by Sarah Peis
It took me a while to pull myself back together and form a coherent sentence. Rayna waited me out like she always did, her presence comforting and warm.
I wiped my eyes and straightened up. Rayna’s apron was now not only covered in dough but wet as well. It looked like she lost a round of doughwrestling.
“I screwed up.”
“I figured.”
“Hey, where’s the support?”
She looked at my clothes, and I got the point. I was wearing a stained lime green T-shirt and purple pants. I couldn’t recall ever buying them, but since I had missed laundry day for the fourth time in a row, I had to wear whatever didn’t smell too bad.
I guess point made.
The day dragged on. Rayna let me eat whatever I wanted, which meant she knew how much I was hurting.
She usually cut me off after three pastries, but not today. Today I even got to sample the new chocolate cake she made. After I sufficiently stuffed myself, she handed me a bag of flour and pushed me in front of my bench space. “Now get to work. This stuff is not going to bake itself.”
I swallowed the last of my red velvet cupcake and started measuring out ingredients. We worked in silence for a while until Rayna said, “You know you can still fix things with Jameson.”
“I don’t think so, Rayna.”
“I saw the way he looked at you. It was more than passing interest.”
“Didn’t you listen when I told you how badly I screwed up?” I thought back to the look of betrayal on his face. I was such an idiot.
“Stop being such a drama queen and talk to him.”
I hadn’t yet told her about the text messages. Because before I sent them, I had every intention of talking to him. But now? Not so much. I’d barricade myself behind closed doors and hope he didn’t need to speak to me when I went to the office later. I was embarrassed.
I stayed at the bakery for longer than usual. God knew I had a lot of hours to make up. I was also avoiding being by myself and without anything to do. Rayna shot me a few knowing looks but didn’t say anything.
When I finally peeled myself away from Sweet Dreams, I was stuffed full of sugar and felt sick. The bus was slow, and it took me nearly double than usual the time to get to the garage.
Jameson wasn’t there when I got in, and the guys only shot me a few grunts in greeting. Guess Jameson wasn’t the only one mad at me.
Nobody came into the office all afternoon. And I mean not a single person. No customer, no Landon, and no Jameson. I felt shittier than the waitress at Sparkie’s who gets to unblock the toilets after they put their spicy buffalo wings on special.
I left without talking to anyone, feeling sorry for myself. Not only did I have a pounding headache, I also had a serious case of the regrets. So I did what I did best in situations that refused to solve themselves and ate a tub of ice cream and a few—read four—cupcakes for dinner.
It didn’t make my world right again, but it certainly helped in my quest to finding my sugar limit. Everyone had one. That point where you know you’ve eaten way too much sugar-laden goodness and turn into a ball of useless energy only to crash a few short minutes later. I was grateful when I finally crashed.
This week was going to be officially the worst week in my tragically short life, because I had lost the will to live. It was official. I was unable to sleep, which caused me to be late for work every single day this week. Okay, I admit that wasn’t really unusual, but I was later than ever before.
As a result, I would show up barely awake at the garage. Not that anyone would notice because the guys still weren’t talking to me. They held a grudge better than Maisie and Stella did after finding out I bought myself four cupcakes and didn’t share with them.
My car was still impounded. My bike was being held by the Humptulips Police Department as evidence. I forgot to pay my electricity bill and had been sitting in a dark apartment for the last few days.
The little fluffy monster from hell stole my vibrator again. This time I left him to it. He’d get more use out of it than I did. As mentioned before, I had lost my will to live, so no orgasms in my future. Because I wouldn’t be on this earth for much longer.
And now it was Friday, and I was lying on my apartment floor with my feet up on the couch. The very same floor that I hadn’t cleaned in a month. It was safe to say I’d be covered in crumbs and dust bunnies once I had the energy to emerge from my coma.
I tried drinking tequila but gave up after two shots. I really hated the stuff. But it was all I could find in my cupboards. I had even exhausted my secret stash.
Anything requiring me to leave my apartment was out of the question. I hadn’t showered in two days. My last human interaction outside of Rayna, who was getting more and more impatient with my self-pity, was Dad. I picked him up from the hospital yesterday, borrowing Des’s car.
He didn’t say much and refused my help after I dropped him off at his trailer. I didn’t argue for once and left him to it. He was a grown man. And I was a broken woman who was sure she was going to leave this earth for greener pastures soon. No need to leave more angry people behind.
So here I was lying on my filthy floor, waiting for death to take me. Only that death was being a lazy bitch and the floor was getting kind of uncomfortable. My inner rant was disturbed by my door opening. I didn’t lock it, because what was the point? It would take a lot longer to find my body if they had to break the door down first.
“Depressed Daisy?”
“Loser face?”
Oh the love of two good friends was like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. I had ignored all their messages. Because again, why drag things out? They would soon forget about me.
A face appeared above me. “Why are you lying on the floor?” Maisie asked.
“It’s disgusting in here. Do you ever open your windows?” This message of support came from Stella, who went straight to my windows and opened them, grunting at the effort. The frames were old and the latch a stubborn jerk. I just hoped I would be able to close them again since I wasn’t done shutting out the world yet.
