Outrageously in Love by Jen Morris

2

What the hell was I thinking?

I roll over, flipping my pillow to the cool side and pressing my cheek to the soft cotton, but it doesn’t help me relax enough to sleep. Why did I say I’d fly to New York? It was all fine and good when I was standing in that dark parking lot, still feeling the sting of Steph and her friends’ words, but now I’m wound tighter than the bun I wear on top of my head.

I know they think I’m hilariously boring, but I hadn’t realized how predictable my life had gotten until that conversation. It’s not like I set out to live a boring life, but I can’t deny that I like to feel as though things are within my control, otherwise I spiral. It’s kind of scary what happens when I feel overwhelmed, despite all the work I’ve done to manage my anxiety. This is why I don’t take risks; I can’t be certain of the outcome. The only place I’m prepared to take risks is in board games, which I’ve loved playing for years. Just as well I didn’t tell Steph’s friends that.

By morning I’ve hardly slept. I rub my bleary eyes, reaching for my phone to silence the alarm. There’s an email from Alex and I unlock my phone to read it, shocked to find she’s suggesting I get on a flight in two days.

Two days.

Fuck. I know she asked if I could come soon, but that’s a lot sooner than I was thinking.

Nerves tumble through my belly as I shower and dress for the day. I always follow the same basic routine: moisturizer with SPF30+, a light brush of bronzer to warm up my pale complexion, a swipe of mascara, and my long brown hair pulled up into a tidy bun. I slip on my glasses—black, with a subtle cat-eye shape—and wander back into my room to pack my bag for work. First thing in is my current read—I’m rereading the entire Harry Potter series for the millionth time and I’m currently on The Chamber of Secrets—to enjoy during my break. I pull on my daily “uniform” of slim-fitting jeans and a plain black T-shirt, and pop tiny gold studs in my ears.

I try to forget about Alex’s email as I head off to work, walking the ten minutes it takes to get to the cafe from our flat. Our town is small, sort of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it small, a few hours out of Auckland. You can walk anywhere in town within fifteen minutes.

Arriving at work, I push the glass door open. I’m greeted by the familiar smell of roasting coffee beans and it perks me up. I’ve worked here since I was eighteen, splitting my time between barista and waitress, and I love it. We roast our own coffee, which is fun. The regular customers are lovely, and my boss, Paula, is the best. She’s owned the cafe for years and creates the most amazing baked goods, always coming up with new ideas. She’s one of the friendliest people I’ve ever known—almost like a second mum to me, except one I can talk about sex with. You know, if I had much sex.

I drop my bag behind the counter and tie on my apron, looking around the empty space. Sometimes I dream about opening my own cafe, but with a unique twist: a board game cafe. Great big shelves, heaving with every game you can imagine, line the walls. The counters are stuffed with yummy treats and my own brand of coffee, and the air is rich with the scent of cinnamon and croissants. The tables are set up so you can grab a coffee and spend hours getting lost in a game of Scrabble or Settlers of Catan or Uno, with friends or alone. That’s what makes it so cool; it’s like an introvert’s paradise.

On really slow days, I sketch on a napkin I keep in my bag. It started with a simple floor plan, but now there’s a list of games I’d love to have, ideas for themed games nights, and even notes on the decor—a warm, golden yellow on the walls, dark-stained hardwood floors, and cozy leather sofas.

But, whatever. I haven’t given it a lot of thought. Would it be amazing to create this magical space? Sure. Is it really practical? Probably not. In fact, I should probably throw that napkin away.

“Hey chick, how are you?” Paula appears from the kitchen and turns on the coffee machine. On the counter beside her is a plate of her trademark vegan brownies. I’m not a vegan but she does the best vegan baking, and while I’d usually be dying to have one, I can’t stomach the thought right now.

“Good. Um…” I smooth my moist palms over my apron. May as well talk to Paula about this now, though I’m sure she won’t be able to give me several weeks off at such short notice. Part of me is already relieved. I want to be there for Alex, but the thought of getting on a flight in two days feels too soon. We’ll have to figure out a compromise.

“What’s up?”

“Alex called last night. She was a little unhappy.” I decide not to mention the part about Mum, given Paula knows her well. “We got to talking, and…” I swallow, willing myself to say the words. “I ended up agreeing to fly to New York for her wedding.”

Paula’s eyes light up. “Oh, wow! That’s fantastic!”

My pulse jumps. She is a lot more excited about this than I anticipated. “Right. I wanted to make sure you were okay with it, because I know this is last minute.”

“Absolutely! When are you thinking of going?”

“Oh, well…” I emit an awkward laugh. “She sent me an email with a flight in two days time, but I know—”

“Okay,” Paula says, and my mouth opens in surprise.

“Okay?”

“Yep. I can move some shifts around on the roster. We’ll manage without you.”

“Good to know I’m so valued here,” I say wryly, and she laughs.

“Of course you are. But come on, wouldn’t you rather be getting on a plane to New York than wiping down tables here?”

No, I want to say, but it’s too bloody late now.

