Author Spotlight: Julee Balko

An excerpt of first chapter

Chapter 1: Salad

Olivia’s life felt like hard piled on hard. And then some piles of laundry. And a sink full of last night’s dishes. And not nearly enough wine.

She rifled through the clearance underwear at Target and knew her marriage was in trouble. Who had she become? She didn’t even think about sexy lingerie. She nabbed a nude-colored pair for two dollars and threw them into her cart. Could anything scream boring more loudly than nude underwear that was on sale?

She tossed a bag of coffee on top of the underwear to hide her dismal life. What else did she need to pick up today? Not that underpriced panties were technically on her list. She scanned her phone: bread, milk, cereal, those granola bars that Sammy liked. The usual. Oh, and wine. Olivia definitely needed more wine. Especially after that frustrating call with her mother earlier today.

Olivia pushed the cart through the aisle, distracted by her issues with her mother, and hit the corner of the end-cap display, knocking a few Tupperware containers off the pile. Rolling her eyes, she picked them up, and they fell again. Olivia scrunched her nose with hate at the little plastic bowls nestled into themselves with their right-sized lids and thought, how do they magically get these to stay? She balanced the last bowl on the corner and walked away. About two aisles down, she heard them drop to the ground again. She quickly took a left and the Tupperware problem was out of her sight.

Olivia glanced at her watch and saw she still had two more hours until Samantha finished school. If she walked around Target long enough, could this count as exercise? She had told herself she was going to go to the gym every day this week. Yet here it was, Wednesday, and the closest she had gotten to the gym was a Target run, without any actual running.

Olivia heard Patricia’s voice before she saw her. It oozed authority and money and polished hair. She slowed her cart, hoping to avoid her, but wouldn’t you know it, Patricia turned right into her aisle.

“Hello there.” Patricia held the phone away from her face, put her hand over the receiver, and whispered, “It’s a client.” Olivia gave a wave like she was still a dork in eighth grade. It was like even her hand couldn’t be cool.

Patricia walked right over and picked up the fancy cleaner. You know, the kind that costs a lot, has a hip-looking label on it, and is only made from essential oils and freshly squeezed hibiscus flowers or something. Olivia judged her while secretly thinking she should buy the same one.

Patricia hung up the phone and said, “Ugh, it’s been a day.”

Olivia nodded her head in agreement, even though her day had technically only been stressing about her mother, ignoring the dishes, avoiding exercise, and then coming here.

“Work’s been so busy, I didn’t even eat lunch. Have you tried that little salad place next door?”

“Oh, no. Sprouts? It looks good, but I haven’t.”

“Perfect. We should go.”

“Yeah.” Olivia only said that to be nice. It’s the kind of answer you give when you assume you will never go to the fancy salad shop with your fancier-than-you neighbor. If Olivia wanted to eat salad, which she didn’t, she would eat it at home and then do the respectable thing—eat brownies two minutes later while hiding in her closet so her kid didn’t see.

“Let’s go grab some now,” Patricia said. There was no uptick in her voice as if it was a question. It was a statement, a sentence with a period and no wiggle room.

And Olivia’s lips betrayed her by saying, “Oh,” which sounded enough like “okay,” before she could stop them. Technically, she had two hours to spare. But eating salad was not her idea of a good time, and eating salad with perfect Patricia was pretty close to Olivia’s idea of torture. And yet here she was, pushing her cart behind Patricia. Behind her! Not even in front of her. Pushing it behind her like an odd duckling following a swan. Olivia wished Patricia would stop short so she could accidentally clip her ankle. But there was no breaking Patricia’s speed.

It was like the sea of Target shoppers could feel the powerful energy of Patricia, and they parted ways to let her through. Olivia’s heart rate was pumping just to keep up. Seriously? When Olivia shopped, it was usually sluggish old ladies at every pass. How did this woman clear the aisles of humans with just her presence?

Olivia’s armpits felt sweaty. Damn stupid natural deodorant, she thought, and she saw a little sweat appear on her gray shirt. Pit stains and pea shoots, I’m a regular class act, she thought as she joined Patricia in line.

“Hello, Sandra.” Patricia greeted the Target employee by her actual freaking name. Who does that? Not Olivia. Olivia was a quick upward glance and get through the transaction as quickly as possible with as little discussion as necessary kind of shopper.

“Find everything you need?” the Target employee, apparently named Sandra, asked.

“Oh yes. Everything was quite in order,” Patricia said, and flashed a smile.

Meanwhile, Olivia tried to think of how she could get out of the salad fest. Vomit? Could she spontaneously vomit? A call from school? No, her phone wouldn’t ring. An email from school about Samantha? What if Patricia asked to see it? She was nosy like that. And before she could think of an excuse, Sandra, the quickest scanner she had ever met, was already scanning her things, until beep.

Dammit, the clearance nudes.

Beep. “Um, miss, these aren’t scanning. Where’d you get them?”

Patricia peered through her glasses at Olivia and seemed annoyed at the inefficiency of the underwear purchase.

“They were on sale. In the clearance bin.” Olivia straightened her posture and tried to say it with poise and grace. Nothing to be ashamed of. So she liked boring underwear at a good price.

Sandra held the tag on the underwear and typed in the number. Beep.

“Hmm, not working.”

She tried the number again. Think of something to say, brain. Olivia wished her mind could make small talk so the underwear silence would be broken.

“Let me call my manager.” Sandra picked up the phone and said, “Bob, I need your help with a clearance garment.”

“That won’t be necessary. I don’t need them. Really. It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” Clearly, Sandra thought the nudes were worth the effort.