Maisie pulled on my leg. “Get your sad butt up off the floor and take a shower. We’re taking you out.”
“I don’t want to.”
More leg pulling ensued, much to my dismay. “Too bad, you’re going.” Maisie had her “don’t fuck with me” face on. It had brought lesser women to their knees. Not me. I was standing at death’s door already. A little intimidation would do nothing to me.
“I called O’s. They’re making their special pizza tonight, and they are saving you two servings of panna cotta.”
Say no more. O’s—Othello’s if you wanted the actual name—was the best Italian food one could eat. It would make my perfect last supper. I shot up from the floor and sprinted to the bathroom.
“Did you book a table?” I called over my shoulder.
“Of course we did. What do you take us for? Amateurs?” Stella said, looking affronted.
I took the world’s quickest shower, making sure to shave just in case I had an open casket. You never knew if it would be a dress they decided to put on me. A girl’s gotta be prepared. No hairy legs for this corpse.
I came back into the living room and was met with two frowning faces. “You are not leaving the house dressed like that.”
I looked down at my ensemble and didn’t see anything wrong with it. Jeans and T-shirts worked for anything. I was comfortable. And I planned on eating a lot, so I needed clothes that stretched. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
Maisie pulled me back into my bedroom, and Stella went to my closet. After sifting through the mess, she found a dress. Because I still hadn’t gotten around to doing my laundry, a dress would be the only item still clean. I owned packets of new underwear to avoid having to go to the laundromat.
“Put this on,” Maisie said, and Stella went to get my hairdryer and brush.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and stepped back. “No way. That dr
ess is bad news.”
“Because you wore it to your date that ended with you pretending to go out with that waitress?” Stella asked, grinning.
“Yes. It’s the dress’s fault that my date was a misogynistic bastard. I’m not wearing it.”
“Stop blaming innocent garments and put it on,” Maisie said and turned to Stella. “What do you think, Stella?”
“Maisie,” I said, putting as much warning in my voice as possible. She ignored me, and I stepped back again. It was time to cut my losses and run. I could mourn the loss of pizza later. I turned but didn’t make it more than half a step.
Both Maisie and Stella tackled me to the ground. While Maisie pulled my sweater off, Stella made quick work of my pants.
Before I had time to regroup and tell them where to stick it, they slipped the dress over my head, sat me up, and zipped me in.
“Cute shoes,” Stella gushed over a pair of black heels I’d bought on sale three years ago but had never worn more than once. Turned out they were super uncomfortable. I got blisters just from standing up.
She didn’t care about my yells for mercy and pushed them at me. “Put these on. They’ll look gorgeous with your dress.”
Maisie started on my hair, first brushing it out and then drying it. She produced a curling iron from her handbag and curled the shit out of my long mane. I shot the curling iron a look, and she shrugged. “I like to be prepared. Why do you think I carry a huge bag around with me?”
I was ready within thirty minutes. One look in the mirror confirmed my worst fears. I looked like Hollywood Barbie if she gained twenty pounds and wore midnight blue vintage dresses.
My long mane was perfectly curled around my face, and my flawless makeup, courtesy of Stella, made me look alive, hiding the dark circles under my eyes. Instead they were artfully made up with earthy tones, enhancing the green sprinkle around my irises.
They both stood in front of my front door, blocking it. Maisie snapped her fingers at me to stop me from looking at my reflection in the hallway mirror. “Say it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Thanks, Maisie and Stella. You did a great job, and I really need to get out of the house.” Everyone needed one last hurrah after all.
Maisie put an arm around me and pulled me into a half hug. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Stella took my hand, and together we made our way outside and into a taxi. O’s was only a short ride away, not that anything was more than a thirty-minute car ride in our small town. Things just seemed impossibly far away if you had to go the distance on a bike or the bus.
Lulu greeted us when we entered, cheery as ever. “My doves have returned. I have a special table reserved for you.” She always had a special table for us. She said that to every customer. But we loved her and the food and wouldn’t complain if she decided to seat us outside during a snow storm.
“This is nice. Us girls catching up. Having a great time,” Maisie said after we had been sitting in silence for a while. I was such a downer, I couldn’t even stand my own company right now.
I shouldn’t leave this world on a bad note, so I had a brilliant idea. “Let’s do shots.” The only way to leave this earth was with more bad decisions and embarrassing dance moves.
“I’m in,” Stella said, throwing a fist up in the air.
Maisie’s eyes lit up. “Me, too.”
Well that was easy. I waved to Juan, Lulu’s nephew, and he sauntered over. He was shorter than me and smaller than all of us but had more energy and personality than anyone I knew. In short, he was hilarious.
“Gorgeous ladies, what can I get for you?”
“A bottle of limoncello and three shot glasses please,” I said.
He grinned at us and winked. “I see you’re ready to finally try the good stuff. Bottle of Lulu’s homemade limoncello is coming right up.”
The stuff was lethal. It tasted like fresh lemons and summer but hit you like a falling coconut that you were too slow to avoid. Our saving grace was dinner. Carb heaven that helped soak up the alcohol.