“I know I would,” she adds with a chuckle. “If you go sooner, you’ll have more time away to see your sister and explore the city. Think of all the sightseeing you can do!”

A cold sweat prickles along my brow at those words again. “Are you sure?” I ask, making one last-ditch attempt to get out of this. My stomach is churning and I’m starting to feel itchy. “Because I don’t have to—”

“Totally sure.” She gives me a gentle pat on the arm. “I think this will be good for you, chick. I can’t remember when you last took time off. You could use a little more excitement in your life.”

I frown, thinking again about Steph and her friends’ words from last night. Does everyone think I’m boring?

“You should head home now to get your visa sorted and pack,” Paula says, handing me my bag and waving me towards the door. “I’ll cover your shift for the day.”

“Oh, um, okay,” I mumble, untying my apron. This did not go at all how I expected. “Well… thanks.”

“Of course! I wish I could come too, I’m dying to see New York. You’ll have to tell me every detail when you get back!” She grins and I send her a weak smile in return.

Guess I’m heading home to pack.

* * *

“I still can’t believeyou’re doing this.” Steph hauls my suitcase from the car and hands it to me.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” I respond, trying to quell the nerves clawing through my gut as we head across the parking lot at Auckland International Airport. She insisted on taking the afternoon off work to drive me up here. I get the sense she was worried I might not go through with it if she wasn’t here to push me through the gate.

“I’m sorry if we were a bit harsh the other night,” Steph says. “It’s just… sometimes I worry you’re letting life pass you by, Harri.”

I sigh. “You might have had a point. I could probably make some changes.”

I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the past forty-eight hours. Between the conversation in the bar and Paula’s words, it’s become painfully obvious to me that my life needs jazzing up. Nothing too outrageous—it’s not like I’m about to sign up for skydiving or shag a bloke on a cricket pitch—but it wouldn’t hurt to get out of my routine. I know I’m at the crucial point of the hero’s journey—the point that all characters in my favorite fantasy stories come to, where they have to decide if they’ll accept the quest—and I’m accepting my quest with enthusiasm. Well, maybe not enthusiasm, given I did fly into a panic after Paula gave me the green light and I haven’t slept since, but I’m accepting it, and that’s what counts.

Of course, accepting it and feeling okay about it are two different things. But… baby steps.

“Well, this trip is an excellent start,” Steph says as we enter through the glass doors. “And it kind of gave me an idea.”

We step onto the airport concourse and my anxiety level ratchets up a notch. It’s teeming with people and I don’t have the first clue where to go. I’ve never even set foot in here.

Steph catches my bemused expression and guides me towards the check-in line. “So, I had an idea…” she repeats, eying me expectantly.

I stand my suitcase as we join the line and turn to her. “What?”

“You said you want to make some changes, right?”

I nod.

“And you’re going all the way to New York. Besides Alex, no one even knows you there.”

“Uh-huh.” I turn my attention back to the line in front of me. God knows what she’s rambling on about now.

“So why not play a little game? Participate in an experiment?”

“Sure.” I inch forward in the line, only half-listening. The guy in front of me has a curved neck pillow dangling from his bag. Should I have bought one of those?

“You could try out what it’s like to be more adventurous.”

I glance at Steph again. “Adventurous?”

“Yeah. I want you to have a blast over there. It’s a different environment, miles away from home, so why not have fun with it? Take a few risks, be more outgoing?”

I blink. “You want me to go to New York and pretend to be someone else?”

“No, not someone else. Still you, just more bold. Kind of like… Harriet 2.0.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her words. Harriet 2.0.

“Here.” She digs into her bag and pulls out a small package. “I got you a going-away present.”

I smile, touched. “Aw, you didn’t need to do that.” I take the gift and unwrap it to find a lipstick, which she knows I don’t wear. I give her an odd look.

“I thought it could help you be more confident.”

“A lipstick?”

“Open it.”

I pop the lid off and peer inside. It’s a vivid, crimson red—definitely not my style—and I tuck it into my bag, wondering what to say. Does she even know me at all?

“I know it’s not a color you would’ve chosen,” she says. “That’s the point. It will make you feel sexy and bold. It’s for Harriet 2.0.” Before I can respond, she whips something else out from her bag. I recognize the tiny square wrapper immediately and my face warms. Typical Steph to brandish a condom in a public place like it’s no big deal. There are children nearby.

“Steph—”

“And I have a feeling,” she continues, tucking the condom into my bra with a devilish grin, “Harriet 2.0 will need this.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” I move forward in the line again and try not to let her see me blush. When I said I wanted to shake things up, I did not mean red lipstick and condoms. But when I glance back at her, she looks disappointed and I feel bad. The condom is a joke, of course, but she must have gone to a lot of trouble to choose the lipstick shade for me.

I soften, smiling. “Thanks for the gift. It’s really thoughtful. And I’ll think about the whole Harriet 2.0 thing, okay?”

“I hope so,” she says, putting an arm over my shoulder and giving me a squeeze.