by Riley Jean
“You should totally join us,” offered Summer, hands clasped in front of her. “We’re going to my house to dye Scar’s hair. And I have a ton of cookie dough, we can make pazookies!”
“Oooh, pazookies!” Kiki agreed. “Whadduya say Gwen? Come with us!”
Gwen’s eyes started to shimmer. Bewildered, I followed her gaze to where a couple walked by holding hands. It freaked me the hell out. In all the years I’d known her, I’d never seen her emotional before. Not once.
Empathy. Sadness. I recognized the emotions, but they were watered-down versions of what they should have been. With this wall in place, I couldn’t feel them to the extent they deserved. The only sensation I was able to register was anger.
It hit me like a bolt of lightning. “What did that asshole do now?” I practically seethed.
Let me clarify that I had never said anything negative about Gwen’s boyfriend before. Ever. Certainly never called him names. I didn’t entirely agree with all aspects of their relationship, but to admit this to someone as obsessive as Gwen equated to friendship suicide.
Summer and Kiki gasped and looked between me and Gwen. Either they were curious about whether or not my assumption was correct, or scared to see what Gwen was about to unleash because of what I said.
I didn’t care. If that bastard made my friend cry, I wasn’t taking it back.
Gwen looked up at me with tear-kissed lashes. “Don’t call him that.”
Hearing her rush to his defense made my hackles stand. Something had happened. I was sure of it.
“What’s wrong?” Summer inquired, while Kiki patted her back. “Are you and Hunter alright?”
Gwen clutched her stomach and bowed her head just as two tear drops fell to the linoleum floor. Her voice quivered as she whispered, “It’s over.”
I stood by and watched as Summer and Kiki engulfed their friend in a powerful hug, making sympathetic sounds as Gwen’s shoulders shook with quiet sobs. They repeated words of encouragement: You guys’ll work it out, they said. You’ll pull through.
I kept my mouth shut, because all I had up my sleeves were hate grenades. Hunter wasn’t a boyfriend worth mourning. He had been nothing but a leech, draining all the best parts of Gwen dry and then leaving her with nothing. Good riddance.
“See? A girls’ night is exactly what you need!” Kiki said brightly, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.
“I’ll do your nails,” persuaded Summer. “I have thirteen different shades of pink!”
“Thanks, guys,” Gwen sniffled and wiped her nose. The movement shifted her glasses. “But I think I’m just going to head home.”
No surprise there. The girls tried to change her mind, but not me. I understood the need to be alone, from one homebody to another. I wasn’t going to stop her.
With that, she picked up her gigantic tub of ice cream and shuffled through the self-checkout line, not before Summer and Kiki wished her well, and I put aside my bitterness and gave a soft apology.
I had no words of comfort to offer my friend. But I was, after all, sorry she was hurting.
“Poor thing,” Summer lamented. “They just have to get back together. They’re soul mates!”
Before I could think better of it, I snorted.
“What?” Summer demanded. “Don’t you believe in soul mates? And true love?”
Hunter and Gwen? Definitely not. “No,” I scoffed. “It’s all transient bullshit.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Whatever you say. Let’s go dye your hair black.”
“Scarlett?” Kiki asked. “That’s your full name?”
“Duh,” Summer confirmed for me. “What did you think Scar was short for?”
Kiki shrugged. “You know, as in, Hakuna Matata?”
That night, with a proper dye and a cut, Kiki brought my curls back to life. Straightening my hair every time I went out in public (or every time I worked, rather) really was a bit of a hassle. I was pleased to see that even though the curls made a comeback, I still looked different enough from my old self.
I declined the girls’ begging to do my makeup, even when they offered to do it dark, to keep it consistent with my style. I told them I wasn’t aiming for any particular style, I just wanted something low maintenance and easily forgettable. When they begrudgingly accepted, I caved and told them maybe some other time.
Then I went home and had a little secret fun with my eyeliner.
The image of tough-as-nails Gwen in tears stayed with me long after I left. I wasn’t too socially inept to realize my anger was not a normal or acceptable reaction. Still, unlike the other girls, I was unable to muster up much sympathy for their broken relationship.
I had about as much faith in love and soul mates as Ebenezer Scrooge had in Christmas. The concepts seemed idiotic when even the mighty Gwen and Hunter had fallen. She had been so sure—beyond the shadow of a doubt—that they would be together forever, and now look! And look at all the statistics of divorce! How could anyone be arrogant enough to claim their love would last forever?
All. Transient. Bullshit.
I didn’t believe in that stuff anymore. I didn’t even care if that made me less of a human. Emotions were nothing but a detriment to our sanity. They made smart people foolish, and strong people weak. They were the bane of all evil. That was why I learned to put up a wall and block them out.
Well, all emotions but one.
Chapter 4
Pancakes
“Scars” by Papa Roach
Mooshi Treatery stayed open an extra hour on Saturday nights, which meant by the time we finished closing the shop, it would be approaching midnight. As a night owl, working late didn’t bother me, nor was I dreading a shift with Vance and Gwen like I once might have. He tended to annoy me a little less these days, especially when we had someone else there as a buffer.