I wasn’t usually a big drinker but extenuating circumstances this week called for it. And of course, the fact that it was my last night on earth. My heart would soon give out, not only from the permanent squeeze it seemed to suffer from since Jameson left—or since I hurt him so badly he refused to talk to me—but also from all the crap I decided to stuff into my body.
To say we were merry once we finished dinner would be an understatement. At least I wasn’t thinking about Jameson anymore but instead was concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other and not throwing up all over my shoes.
We stumbled out of O’s and shuffled the two blocks down to O’Malley’s. After two toilet breaks and one lost—and found again—shoe, we crashed through the door of the pub, giggling and drawing more attention than required when you’re already well on your way to making a fool out of yourself. The only saving grace: it was Friday and the pub was packed with the after-work crowd. We’d hardly stick out unless Stella continued to take off her clothes.
Maisie wasted no time in spotting her target for the night and left me and Stella behind in the dust. The crowd was a mix of blue-collar workers, suits, and college students. And that’s what made O’Malley’s a great night out every time. You never knew how the night would turn out.
Stella and I ordered water from the bar, both having decided we would rather avoid a close encounter with the disgusting pub toilets. My stomach had settled, but one more sip of anything alcoholic would tip me over the edge.
I let my eyes travel the bar, content to just sit down and take it all in. I was almost reaching a state one would call close to contentment when my eyes fell on Landon, Mason and Clay. They looked happy, joking around while a few girls hung around them, waiting for whatever attention the guys would bestow upon them. My drunk brain could only come up with: How dare they have fun without me?
I didn’t know when I made the decision to get up, but I was halfway across the crowded room before I realized the direction I was moving in. But I continued because in for a penny and all.
I stopped in front of their table, hands on my hips, lips pursed, ready to lay into them.
“Look who decided we are worthy of her attention,” Landon said.
His comment made me fluster my ruffled feathers. “You mean you are offended that I didn’t come crawling up to you and beg for your forgiveness? After you ignored me all week?”
“I wasn’t the one embarrassed about my boyfriend.”
“Embarrassed? Embarrassed? Embarrassed?” Okay, things were taking a turn for the worse. I couldn’t seem to stop saying the same word over and over again, my voice getting higher with each word. Heart, now would be a good time to stop beating, because if I kept going on my current course, my headstone would read “In memory of Willa, who died when her head exploded.”
“We might not have gone to some fancy college, but we know when someone doesn’t want to be seen with us.”
Holy shit, they all looked hurt over my Jameson snub. When did this turn into a group action, instead of a lover’s quarrel? Yup, I said it. Quarrel. It’s a thing. And sounded much better than describing the incident as the time I pretended Jameson was nothing more than my boss because I didn’t want my friend to know that we were sexing it up even though I love him.
“That had nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with us. He is our fearless leader. We stick together. And you clearly have a problem about what he does. Good enough to have fun with behind closed doors but not to be seen in public, especially not with your friends around.”
I never in a million years would have thought that this is what they would think about me. The anger was bubbling to the surface, and I was ready to punch the arrogant bastard right where it hurt.
“You are wrong. There isn’t any way to explain this to you other than fuck you, that’s not what I was doing at all.” That’s me, always mature and taking the hi
gh road.
Landon leaned back in the booth and glared at me. “Then explain to me what you were doing, your highness.”
Oh no, keep it together, Willa. If you start a fight they’ll kick you out. And Landon was double my size. One flick of his finger, and I’d be sprawled on the floor. Not that I thought he would ever hurt me.
Those were my last rational thoughts before rhyme and reason left the building, allowing crazy and loud to enter instead.
“I don’t know what I was doing, okay? It was a dick move, and I know it. I regretted it the second it happened, but it had nothing to do with you guys or where you come from.” I waved my hands around the now silent table. Every eye was on me.
I forged on, because at this stage I had nothing left to lose. “I’m in love with him.” Oh God, did I just admit that out loud? Never will I drink a drop of the evil truth serum, aka limoncello, again. “I didn’t mean to act like I was better than him or you guys. Now stop being such a fucking dipstick and talk to me like you used to. With lots of bad words. And condescending gestures. And then you usually hug me.”
A hand on my arm stopped my rant. Stella had finally shoved her way through the crowds. I was grateful because a graceful exit was not an option at this stage. I could only hope I could slink away without causing more damage.
“It sure was a dick move.” Landon got up and stood in front of me. “Swear on your aunt’s red velvet cupcakes that you’ll never do it again.”
I suppressed the eye roll that threatened to break out for its moment of fame and said, “I swear on my aunt’s red velvet cupcakes and double choc brownies that I’ll never do it again.”
And with just those words, all anger left his face and he pulled me into a tight hug. “I forgive you. But that means you are our cupcake bitch for the next two weeks.”
Damn it, I knew what that meant. I had to bring cupcakes every single day. But it was fucking worth it because as soon as I made my amends with Landon, all the guys seemed to relax and stop throwing me daggers. “Fine. But I choose the flavor.”
