Don't Say Goodbye

by Bridget Essex

  Max laughed, in spite of herself. “My doctor never prescribed me that in lieu of my migraine medication, no.”

  “Well, let me tell you, it’s a well-kept secret,” said Fiona, her voice dropping softly to a conspirator’s whisper. “And I’d...I’d love to see you again,” she said, then.

  Had Max imagined that? But no, she most certainly had not. She couldn’t have. Fiona had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted to see her. It probably wasn’t in the way Max was already imagining. It was simply because Max was Jo’s best friend. Surely the new girlfriend would want to stay on good terms with the best friend. But as Max thought this, she knew that wasn’t exactly true.

  It was because Fiona was just a nice person.

  There were a million things to say to that, and Max ran through all of them in her head for a heartbeat before she breathed out, picking up her blue stress ball in front of her keyboard, the one with the little eyes and mouth that would pop out when she squeezed it hard enough. She squeezed the heck out of it just then, closed her eyes and said: “yes, I’d love that. I’ll try to stop by after work—what time are you open until?”

  “Six, but I’m in the back long after making the cupcakes for the next day. So just knock on the window and I’ll hear you. Sound good?” Fiona actually sounded delighted, her warm voice filled with excitement.

  It made Max’s heart beat even faster. And it was already reaching heart-attack level paces.

  Max breathed out, squeezed the stress ball just a little harder, the cartoon eyes and mouth popping so far out it seemed that the ball was in danger of breaking. “I’ll see you tonight!” she managed.

  “Wonderful. I’ll see you then. Bye!” And the line went dead.

  Max’s screen went back to the spreadsheet, and a little pop-up box asked if she’d closed the sale.

  Max stared at it for so long, it began to blur in front of her eyes.

  Yeah, she’d closed the sale. Sort of.

  The rest of the day flew by in a strange, panicked blur as Max tried desperately to think of some excuse to not stop by Florabella Cupcakes after work. Which was ridiculous, she knew. She was just stopping by to see her best friend’s girlfriend, who was an incredibly nice, friendly person, who simply wanted to give Max a free cupcake. She was panicked about a free cupcake! There, when she thought about it like that, it really did seem silly not to think about going.

  Around five o’clock Max rose from her chair, stretched overhead and dragged her sequined coin purse out of her bottom desk drawer, hefting it in her hand. It had a couple of quarters, which meant she could probably get a Coke and some candy. What a terrible idea. She grinned to herself and began to walk down the aisle.

  A leg stuck out of a cubicle a few feet ahead of her, causing her to pause. It was a man’s leg, wearing a very scuffed-up loafer, and jeans because it was casual Friday.

  “You know,” said Sam, peeking his head out of his cubicle and waggling his eyebrows at Max. “You were actually whistling just now.”

  “No I wasn’t,” she scoffed at him, grinning, as he got up, hands in his pockets and grinning, too, to follow her to the break room.

  “Yep, you were so totally whistling. You never whistle unless you’re in the best mood ever.” He dragged out the contents of his right pocket, which consisted of a few small balls of lint, three quarters and a wadded up gum wrapper.

  “Why shouldn’t I be in a good mood? It’s Friday,” said Max, a little uneasily as she considered the candy machine, her eyes unfocused and not really taking in all of the delights before her. He was right. She had been whistling, and she pretty much only whistled on the night before a date.

  But this wasn’t a date. This was very much not a date.

  It was because of the free cupcake.

  Yes. Of course. She was excited about the free cupcake.

  She groaned and ran her fingers through her long, lanky ponytail. Extra lanky because it was casual Friday, and everyone was just lucky that she’d had enough gumption to put on clothes this morning and ditch the pajamas. “Sam…” she said, trailing off as she fed quarters into the machine, pushing the button for the chocolate covered peanuts. She swallowed what she’d been going to say when he cast a glance in her direction. She didn’t want to talk about seeing Fiona. Not yet. “Did you ever call Rita back?” she said then, purposefully making her voice lighter as the machine spat out the wonderful chocolate. She picked up the wrapper and tore off the top, tossing it into the trashcan.

