“Chad, please.” I lower my voice, ready to plead. “I just want to talk to her, see why she quit. Maybe I—”
“She’s gone, Sophie.” His tone is morose.
“She is back from Cancun, isn’t she?”
“Yes. But she’s gone.”
“Do you know when she’ll—”
“No. She’s gone.” He jerks upward and faces me. “As in gone. Moved out. Not coming back.” He fixes me with a blank stare.
“Oh.” I bring a hand to my mouth. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, feeling honest empathy for Chad. It’s never fun to go through a breakup, regardless of who does the breaking.
“Don’t be,” he says with pure ease. “It was long overdue.”
I inhale deeply, then tell him why I’m here. I explain the brief and unexpected call with Evelyn, and that all I want is to see if he has any “info” like she said he would.
“She’s lost her fucking mind,” he says. “She came home from spring break, we had a huge fight, I told her maybe we should go our separate ways, and then she moved out straightaway.” He looks back at the bedrooms. “Her shit’s all out of here. We’re done.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think to say at this point.
He shakes his head. “Eh, don’t be. The way I see it, it was about time we finally broke up. You know I said we were going to talk when she got back?”
“Yes.”
“Well, here we have it.” He opens his arms wide and turns in his seat. “Guess she was so livid with me she decided to quit her job, too.” He half-sniffs, half-snickers. “I don’t know.” He roughly runs his fingers through his dirty hair. “It’s done with. I’ll recover. Like I said,” another sniff, “I’ve been thinking of breaking it off with her for a while anyhow; it was a long time coming.”
“Well…uhh…” I bite my lower lip, not really wanting to ruin whatever pity party (or perhaps celebration of freedom) is going on here. But I came for answers.
“Look, I came to see if you knew what Evelyn meant when she said I should ask you for the ‘info.’” I make air quotes.
“Info?” He leans back into the sofa, arms crossed over his thick chest once again. “The girl’s livid, Sophie. Who knows what she meant.”
“Chad, please. She didn’t say anything to you about quitting?” I pry gently, taking a timid seat on the armrest of the chair opposite him.
“She mentioned quitting.” He rubs his jaw a few times. “Look, maybe she just wanted a clean break. A break from me, from any ties to me…I don’t know—”
“She mentioned it? And?” I’m on tenterhooks.
He moans loudly. “Okay, I may or may not have told her that her quitting wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” He gives me a sheepish look.
“Chad!” I gasp, clutching a hand to the side of my head. “Are you serious? You. What? Suggested it?”
“No, no, no,” he says, wagging a finger at me. “I didn’t suggest it. She said it, we were in a fight, things were heated, and I may…” he shrugs “or may not have said that she…could…should…”
“Chad, you’re unbelievable.” I stand up, on the cusp of rage. I charge into the kitchen and grab my handbag. “She was an awesome employee and now you’ve run her off!”
“It’s not the end of the world, Sophie. You can find someone else.” He rushes over to me.
“So you admit it! You told her to quit?”
“No.”
There’s a long pause; I wait for him to elaborate.
“Like I said,” he starts up again, “I may have mentioned it…”
“I just knew this would happen!” I charge towards the door.
“But I didn’t tell her to quit, Sophie. I said a lot of things, but I know I didn’t tell her to quit. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“This is so unbelievable. I’m sorry you’re going through a breakup, really I am, but—but—” I wag my head brusquely, gripping the back of my neck. “You didn’t have to go and sabotage my café—my employee—like that.”
“Sophie.” He follows me to the door. “I’m sorry. Just, look, it was loud, we were fighting, I don’t remember exactly what was said.” He reaches a hand out to me, but I quickly move out of his reach.
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter at this point, now does it?” I hurriedly pull my handbag onto my shoulder and reach for the door’s knob.
“Sophie, wait.” His hand suddenly claps over mine on the knob. “Don’t go just yet.”
“What? Haven’t you done enough damage for the day?”
