Lady
* * *
My dear Lady,
Oh GOD.
Yours in dissent,
Sir
Seventeen
I don’t want to say I’ve hit rock bottom. That would imply I’m at home in my PJs, digging into another pint of pistachio gelato, with no bra and hair that hasn’t encountered shampoo in quite some time.
I’m fine. I am. My brain is very sure of this.
Sir is just some guy whose face I’ve never seen. Sebastian is just some businessman whose interest in me was purely financially motivated. I never had either of them, so I haven’t lost either of them.
So why does my heart hurt?
There is a bittersweet silver lining to my personal life crashing and burning. My professional life is also crashing and burning, but at least I’m in the driver’s seat there. With every longtime customer I’ve said goodbye to, with every discount sign I’ve hung, with every box of champagne I’ve carefully packaged to sell to one of the vendors who’ve been buying out our inventory, I feel a little more sure that this is right.
Scary. And sad. But I feel in my bones that this sharp turn in my life’s path is the right one.
I smile at a young forty-something couple as I hand them a crisp white paper bag. They’re celebrating her one-year anniversary of being cancer-free and were thrilled when I pointed them to a particularly nice steal on our going-out-of-business table. A few of our nearby competitors bought out full and half cases, but for the one-off bottles, I’ve decided on an “everything must go” approach.
Dad’s probably ticked about it from up in Heaven. While he himself was a coupon-cutting, deal-hunting aficionado—he loved himself a cheap Chianti—he and my mom had defined Bubbles as a luxury shop from the very beginning. You don’t see a sales rack at Cartier, do you, Gracie?
In truth, I’d never set foot in Cartier. I still haven’t, so I don’t know what it’s like.
But here’s what I do know: The smile on that couple’s face when I’d handed them a bottle of wine to celebrate being alive? The tears in the eyes of a grandmother buying champagne to celebrate her first grandson and finding something in her price range? Worth it, despite the loss. Which tells me something I’ve maybe known all along: I’d rather be a good person than a great businesswoman.
Of course, that’s easy to say now that I have the financial buffer of the Andrews Corporation deal. Not that I’m set for life or anything. But for the first time ever, I’ve got a bit of breathing room in my budget. No more losing sleep about making sure I have enough to pay rent at home and the store. No more Groundhog Day resentment that I have to work seven days a week because I can’t afford to bring on another employee. No more endless stress about being able to keep the employees I do have.
That, apart from our legacy coming to an end, has been one of the hardest parts of all this. Breaking the news to May, Josh, and Robyn that while they’d get six months’ worth of pay, they’d need to find another job. That they’d all received the news with understanding and kindness had been a little bright spot in an otherwise bittersweet period of my life.
May in particular had been in favor of the decision. Time to move on, in more ways than one.
I know she was talking about letting go of my dad. I know that most of the reason she’s stuck around the store is for me, but I also know a little part of it’s for her—a way to stay connected with my father. I don’t want that for her. To stay connected with his memory? Of course. I know she’ll always love him. But I also want her to find that same happiness with someone else.
Robyn had been disappointed, but not surprised. In fact, she’d already started job hunting with the anticipation of the store closing, and I’m glad for it. She’s smart, she’s talented, and I’m confident she’ll find someone or somewhere that can make use of those talents.
Strangely, it had been Josh whom I’d been dreading telling the most. I hate that he worked so darn hard to learn wine, to learn the shop… for nothing.
Not nothing, boss. I was a part of something good. No regrets.
Ironic. Ironic that the employee who’s been a part of Bubbles’s story for the shortest amount of time is the one who was able to sum it up the best. Part of something good indeed.
We’d celebrated that good thing last night with a farewell party here at the shop. Nothing big, nothing fancy. Just the staff, the Coopers sans Caleb, though he’d FaceTimed for a while, a few of our regulars, and close friends. Keva had shown up with Grady and trays of potato chip–crusted cheese and broccoli casserole in tow, which they’d insisted was the perfect pairing for the occasion. They’d been absolutely right.
A little part of me had wondered if Sebastian would show up unexpectedly, the way he had for all of our other events.
He had stayed away, and I’d told myself I was glad.
The party had been a blast—the perfect sendoff for thirty-nine years of serving champagne to Midtown. I’m glad we had it when we did, on the eve of the store closure, rather than after the doors had shuttered for good. It allowed me to show up for work today—for the last time—with the laughter and company of last night fresh in my mind. To somehow get through this day with a smile.
To get to this point. This moment.
Lily reaches out and squeezes my hand as we stand shoulder to shoulder staring at Bubbles’s front door. Robyn and Josh are already gone for the day—no, for good. Behind me, I hear May chattering under her breath, trying to find her lipstick in her purse. Alec’s around too, a calm, reassuring presence.
“You want me to do it?” Lily asks gently when I don’t move.
I shake my head. “No, no. I just…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Would it be okay… would you mind if I did this part alone? I think I need some time, just me and the store.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Of course.”
“Are you sure? This is your place too—”
“No,” she says softly. “It hasn’t been my place for a long time. And it never was, not like it was yours. Nobody should have to end a long-term relationship with an audience.” Lily turns around to May and Alec. “Pack up, guys. We’re headed out.”
May pulls her lipstick out of her purse with triumph. “Just as soon as I’m dressed…”
She adds a thick layer of bright magenta and makes a kissing noise in my direction, then drops the lipstick back into her purse to get lost again—why she doesn’t keep it in a side pocket, I have no idea. She picks up her bright purple trench coat and bag and comes toward me.
“You enjoy your alone time, love, but you need someone to cry on, you come by my place, okay?”
I smile and nod, not really trusting my voice at the moment. She puts both hands on my cheeks, her usual warrior expression unusually soft. “He’s proud of you,” she whispers. “Your mama too. They’d want you to choose you.”
I manage another nod, my eyes watering this time, and she pulls me forward, pressing a kiss against my forehead. “Remember. My place if you need it. We’ll get drunk, order cheese fries, and watch Katharine Hepburn movies.”
She turns to leave, and as I’ve been doing all day, I try not to think about the fact that I’ll never see her walk through that door again.