When I arrived and learned that Gwen had called out sick, I was less than thrilled. I knew she was upset about her breakup with Hunter so I tried to be understanding. Working alone with Vance was one thing, but a team of only two on a peak-season Saturday night was sure to leave us shorthanded.
Sure enough, the rush started in the early evening when an entire girls’ soccer team came in to celebrate a winning game. Moms and daughters all ordered their desserts with the works: sundaes, milkshakes, banana splits, and enough mix-ins to constitute several full-sized candy bars.
We moved through each order seamlessly with a friendly smile and a quick swipe of the hairline. I had to admit, this job was pretty stress-free, even at its busiest.
That was until I eyed their muddy cleats and internally cringed at the thought of the intensive mopping needed later tonight. Luckily, when everyone had been served, the party moved outside.
I wiped my hands on my apron and welcomed the next customer in line. “Welcome to Mooshi. What can I get for you?”
“I don’t want your help,” the woman scowled.
I paused at her brash attitude, then looked to Vance, who smiled and waved at the woman like an old friend. “Hi Ursula, I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
She pointed a dramatic finger at Vance, “I want him to help me.”
I blinked, a tad uncomfortable. “That’s… fine.” No need to be rude about it.
She was the last customer in line so I stepped back and made myself busy by wiping down a counter. I could have escaped to sit in the back since there was no one else to serve for the moment, but I was morbidly curious to watch him interact with this cranky lady.
Once he was done, Vance grabbed a clean scoop and flipped it in the air. “The usual?” he shot her a smile that was sure to melt even the wrinkliest old heart. And it seemed to work.
“Yes, dear,” she said, sounding much kinder than she had with me. “Vanilla bean with Teddy Grahams, please. And don’t break the heads off.”
What the hell?
I looked back and forth between them. Had I heard her correctly?
“I’ll be careful, Ursula,” he a
ssured her.
Discreetly I watched as he scooped the ice cream onto the ice block, then added the Teddy Grahams and gently mixed them in. True to his word, he was slow and careful to keep all of the bear-shaped crackers intact.
He rung her up at the register. While waiting for Vance to count her change, she scowled at me again.
“You can’t break their heads off! They’ll die!”
I nodded my head with wide eyes, no clue what the hell I was supposed to say to that. Then I turned back to the counter and pretended to clean the very same spot again.
After she left and the store was empty, I lasted a solid five seconds before I started laughing. It started off slow with a couple sniffles, but got louder and louder as I remembered her seriousness in insisting the crackers would die. Soon I was bent in half, clutching the counter for support. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a genuine belly laugh. My stomach muscles flexed with the unfamiliar action. It felt good to release it.
When I looked up, Vance was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“You’ve met Ursula now,” he nodded, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You’re officially part of the Mooshi team.”
“Is she for real?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.
“Oh yes. Summer broke a cracker in half one time, and she cried right here in the store.”
And now only Vance’s gentle hands were allowed to serve her. I could barely contain my amusement.
“Doesn’t she eat them?” I asked, wondering how far her concern for the Teddy Grahams actually went. “What, does she swallow them whole?”
“Either that, or she just likes fresh meat.” His eye brows wiggled.
Another burst of laughter erupted from inside me. My cheeks were beginning to get sore. I probably should have felt bad for laughing at the woman’s delusions, but it was just so strange, I didn’t know how else to react.
“Found your dimples,” Vance observed aloud.
My laughter choked off and I clenched my jaw closed, instantly uncomfortable.
“And your rosy cheeks!” I could hear him grinning in satisfaction. “How appropriate!”
“Way to ruin the moment,” I muttered, and escaped through the swinging door into the back of the store.
It turned out I didn’t get to hide in the back for long. Customers continued to arrive steadily and Vance and I worked side by side to handle the rush. Although I appreciated the slow, lazy shifts, staying busy kept my mind preoccupied and made time go by faster. Vance was also a lot less of a goober when he wasn’t trying so hard to bug me. Tonight our dialogue was pretty much limited to “please pass the sprinkles,” and I could live with that.
* * *
It was way past closing time, which was supposed to be 11:00 p.m. on Saturdays, but people kept coming in so we kept serving. Evidently ice cream was a popular choice tonight. There had been a consistent line for the last hour, and we never stopped between helping customers to lock up. Plus, I think Vance didn’t like to turn people away. And he was the boss. They got so happy when he waved them in despite it being after the posted hours, and when they smiled, he smiled, and I couldn’t stop myself from joining in. I remembered a time when making other people smile made me feel happy, too.
At last, the final customers were served. Vance followed them out, locked the door behind them and switched off the neon “open” sign. We were officially closed for business.
He turned to me with a triumphant grin. “We survived!”
I exhaled a weighty breath but couldn’t mirror his relief. One glance around the shop revealed that it was a complete disaster; tonight’s work was far from over.
He got right to work on dividing the responsibilities. “I’ll mop and close up the front if you get the dishes?” he suggested. He still asked me every time, like it wasn’t already our routine. With the storefront such a mess, it was a generous offer, and normally I would have insisted on taking a more equal share of the labor, had I not been dreading those muddy floors.