“I’m sorry she quit.”
I simultaneously roll my eyes and exhale, refusing to meet his gaze. I’m so irate I can’t even think clearly, get control of my frazzled nerves.
“I should have known something like this would’ve happened,” I say at last. “And you know what? Damn you, Chad, damn you. You come on the scene, mess everything up, change all the rules, mess with my game plan, and now I’m the one left having to deal with the shit! God, you are so immature! When will you ever grow up?” I try to pull open the door, but he won’t release his grip on my hand. As soon as the door budges an inch open he moves to shut it.
“Sophie, just calm down.”
“No! Don’t tell me to calm down. Evelyn was great at the café, then you came in and knocked her off her feet. And for what? So you could play house until you got your fill?” I try to pull at the door again, but no luck. “You give up on her, and while you’re at it you decide to add her job on top?” I yank my hand free from under his. “That was really selfish of you, Chad. Hurtful to Evelyn and to me.”
“It’s not like that,” he says lowly.
“No?” I hastily brush loose hair from my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Then enlighten me. Tell me what it’s like.”
“Look, I’m sorry.” He removes his hand from the knob.
“Chad.” I close my eyes and exhale. “You know I really thought we were getting along, being civil. Friends.” I open my eyes. “We were having a fun time, and then you go and do something like this? How could you?”
“It’s not like I told her to quit,” he retorts.
“How exactly is that different from what you did?” I part my lips, raise my brows, the ultimate, “I’m waiting for an explanation” face.
He only shrugs in response and steps back from the door.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do now.” I hug my bag to my side and open the door with urgency. “Kind of have a new employee to find.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Save it. Please.” I take another look inside the house, buying some time, then say awkwardly, eyes not meeting his, “I’m sorry you went through a breakup. Really I am.”
“I’ll bounce back,” he says, lofty. “I always do.” He gives me a wink, and immediately I groan.
“You know, you’re unbelievable.”
He snickers and leans against the edge of the open door. “So that’s it? Came here to insult and run?” His tone is thick with jest.
“I have work to do.”
“You didn’t even get a tour of the place since Jackie redecorated. You hurt my feelings not complimenting it.” He makes a faux pouting face, and I can feel the bile rise.
“You’re really impossible, you know that?” I shriek. I turn on my heels and fully face him. “Actually, I’ll compliment Jackie’s work. She did a fab job on your place.”
“Well thank you,” he says with a smirky sparkle in his eyes.
I’m two feet out the door when I spin back around and vaguely point at the kitchen behind him, the one space Chad didn’t have Jackie redesign. “Although the kitchen’s a total eyesore. You should’ve let her fix that mess when you had the chance.”
“I’ll see you round, Sophie!” he calls out as I make my heated way back to my car.
“Save it!” I shout. I click the automatic unlock button on my keys.
“Later!” he says with a wave and a cocky half-smile. “And remember to relax. You can’t c
ontrol everything.”
Chapter Forty-Two
“Thank you for coming,” I bid two of my late-morning customers goodbye. I scribble down Lavender and Green-Tea on a Post-It by the cash register, making note of the macarons that are flying off the shelf. Then before I can forget, I jot down Rose and Rainbow Pride Sprinkle, two cupcakes that are also flying off the shelf.
I’d been tossing about an idea for a “gay pride themed” cupcake pretty much ever since John sprang his news on me. Also, Oliver had mentioned it, and we were both fans of Cupcake Royale, one of the most popular cupcakeries in Seattle that has a cupcake actually called “The Gay.” Then considering this is Seattle and what with John and Oliver and all…why not? The inspiration for new desserts had come pouring in, so why not make use of it and expand my menu?
As I walk over to the now-vacant table to remove the dirty dishes, I call out to Oliver, “Do we have anymore Lavender or Green-Tea macarons?”
“No macarons at all!” he shouts back.
