Chapter One
Midlife Meltdown. Cue Magic
Ellie Whitfield’s to-do list was four pages long, and not a single item on it was for herself.
She stood at the kitchen counter with her coffee going cold beside her, reviewing the list with the focus of a woman who confused being needed with being alive. Page one: PTA business. Page two: historical society correspondence, three event-planning requests, and a note to pull a zoning document from 1967 for the town clerk because nobody else knew where the 1967 files were. Nobody else ever bothered to learn. Page three: favors for neighbors. Page four: a birthday card for a woman at church whose name Ellie forgot after the first introduction and never asked again because by the second week it was too late and by the third week it was mortifying. She’d been handing her a card every April for eleven years, smiling warmly, saying “Happy birthday!” and addressing it to “Dear Friend” like a woman running a one-person witness protection program for social obligations. The woman always thanked her. Neither of them acknowledged that Ellie clearly did not know her name. It was the most committed bit of mutual politeness in Fairhaven, and the bar for that was high.
The last time she wrote something for herself on a list was years ago. “Buy new walking shoes.” She remembered it clearly because she felt a small, reckless thrill putting it there, like a woman shoplifting a pack of gum. She never bought the shoes. Barbara Houghton needed a ride to the airport that Saturday, and by the time Ellie got home the stores were closed, and by Monday the thrill passed and the item felt selfish, so she crossed it off and wrote “Confirm Barbara’s airport pickup ✓” in its place.
She was still wearing the same walking shoes. The soles were smooth enough to qualify as a safety hazard, but they worked fine if she didn’t think about it, and Ellie was very good at not thinking about things.
Her phone buzzed before eight.
PTA President (Sharon, aggressive texter):
Ellie! Spring fundraiser needs a theme by Friday. You’re SO good at this. Thoughts???
Charlie graduated seven years ago. Seven years, and she was still organizing the spring fundraiser. She meant to step down after Megan graduated. Then Brenda needed her for one more year. Then Janet needed her for two more. Now Sharon needed her, and Sharon never once asked why a woman with no children in the school system was still volunteering forty hours a semester. Nobody asked. Ellie outlasted three PTA presidents and two principals, and at this point she was less a volunteer than a load-bearing wall that everyone stopped noticing.
She typed: Happy to brainstorm! I’ll pull together some ideas tonight.
She would, too. That was the thing. She would brainstorm tonight, and she would come up with three options, and she would present them in a cheerful email with bullet points, and Sharon would pick the one Ellie designed to be picked and then tell everyone it was her idea. And Ellie would smile about it, because that was what Ellie did.