“Deal,” I accepted, and began to collect the blenders and scoops and escape into the back kitchen. If I finished early, I could always help him in the front.
While the sink filled with hot water and soap, my favorite Papa Roach song began to play. It appeared that Vance had switched the shop radio to an alternative rock station instead of the bubblegum pop that generally played, and turned up the volume so that I could hear from the back of the store. I smiled to myself and enjoyed the music as I started to wash. I might’ve even hummed along.
It was well past midnight by the time we finished. Vance was just locking up the safe when he asked, “Is anyone coming to pick you up tonight?”
It didn’t escape me how he rephrased the question so there was no way to skirt the issue this time. Tonight I had counted on getting a ride home from Gwen, until she called out.
It was hard to be dependent on others for something as simple as a ride home from work, especially after living out on my own for almost a year. If it were up to me, I’d still rather walk. But it was a lost cause at this point. I couldn’t lie worth shit, and he’d just follow me home, one way or another.
“Um… no.”
“I’ll drive you home,” he said, not asking permission. “But is it okay if we make a stop first?”
He was going out of his way to take me home. How could I refuse to let him run his errands? Although after midnight in a small town, there wouldn’t be much open.
“Sure.”
We climbed into his charcoal truck and I recognized the scents of peppermint and spice. He plugged in his iPod and scrolled through his playlist. Seconds later, an electric guitar riff and a distinct voice filled the truck.
“Who’s this?” he quizzed me.
“Bowling for Soup,” I answered immediately.
He chuckled and shook his head, impressed. I didn’t know why he got such a big kick out of this game, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tiny bit of pride in my musical knowledge. I decided that the pleasant aroma, the great music and sitting down after a long night were the reasons I felt so at ease.
We drove for a few minutes until he pulled up in front of a little corner eatery surrounded by palm trees and topped with a red roof.
I sat up straight when I recognized where we were. “Honey’s?”
Honey’s was a diner at the edge of town. The inside décor included the theme of bears and honey bees set in a rustic outdoorsy scene. It was the only place around here open twenty-four hours a day, and a semi-popular place to go after concerts and parties when it was late—yet you weren’t quite ready for the night to end.
“I have a serious craving for pancakes. Whadduya say—my treat?”
I eyed the place warily. After working all night, my fingers were pruney, my hair was a dark mess and I probably smelled like milk. It didn’t help that we were still sporting these glorious neon aprons with cow spots and ice cream stains. This was not to say I cared what I looked like, necessarily. My biggest concern (like always) was running into anyone I used to know.
“If you don’t want to, I understand,” he said, though I could detect his disappointment. “I’ll just drop you off, then come back by myself.”
I bit my lip. What was I supposed to do? Demand he take me home then force him to dine alone like some pathetic loser? As much as I’d tried to be distant with Vance, he’d made a few kind gestures and this damn ingrained politeness couldn’t let me be that rude.
Plus, there was the obvious—to be perfectly honest, pancakes sounded fantastic.
“Okay,” I conceded, to which he grinned, ditched his apron and got out of the truck. I followed suit and met him as we walked up the cement path lined with roses. “But you don’t need to treat. I can pay for my own pancakes.”
“Noted.” Vance opened the door for me. I thanked him.
A waitress directed us towards a booth where we settled in. Vance ordered pancakes and hot chocolate, I asked for the same but with only one pancak
e. These days my stomach was approximately the size of a crouton.
A glance around at the other tables revealed no one that I recognized. For the moment, I was safe.
“So,” he said, reclaiming my attention. “Now you’ve met Ursula. Have you met the gummy bear guy?”
I arched a brow. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Oh, you will. He’s a regular, too. His specialty is cherry ice cream with gummy bears mixed in… but only the green ones.”
“Crazy,” I shook my head. “What is it with particular people and their ice cream?”
“Just wait until winter. For some reason, the rain brings out the weirdest requests.”
I smirked. “Weirder than Ursula?”
“Nah,” he grinned and shook his head. “Ursula takes the cake.”
When our pancakes arrived, we drizzled on the syrup and dug in. Oh wow. Vance was right about this. After working our asses off tonight, the sweetness and warmth worked some kind of magic.
“I can’t believe how quickly you guessed Bowling for Soup,” he remarked between chews.
I shrugged. That had been as easy one. “His voice is pretty unique.”
“It’s not just them, though. You really know your rock bands. I have to admit, I wouldn’t have guessed you like that kind of music.”
“Why not? Don’t I look the part?” I sassed him. Emo hair, anger issues, rock music. What didn’t he get?
He folded his arms on top of the table and studied me. “I guess I still picture you blond.”
My fork froze in midair. I was taken aback by his comment for more than one reason. Not only did he know I had been blond, but he was implying he had known me well enough at that time to make assumptions about my musical preference.
What was that supposed to mean?
I cleared my throat and lowered my fork, not taking my eyes off of him. “I’m not blond.”
“Not at the moment, no. But you’re naturally blond, right?” his fingers reached out to inspect a spiral framing my face.
Startled, I sat back in my seat, and my tail of curls bounced out of reach. Normally I was accustomed to people wanting to touch my hair. But what I’d just learned had me a bit out of sorts.
