffles?” At my scowl, she corrects, “Ohhh! The job?” Concern washes over her face. “Is this because of that guy?”

“I’m ashamed to admit that it is.”

“But working in a bookstore! It’s your dream!” She pours syrup on the plate and shoves it toward me across the kitchen island.

“Well, it was. But maybe this will be the kick in the ass I need to appreciate the job I already have.” I grab a fork from the dish rack and sit down to eat.

Laurel is surveying me over a carton of orange juice. She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know, Ivy. He didn’t seem that bad.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “He was a total dick.”

Her laugh twinkles through the air. “Okay, so he was a bit grumpy.” She takes a sip of her juice. “But hey, at least he was hot. You can just tune him out and enjoy his face.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “If you think he’s so hot, maybe you can do this training with him on Friday. I’m not sure we’ll both make it out of there alive if I have to spend all summer with him.”

Laurel’s eyes are bright as she downs the rest of her coffee. “You also thought he was hot.”

I practically choke on my waffle. “I most certainly did not.”

“Oh, please,” she says. “You so did. And anyway,” she stands up and heads to the sink with her plate, “it’s not up for debate. He’s hot. And he’s grumpy, but you’ll survive. Plus, you’re going to be around books all day, so it won’t be as bad as you’re imagining.”

She’s right. About the books, that is.

As for Oliver? I’m not so sure.

It’s eleven by the time the bell is jingling behind me on the door of Shoreline Books. There are a few college-aged girls, halter bikinis tied around their necks under sundresses, browsing the New Adult section, but the bookstore is otherwise deserted. It occurs to me that Maisie didn’t say where I should meet her. Did she want me to go right to her office?

I shake my head as if I’m having this conversation with someone else. It might be a little presumptuous to assume I should go back to a staff area when I haven’t even filled out employment paperwork yet.

Kyle would tell me I’m overthinking this. His gentle smile flashes through my mind. “Don’t be so nervous, Ive,” he would have said. “Everything’s going to be okay. Just go to the office; she’s expecting you.”

I used to love how he shrugged off my anxious thoughts like they weren’t worth my time. And how he called me “Ive,” which makes no sense as a nickname, really, since it doesn’t actually shorten the spelling of my name at all. But it felt endearing. Today, I resent him popping into my mind uninvited.