Love Me for Me(7)

After the waitress left them alone, Celia leaned across the table. “You don’t have to be so gloomy, honey. Be glad to be home.”

There was no reason to be glad. She was the exact opposite of glad. Libby had been completely happy in New York. She didn’t belong in White Stone. She didn’t look like the people in town, she didn’t act like them, and certainly she didn’t live like them. But now, who was she? She’d lost her job in Manhattan, she had nowhere to live, and Wade had left her.

The conversation the night Wade broke up with her had been surreal. He was away on business, and she wanted to feel closer to him. Libby was reasonable enough to know that if she hadn’t called him that night, she’d have eventually faced the same outcome, but she still wished it could have happened differently.

I don’t think we’re compatible anymore.

After two years of being together, that was how he’d ended it. With that one statement, Wade showed a side of him that Libby had never known existed. She knew why they weren’t compatible and, until that moment, she hadn’t wanted to admit it. They weren’t compatible because she wasn’t successful anymore. When she’d had a lucrative career, he’d been very attentive, romantic, interested. But the longer she sat in their apartment looking for jobs, not going anywhere, not getting out of her pajamas until late in the morning, the more he’d distanced himself. He’d been so busy on his trip that he was unable to take her calls for most of that week. That’s the way she’d rationalized his silence before their break-up. In the end, he’d left her with barely an explanation. He’d come home long enough to suggest that she find somewhere to go as soon as possible, and then he’d left again—where to, she had no idea.

All the plans she’d made for their wedding—the reservations, the deposits, the appointments—had to be canceled. With every phone call, she sank further into her depression, constantly reexamining herself and wondering if she’d achieved what she had based on her merit or if it had all been some terrible fluke. She’d hit her very lowest at that point, and she wondered if she’d ever get back up to the top. It seemed like a daunting climb.

“Hello-o!” Celia waved a hand in front of her face.

“Sorry.”

“Honey, I… I’m just going to say it. You look depressed.”

Ya think? “Really?”

“Would it help to see someone about it?”

“Who? Taylor’s mom? She’s the only shrink in town, and, since I spent most of my childhood at her home playing with Taylor, I don’t think she could be very objective.” Libby noticed her tone and shrank back into quiet. It wasn’t her mother’s fault she’d lost everything. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her mother. I’ll bet you’re doing damage control in your head right now, she thought as she looked at her. Libby had already ruined her reputation as an overachiever for her mother. She’d better not make it any worse.

Celia waved her hands in the air. “Let’s not talk about it. I’d much rather discuss what you thought of the Roberts’ place. Is it livable?”

“Well, there’s no way I can sell it and make a profit the way it is currently, but that’s okay because I’ll be here to oversee the remodel.”

The realization of what was ahead of her was slowly sinking in. She was about to start living and working in the town she’d worked so hard to leave. Was she destined to live out her years like her mother had? In New York, she felt there was nowhere to go but up, but in White Stone, there was just nowhere to go.

Her mother had gotten her a job at a small firm in town owned by an acquaintance of Celia’s named Marty Bruin. Libby was overqualified for it, but it had been the only offer of employment she’d received. It wasn’t even a full-time job; it was a temporary, part-time position that she’d only gotten because she was Celia’s daughter. It was just something to keep her afloat until she could get back to New York.

Compounding things, she hadn’t told Wade that she’d planned to prolong putting the cottage on the market until she could get back on her feet. She didn’t really know what to tell Wade, and she didn’t really know what she wanted to do with the cottage. In a perfect world, she’d sell it, get a job back in New York, and return to her happy life, but that wasn’t an available option at the moment. At least she could use the house to hide away until she figured out what to do. She couldn’t hide, however, from the inadequacy she felt coming back.

“I know the house isn’t much.” Celia pulled her from her thoughts, “Your investment is the property.”