I carry the armful of dishes to the kitchen and say to my chef-hat-wearing partner in crime, my only partner in crime at The Cup and the Cake since Evelyn bailed a few days ago, “Any chance we can whip up some more of those today?”
“The chocolate-mocha still up there?” Oliver inquires about his latest batch of macarons—the first time we’ve offered the combo.
“Yes, but no worries,” I assure him. “That’s how it always is with something new. Customers come in knowing what they like. Takes them a while to realize there’s something else to try. They’ll get to it.”
“This is so un-French of me,” he says as he carries a messy bowl of yellow icing to the sink, “but maybe we should put out samples.”
“You think?”
“It couldn’t hurt. To try? A few?”
“Sure,” I say, handing over the dirty dishes.
I pick up a copy of the day’s local paper, having already found and highlighted the Help Wanted ad I took out for the day. It was an old-fashioned move, what with everything you need at the tip of your fingers on the old web, but when I’d crossed those Ts I decided it was time to dot the Is.
“Any call-backs yet?” Oliver asks.
“Nope. Well, other than a teenage girl asking if I needed babysitting instead,” I reply with a laugh. “Don’t ask.”
“Soon. It’s still early.”
I trace the pink highlighted circle around my ad with my index finger and think, Come out, come out, wherever you are, good help. Then my attention’s caught by the familiar ringing of the café’s front door bells.
“Hello?” I greet blindly as I make my way behind the counter. “How can—Evelyn!”
“Hi, Sophie,” comes the most unexpected voice of all.
“What are you doing here?” I drop my hands to my side, lifelessly.
She purses her small, blush-pink lips and stares at the countertop. “Oliver called to say I should come by and pick up my final paycheck.”
Oh, yes, I think, both grateful for my trusty sidekick offering to deal with the messy details and kicking myself for forgetting she’d be coming by.
“Oliver said it would be ready for me,” she says in her sweetly toned voice.
“Yeah.” I bite my tongue, holding back the frustration brewing inside. Evelyn has all the right in the world to quit (though she could have done so with more grace and consideration), but the way I left things with Chad, the way Evelyn quit, the entire situation…I just can’t talk about it. It was all such an embarrassing and frustrating mess.
I open the cash register and pull the envelope marked Evelyn Platt from underneath the tray of cash.
“Here you are,” I say, handing over the crisp envelope. I maintain my poise, giving her a tiny nod and smile. “It was nice working with you.”
“Thanks.” She looks up at me for only a fleeting moment. “It was nice working with you, too. Tell Oliver bye for me.” She takes the envelope and turns to leave.
“Mmmhmm.” I press my lips together tightly, fearful I’ll blurt out the first thing on the tip of my tongue, “Why?! Why, oh why?”
But I don’t have to, because before Evelyn’s three steps closer to the door she spins on her heels and pads quickly back to the counter. “Sophie?”
“Yes?” I stare at her in awe.
Tightly gripping the envelope, she looks at me and says, “I wanted to apologize for how things ended. I probably overreacted, quitting here and all, but I think it’s for the best.”
“What’s done is done, Evelyn,” I say, taken aback by the way I’m handling this so smoothly. “It’s fine.”
“It isn’t fine. I’m really sorry for not quitting properly.” She’s wearing an authentic expression of remorse, brow tightly knit, and eyes creased, slightly glossy as if she could cry at any moment.
“That wasn’t fine, that’s true,” I say honestly. “I would have appreciated more notice, but what’s done is done.” I smile. “Thanks for apologizing.”
“It all happened so fast,” she says. “Not Chad and I falling away from each other,” she sniffs, “that’d been happening for a while; I saw it coming. And really, I’m fine. But the way the breakup went down, the decision to quit here!”
Not sure what to say, I only sound an mmmhmm.
“It’s all for the best, though,” she says with a sigh. “I can’t see it working out, me working here. There’s just no way, you know?”
I don’t really know, but I nod, encouraging her to go on.
