Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Aubrey tilts her head. “What kind of bird?”
“Takahē. An iridescent flightless bird and now a conservation success story. My parents sent me an article on it. That’s their shtick. Happiness,” I say.
“Do you mean that’s their schtick as therapists?”
As we turn the corner, we pass a sundry shop with a rack of postcards out front. I’m tempted to thumb through them, but I resist the pull. “A lot of their clients are dealing with anxiety and depression due to, well, the state of the world. Climate change and all. So they’re both big on trying to teach them about finding happiness in the moment. Compassion. Kindness. But those two often stem from finding personal happiness. So, they look for the good news in the world,” I explain. “And they send it to me each morning.”
Aubrey’s smile is soft, almost enchanted. “They send you stories every day?”
“The Daily Dose of Good, they call it.” Maybe it’s cheesy to share this. But I’m proud of them. “Their theory is that focusing on some of the good things happening can help you experience more happiness, and that can offset, I suppose, the shitty things.”
“I love that. I think I believe it. I want to believe it,” she says, clearly giving it some thought. “What about you?”
“Hard to do, but I try,” I say.
Except a dark cloud floats over me. Do I try hard enough? Sometimes I get too caught up in the intensity of my job, the drive needed to play at the top of my game. Happiness sometimes takes a back seat to ambition, that powerful motherfucker.
“What else do they send you in the daily dose? Like, what was in it today?” Aubrey asks, her ankle boots click-clacking on the sidewalk as we pass a vintage shop peddling antique road signs right beside blouses and teacups.
“Honestly, their stuff is the antidote to the regular news. For instance, I read a story about a landfill in Latin America that became a mangrove forest. Or, there was one about a dude who used discarded vape batteries to build an electric scooter.”
“Oh! I keep meaning to try out a scooter. I’d love to get around on something upcycled.”
I picture Aubrey on a scooter, her flaming hair fanning out from under a helmet, her legs lean as she cruises from her place in the Mission to her hair salon in Hayes Valley.
Would she wear those little black ankle boots she has on now? Or maybe those tall pink ones from the plane? Or a pair of dark red thigh-high socks that peek out over the tops of her black boots like the ones she wore to that Christmas party a few years ago?
That party before Eva. For a sliver of a second, I wonder—was that my chance?
Did I miss it?
The cloud darkens more.
So much for the daily dose of good.
I’m back on track a little later as we finish dinner at The Green Pantry, a farm-to-table restaurant that she had on her restaurant research list.
All the tension from the room mishap vanished long ago thanks to the lube of good food and friendly conversation.
We’ve shot the breeze about the upcoming hockey season, though Ledger kept his mouth shut, for the most part, about the sport we both love. I can guess why, but I sense I shouldn’t poke around there.
Aubrey told us about a photography class she’s been taking online, since she wants to improve her photography of clients and their styles. “I’ve found that a good picture makes people happy, like a good hair day or a good chat,” she says, then sets down her fork with a clink next to the remains of her mushroom and snap pea polenta. “And a free meal. So maybe Aiden will surprise us and have paid the bill.”
Yup. We’re back on track, keeping things in the friend zone. “Maybe he even surprised you every day of the honeymoon. Tomorrow could be a…surprise spa day,” I offer building on this tale of Aiden’s clearly unintended generosity. Aiden is a cockblocker. This will for sure do the trick.
“Don’t get me excited,” Aubrey says.
“I bet he has chocolate-covered strawberries waiting for us when we return to the room,” Ledger says.
“Now you’re really teasing.” The spark in her brown eyes tells me she loves that idea.
Immediately, I want to find berries for her. I grab my phone. “Siri, does the Blackberry Inn have chocolate-covered strawberries?”
Siri responds quickly with, “The number of calories in chocolate and berries is—”
With a groan, I punch the volume on the phone. “Shut it, Siri. No one needs your calorie buzzkill.”
Another time, I’ll check on the option. Maybe back at the hotel. With a contented sigh, Aubrey tilts her head. A soft smile tips her pretty pink lips. “Guys, seriously. Thank you. I know the whole ‘sharing a suite’ thing is awkward, but I appreciate you just rolling with everything on this trip,” she says.