  “The one who couldn’t eat wheat?” said Sam a little too innocently as he shoved his quarters into the coke machine and pressed the button for the can of lemonade. “Yeah,” he said then, after a few beats, grinning back over his shoulder at Max. “I did. We’re actually going on a date tonight. And I apologized to her for being such a jerk at dinner.”

  “You hadn’t told me you’d been a jerk at dinner,” said Max, brows raised as she leaned against the wall, popping a chocolate covered peanut into her mouth. Ah. Bliss.

  “Yeah. I kind of made a big deal about having to go to a gluten-free restaurant because I thought the food was going to be terrible. Which, I realize,” he said, holding up his hands as Max’s mouth dropped open, “was the jerkiest move since jerks were invented. So I apologized a lot and sent her flowers and we’re going on another date since she’s giving me another chance. Because she’s a lot nicer than I am.” He looked a little chagrined and more than a little self-conscious.

  “You’re such a jerk,” said Max with narrowed eyes, chewing on another peanut. “You’d better treat her right this time.”

  “I will.” Sam popped open the tab on his can and took a swig of lemonade. They both should have started ambling back to their desks, but they paused in the break room, the air heavy between them.

  “Look…” began Sam, but Max was biting her lip, shaking her head.

  “If this is about Fiona--”

  “Maybe it is,” said Sam, leaning back against the wall, too, head to the side as he considered Max. “Look, you only live once, right?”

  “There are whole bunches of people who believe in reincarnation who would robustly contest that fact,” joked Max, but Sam’s face remained perfectly serious.

  “You only live once,” Sam repeated, a little more solemnly this time, “and I just think…well. Sometimes things happen for reasons, okay?”

  “Sam, I don’t need a come-to-Jesus talk about the perfect time and place and etcetera,” said Max gently, stepping forward and offering him a chocolate covered peanut. He declined, but fell in step alongside her as they both left the break room. “But for the umpteen millionth time, I love Jo. She’s been like a sister to me my entire life. And I would never, ever do anything to jeopardize that, and I’d really like to not talk about this again.” She paused in front of Sam’s cubicle, her voice lowered as she turned back to face him.

  “Okay,” said Sam with a shrug, his gaze lingering on Max’s face. “You just…” he trailed off, sighed. “You deserve to be happy, too, all right?”

  “I’m happy,” said Max with a defensiveness she didn’t feel.

  Sam’s eyebrows rose again, and he said nothing, only slid into his cubicle, and his chair. Max opened and shut her mouth, because she wanted a scathing retort…and none were currently available. All of the wind went out of her sails.

  The truth of the matter was that she wasn’t happy.

  But she’d been happy this afternoon.

  …Because of Fiona.

  Chapter 3: Icing

  Max had the phone number for Fiona’s cupcake shop because it was on her call spreadsheet for work. In theory, she absolutely, positively could call Fiona back and tell her that something had come up, and that she wouldn’t be able to make it that evening for that cupcake after all.

  But Max didn’t call and tell Fiona she wasn’t coming.

  Max drove to Newbury Street the moment she got off shift, parking her Escort down the street a few shops from Florabella Cupca
kes. The night was cold and hushed, though there were still people bustling past with shopping bags and big winter coats, the holiday shopping season already in full swing. Max pulled her coat a little closer about her, shut the car door, and then she was walking down the sidewalk toward the cupcake shop, her hands deep in her coat pockets.

  The shop window displays on the street were so cheerful and charming, reminding her of old black and white Christmas movies Max had watched and loved as a kid. Newbury Street was at the heart of the more artsy district of the city, and that was reflected in the type of shops it contained. There was a yarn shop, and a gourmet boutique shop of cheeses, and a handmade toy shop with carved toy soldiers in their windows, and a used book store that was already closed for the evening, but had a very bored-looking tabby cat in the window, gazing out at her through slit eyes, his tail moving back and forth in annoyed flicks as he sprawled on a stack of enormous hardcovers and watched the window shoppers with narrowed eyes. Max tapped the glass of the cat’s window gently with a long finger, and the cat practically rolled his eyes at her before widening them and pouncing a little at her finger. Max chuckled at him--he was a really nice cat, and he’s the guy who always drew her into that book store, even though she did love books.