“Listen to me ramble,” she says, then sniffs again, this time through a lazy half-grin. “Anyway, you heard it all, from Chad.”
“Chad.” I keep it short and simple, hoping she’ll go on. I really am kind of clueless here.
“And I can’t blame him, Sophie! Me sticking around here,” she waves about the café, “and seeing him, and you…it would be too painful. Even though I honestly think our breakup is for the best, it’d still be weird to see you two together. You know?”
She sets the envelope on the counter and taps it a few times before continuing. “Don’t think I hold a grudge against you, though. Chad and I weren’t working out anyway…going different paths…changing.” She looks at me with sad yet kind eyes. “I can see why Chad likes you.”
She taps her envelope once more before picking it back up and taking a step away from the counter. She says with a small shrug, “And, for what it’s worth, I hope you two are happy together.”
I’m not sure I’ve heard her quite right. I lean into the counter and mutter nonsense. I even ask if she wants a coffee or a cupcake to-go.
She declines my offer and says, “And believe me. I really am sorry about all of this. I’m sorry for hanging you out to dry here. But you understand?”
“Of course,” I mumble, my head foggy, my lips kind of numb.
“Anyway. I should get going.” She waves her envelope at me, says thank you once again, and goodbye.
“Oliver,” I say in a weak voice after several silent seconds. Evelyn’s already gone, all of the customers have been served, and I’m left with the most shocking revelation since the news of John’s sexual preference. And in all honesty, that kind of pales in comparison to this.
“Oliver,” I repeat, more loudly.
“Oui!”
“I’m going to go outside and make a call.” I clutch a hand to my chest, trying to breathe evenly and keep myself from hyperventilating. Things are officially out of control.
Chapter Forty-Three
I’ve been rubbing my thumb along the crack in the concrete on the curb just outside the café for the past several minutes, rubbing it so long and hard I’ve now rubbed a line of skin raw.
“But, John,” I say in a tinny voice. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Since when do matters of the heart make sense?” John chuckles a reply.
“I’d hardly call them matters of the heart,” I mutter in a low tone.
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
“Huh?” I rub at my raw thumb before tucking it in the billowed gap between my apron and plain, cream-colored cotton button-up.
“I think that’s the problem here, Sophie,” John repeats. “You’re treating this like it’s anything but a matter of the heart, and that’s why you’re so confused and upset right now.”
John may have a point. He’s spent a good chunk of our now fifteen-minute-long phone call telling me that my convoluted feelings about Chad are probably only convoluted because I’m looking at this conundrum from the wrong angle. Then he started to talk about the heart and an emotional connection instead of the mind and a rational reaction.
“You need to not just ask yourself what you want—turning that logical side of the brain on and thinking what’s acceptable or what’s safe,” John explains. “You need to also ask yourself how you feel.”
“That’s the problem!” I interrupt, my fingers immediately returning to the crack in the concrete. “I don’t know how I feel.”
“Then you’re just not searching hard enough.” His tone and response ring through the phone sharply, evenly, as if this whole deal is clear as crystal. Why do I fail to see it so clearly?
“Okay,” I say, “so you’re saying, what? I need to get in touch with my emotional side?” I say this in a mocking manner.
“Yes! And when you start to really think about how you feel…what your heart wants, not your head…don’t let that rational and logical side push through and take over.”
I tell him to go on.
“You know what your head is telling you, and you’re trying to listen to your heart, but,” he pauses for a few beats of laughter, “it’s like your head gets to talking, and it’s so loud, so distracting, you start to ignore your heart, and then you’re back to square one.”
“Expert advice?”
“Yes, aside from the fact that this is what you do, Sophie. Your obsession with control and keeping things in order has always made you focus on the facts, the logic…”
“Yeah, well.” As my thumb starts to ache from the rubbing of the concrete, I decide to stand up. I begin to amble into the parking lot, to no place in particular.
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 32
