Page 12 of Counting the Days

After they pondered the irony of a working-class adult reminding the child of a billionaire that her life was not that bad, Rhea confessed to her seventy-two-hour Edible Gardener stalk-fest.

“I’ve become slightly obsessed with Danny,” Rhea admitted, but when Tiny again offered to share his number, Rhea said she wanted to give him a little bit more time.

“Besides, I already know he’s notthe one. My psychic said I was going to meet my future husband on a golf course. So, I’d probably be wasting my time with Danny,” Rhea said.

“Oh, well, if your psychic said it, then it must be true.”

They shared a laugh.

Rhea really had recently received this prediction from the Topanga psychic she frequented, but the woman had also told her to call her brother because he was furious with her, and Rhea did not have a brother, so she was starting to think the woman was a quack. But just in case she wasn’t, Rhea was on the wait list for golf lessons at the Woodland Hills Country Club.

321Days

Rhea unlocked Topanga General Storeand turned on the lights. This was her least favorite time of day, first thing in the morning. When she had to sit alone with the smell of designer clothes, beeswax candles, and traumatizingly uncomfortable shoes. Before any customers entered and gave her a purpose, before Louisca arrived with a juicy story of whatever dramatic date he had gone on the night before.

Topanga General Store used to be a place that hunters and fishermen could buy essential food, tackle, and bullets, but that was in the 1920s. Now it was a chic boutique where women could buy essential sweaters, jeans, and ceramics. However much the store had changed in a hundred years, the name and the rusty metal sign that proudly displayed it were the same.

Rhea put her Rachel Comey bag down in the tiny back office and checked her appearance in a small mirror behind the door. Her poofy hair was fighting back against the gel she’d slathered on an hour ago; the marine layer was her worst enemy. Her eye makeup was already running; she rubbed it off as the lightbulb on the ceiling flickered and went out. She searched for a new lightbulb in the dusty cabinet behind herdesk; sweeping cobwebs aside, she pulled a bulb out of a cardboard box.

She stood on her desk, teetering in her wooden No.6 clogs, and changed the lightbulb. She climbed off her desk, looked around the cramped office, and sighed. How had this become her life? She was one of the brightest students in her graduating class at FIDM. On her last day, she felt an excitement from her teachers, as if each one of them was wondering,What will Rhea Darby do? Will she start a clothing line? Or go work for one of the big fashion houses in New York?None of them could have guessed she would open a small boutique in a neighborhood devoid of foot traffic, which barely made a profit.

“But I’m gonna open more stores someday,” she imagined herself meekly explaining to her unimpressed former teachers. “I still have time to be the next Jenni Kayne.”

Rhea ventured out onto the sales floor and sat on a stool behind the cash wrap. She checked the time and tried to think of a useful activity to fill the next couple of hours. Customers never arrived before noon, and yet, she opened every day at ten and sat…alone.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Louisca said, and Rhea looked up, surprised.

“You’re so early.”

“My roommate was doing improv practice in my living room. Rhea, I cannot. The stomping and screaming. I’d rather work.”

Rhea laughed; of all the employees she had hired over the years, Louisca was her favorite. His real name was Louis Carlo Hernández, but whenever he introduced himself, he said, “My name is Louis Carlo, but if you love me, call me Louisca.”

Rhea had never seen Louisca in a bad mood; he seemed to love every aspect of life, even the hard parts—especially the hardparts. Every broken heart, disappointment, or bad experience seemed to somehow strengthen his positivity. Rhea feared someday he would explode and unleash suppressed rage on all the innocent bystanders of Topanga, but thus far she had not seen even a crack in his upbeat façade.

“I need a sexy-gardener update. Please tell me he called so I don’t have to start hating him,” Louisca said as he plopped down on the stool next to Rhea.

“No, nope. Not yet. I’m trying not to lose hope.”

“How many days has it been?”

“Five.”

“You’re fine, he’s gonna reach out.”

Rhea breathed an illogical sigh of relief, as if Louisca were Danny’s official spokesman. Then she noticed Louisca cast his eyes down for the briefest moment.

“What?” she asked.

“What? Nothing—I mean…well, you could always reach out to him.”

“Won’t I seem desperate?”

“Or confident?”

“Oh God, you think five days is too long. You think he should’ve reached out by now. You think I have to track him down and beg him to date me—”

“No, I just know how important it is for you to, you know, meet the right guy, and you shouldn’t let him get away—”