  Now, she nervously lifted her coat’s collar closer about her ears to better keep out the chill, and kept walking down the snowy sidewalk. She was close to the cupcake shop, and this meant that she still had time to turn back, to call Fiona and tell her that she couldn’t make it.

  She still had time.

  And then she ran out of it.

  Because right there, nestled between Marie’s Yarn and Fabric Arts and The Blue Dog (which, upon walking past, Max realized was an upscale coffee shop, the little booths visible through the window filled with people nursing gigantic, steaming mugs of some fantastic-tasting holiday coffee beverage, and busy on their laptops) was Florabella Cupcakes. The cupcake shop had a pink and white striped awning and two little white iron tables and chairs out front covered in filigree that looked sweet and inviting, though Max doubted that anyone was currently using them in this weather. They were also covered with a light dusting of snow.

  The “open” neon sign in the window was turned off, and so were most of the overhead lights inside, but the window display on both sides of the door was well lit, and Max paused for a moment, taking it in. There was a Christmas tree in both windows, covered with pink tinsel and absolutely laden with cupcake ornaments in all sorts of styles, from hand blown glass cupcakes (that were probably antique) to hand-sewn felt cupcakes to what appeared to be a cupcake carved out of wood and painted. There was a cloth banner draped in the air above each tree that read “celebrate the season with cupcakes!” in cheerful pink and gold cursive.

  There was movement beyond the door, and then Fiona was there, turning the lock and opening it up. She was wearing a frilly pink apron over a blue blouse and jeans, and she had flour on her nose, splotched on the apron, and a little bit in her red hair that was swept up into a ponytail. Max was taken aback by how charming she looked with that dusting of flour in odd places.

  Fiona’s grin was huge, in that moment, and she wasn’t grinning at anyone else but Max.

  And Max, in that moment, felt her heart rise and warm.

  “I’m so glad you came!” said Fiona, stepping out but keeping a leg in the door so it didn’t close. She gestured Max closer, and then Fiona was wrapping her warm arms around Max, giving her a tight squeeze as the warmth from the shop rolled out around them, too, chasing the chill of the winter away. The scent of cupcakes rolled out with Fiona as she squeezed Max tightly, but also the sweet hint of something floral and vanilla. The embrace lingered a beat too long, or maybe that was just Max’s imagination. Fiona stepped back, her bright green eyes flashing warmly. “I just took a batch of peanut butter cupcakes out of the oven, so you’re right on time,” she said, her smile deepening. With a gentle hand at the small of Max’s back, Fiona pushed her gently through the door and into the shop, shutting and locking the door behind the both of them.

  The scents inside the shop were so much stronger than what had come out of it into the street to meet her. As they swept over Max just then, she breathed out. They were so heavenly that Max couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes, leaned back on her heels and inhaled deeply, rising up on her toes as she did so, buoyed up by the intense, mouthwatering aroma of cupcakes and sugar and pure deliciousness.

  “That’s what heaven smells like,” said Fiona, then, and Max’s eyes snapped open. Fiona stood beside her, her hands on her hips, one hip jutting to the side as she gazed up at Max with those bright green eyes that seemed to spark, even in the darkness of the cupcake shop. Something passed over Fiona’s face in that heartbeat, something unreadable that Max wasn’t certain about, but then Fiona was smiling again, and gesturing toward the back of the shop, around a corner, toward the light that was spilling out into that hallway.

  They moved past the little quaint tables and chairs that, for some reason, reminded Max of Paris, even though she’d never been to Paris. She’d certainly seen enough movies centered in the city, and usually the main characters of those movies were seated, at some point, at a coffee shop that had tables and chairs just like these, with their soft whites and pinks and shabby chic appearance. The tall counter next to the cash register had about five levels of plexi-glass shelving for cupcakes, all of which were currently empty.

