Page 100 of The Snowflake Effect

“Well,” Raven says, sounding angry, “I wouldn’t be surprised. The Dick was verbally abusive, Shay. That kind of trauma takes time to deal with. But you’re feeling better now, right?”

I nod. “So much. I mean, I’m a mess over Kolton, as you know, but clearer about my past choices, if that makes sense.”

“And work’s been good?” Lily asks.

I smile easily at that. “Really great. Each project is scary to attack, but that gets my creative juices thriving, and I love the challenge. And the new partner Hilary hired is actually super nice and helpful. It’s just…I’m realizing that maybe the job is just that—a job.”

Hours that fulfill me in important ways, but that time doesn’t put the bounce in my step or the fire in my belly or the laughter in my life. It doesn’t come with Jackson and his perfect quirks. My job at Concept certainly doesn’t come with Kolton.

“It’s possible,” I go on, thinking aloud, “that I thought this was it—my one shot at independence and advancement? Which I’m slowly realizing isn’t true. I can design for a variety of clients with varied styles, and I think I’m kind of wishing I’d checked out the Vancouver design firms Kolton sent.”

“Then check them out,” Raven says. “He might not have used those three words, but there’s no question Kolton loves you. The video he sent must be his way of reaching out. I bet he misses you as much as you miss him, although he might not be inhaling pounds of icing.”

“Or,” I say, ignoring her jab, “what if the movie was just him mending fences so it’s less awkward when we see each other at the Snow Show convention? What if”—my stomach lurches—“he attends the Snow Show with a date?”

“You look green, Shay.” Lily’s eyes widen. “Are you feeling okay?”

I laugh—an abrupt, harsh sound. “No. I am far from okay. I haven’t been sleeping much.” I grab a second coaster and begin shredding it.

Lily stills my hands. “He doesn’t have a date, Shay. I know he misses you. I think he’s realizing he fucked up.”

Her intel must come from Sawyer, which means Kolton and I have both been drowning in our own sorrow, too afraid to take the next giant step, believing our histories were bound to repeat. The girls talk among themselves while I shred another coaster and rock on my chair and sip my wine, the whole while on the verge of tears.

As a stuttering kid, I was ushered to appointments, my prolonged stammering examined with a magnifying glass. The good moments, the ones where I’d channel my inner cheetah and chase sounds fluidly, happened around family or when I sang or chattered to my dog, Snoopy. The bad times were in school with my “peers.” My syllables would whir in place, an endless skipping record. Through breathing exercises and articulation, I gained control over my voice. Belonging to a ski team was the final push I needed: my fear of the fear of speaking dissipated, but it was a battle to get there.

Now, fifteen years later, I realize that experience still impacts my life. Like every obstacle I face is another struggle I must fight. And win.

But every challenge isn’t a battle. My mistakes aren’t life sentences. If I walk away from this job, another will arise, because I’m capable. And I can fight for Kolton, too. Show up at his hotel tomorrow, tell him I want to take a bigger risk, and pray this boost of bravery isn’t too late.

Brave. Brave. Brave.

I nod, as if the action will shake something loose in my obstinate brain.

The girls are still chatting, shooting furtive glances my way.

I grab my purse and put cash on the table. “I’m heading home.” I turn to Lily. “Call me if you need anything. I’m proud of you.”

I’m about to leave when Raven says, “You normally take Bathurst Street, right?”

“Sometimes, why?”

“Bad accident earlier. It was down to one lane on my way here. I’d take Spadina.”

It’s a bit of a detour, but nothing is worse than sitting in traffic. “Okay, thanks.”

With one last wave, I leave to spend another lonely evening in my apartment. Hopefully, Kolton’s Terminator movie wasn’t just a peace offering. Hopefully, it means he still wants to work on things. If not, tomorrow will be the start of an epic cupcake eating competition.

Contestants: Me versus Me.

CHAPTER 43

SHAY

A few blocks down Spadina, my mind a thousand miles away, flashing lights flicker through my rear window. “Shit.”

As I signal and pull over to the side of the road, I mentally catalogue what infraction I could have violated to attract the police. The needle on my speedometer is only a few clicks above the limit, my lights are on, and my license renewal is up to date.

I don’t have so much as a speeding ticket.