  “Thanks to the holiday season, business is booming,” said Fiona as they both walked toward the back hallway over the charming black and white tile floor. “I sold out again today, and actually had to close up shop early! I don’t want that to happen to me again…that’s bad for business. So I’m baking a couple extra dozen tonight, just in case of sell out again,” she said, grinning up at Max. “Come on back!”

  They rounded the corner, and Max was met with a row of three ovens across from shelves of trays and a long expanse of counter space covered in dozens and dozens of cupcakes, arranged in phalanxes like a tiny cupcake army, ready to take over. It was much warmer back here in the kitchen, and Max found herself unzipping her denim jacket as Fiona pranced forward, an oven timer sharply beginning to beep.

  “Oh, right on schedule—this is perfect!” she said happily, bending down to open up the oven door.

  The wafting scent of peanut butter cupcakes swept over the both of them as Max tried very, very hard not to look at Fiona’s beautiful curves. And they were beautiful, the swell of her thighs and bottom in the jeans. Max’s fingernails pressed hard against her palms, and she glanced down at her boots leaking melting snow on Fiona’s clean black and white tiles.

  “They’re done!” said Fiona triumphantly, setting the pan of cupcakes on the cooling rack and turning towards Max with a grin as she took off her oven mitts. The mitts were bright pink, the same pink as her apron. Fiona followed Max’s gaze and looked down at herself with a wry expression. “Believe it or not, I don’t even like pink. But it’s what people expect from a cupcake shop,” she said, rolling her eyes a little as she chuckled. “I just go with it.”

  “No…it suits you,” said Max quietly, struggling for the words. She put her hands deep in her pockets, felt her cheeks color as she murmured: “you look great.”

  Fiona glanced up sharply at that, her eyes bright and wide, but just as quickly she was glancing down at herself chuckling. “Hah! I’m covered in flour and exhausted. But you’re…you’re very sweet to say that.” She glanced up again, biting her lip, and there was silence for a moment between them as Max’s heart began to beat too fast.

  “So, what kind of cupcake do you think you want? I have a lot to choose from.” Fiona grinned hopefully at Max and pointed to a few pans. “Those are strawberry and peaches and cream and cherries jubilee. I like to keep the fruit separate from the chocolate ones. This is peanut butter chocolate, ‘Death by Chocolate’ and raspberry chocolate. Then I have white chocolate and orange chocolate…”

  Max began to
chuckle. “Oh my goodness. How long have you been baking to make this many?”

  “Well, I closed a little early. And I’m very fast,” said Fiona, hooking her thumbs into the frilly apron’s pockets and grinning broadly at Max. “Impressed?”

  “Very,” said Max, truth making her sigh out the word. She cleared her throat, glanced over the trays and trays of cupcakes and tried very hard not to look at the beautiful woman standing in front of her.

  But Fiona kept drawing Max’s eyes back to her. Back to her ridiculous, sweet apron, and her red curls escaping from under the blue bandana that was trying to keep her hair contained. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but she didn’t need any. Fiona’s lashes were long and curved, her cheeks rosy, her smile defined by little curving lines around her lips that showed how often she smiled. She looked like what Max had always assumed a ballerina looked like, which was an odd comparison, but she definitely made Max think of one. All fine bones and powerful grace.

  Fiona glanced at the rows of cupcakes, folding her arms in front of herself as she shifted the weight into her heels. She’d noticed Max was staring at her. Max cleared her throat again, panic setting in. “Um... I really like chocolate and peanuts. I’d probably like the peanut butter chocolate one, though I have to confess,” she said as Fiona brightened up, popping one of the cupcakes out of the tray, “I’ve not really eaten a lot of cupcakes in my day.”

  Fiona patted the bottom of the cupcake and tested its warmth with her hand against the wrapper. “We’re going to have to wait to frost it. This tray came out of the oven about a half hour ago, so it’s closer to being frostable than the ones in the tray I just took out. Do you have a moment?” said Fiona, setting the cupcake down on the counter as she moved toward her industrial-sized refrigerator. “If you don’t eat cupcakes often, I really want this one to be perfect. Memorable.”