Chapter 7
Chapter 7
“That’s amazing! Congrats, babe.” Darcy gives me a warm hug, and I breathe in her grapefruit-y perfume. “You so deserve this chance.”
“Yeah, and you’re going to totally rock it, girl,” Erin says as she takes Darcy’s place, collecting me in another hug. “I’m so proud of you, Soph.”
“Thanks,” I reply with a surge of happiness. “Cute dress, by the way.”
“One of my original designs,” Erin replies. “When do you start?”
“Next weekend, I am officially running the place. Well, with Bailey for a while at least.” Excitement and sheer, unadulterated terror fight for pole position inside. I’d say excitement wins, but probably only due to the Chardonnay I virtually inhaled when we arrived at Jojo’s Karaoke Bar.
“You’re going to have to give us a discount, right?” Darcy says.
“Oh, you have to!” Erin adds. “I can see it now: we’ll meet for high tea every Saturday and then regroup for karaoke. Cake, wine, and song. Perfect.”
“So, let me get this straight. What you’re saying is I’m going to become super fat on all those cakes as well as a terrible singer? Geez, I’ll have no problem finding guys to date then,” I reply with a laugh.
I may be joking, but on the inside, I’m fit to burst with happiness. It’s been virtually impossible to keep my promotion to myself all week, but I wanted to tell my friends in person, and our Saturday night karaoke is the perfect moment.
“Your family must be stoked,” Darcy comments.
“Mum and Dad were super excited when I told them. Dad was his usual ‘you’re my girl, of course you’re a success,’ and I think Mum used even more Irish-isms than ever before in her excitement.”
When she gets like that, my brother and sisters call it “Mum Going Paddy.” And go full force, no holds barred Paddy she sure did.
“I bet it was Irish-tastic,” Darcy says.
“Could you even understand her?” Erin asks with a laugh. “When she gets going, she makes my head spin. In a good way, of course.”
“Barely!”I reply with a laugh. “She even went so far as to label Paige and Bailey ‘eejits’ for not seeing my management potential up until now.”
“Eejits?” Darcy questions.
“It means ‘fool,’” I explain. “Everyone from the butcher who gave her a pork shoulder instead of a pork belly one time to the traffic warden who issued her with a parking ticket when she parallel parked over three angle parking spaces has been labeled an eejit at one time or another.”
“Your mum is the bomb,” Darcy says.
“I don’t know about that, but I’ve got to admit, it felt great to make my parents proud. It’s a feeling I’ve not had for a while now.”
“Of course they’re proud of you!” Erin rubs my arm.
“How about Sean and your sisters?” Darcy asks. “What did they think?”
As my BFFs, Erin and Darcy know all about the career interventions my siblings go in for. My excitement dims. “I’ve, ah, not told them yet. I made Mum and Dad swear on Granny’s Bible that they wouldn’t breathe a word of this to them, either. I want the chance to tell them in my own time.”
Erin’s face lights up. “This can be one of those deeply satisfying ‘in your face’ moments you see in movies. Like in Pretty Woman when she goes back to that store and tells them what a big mistake it was not to serve her. That was the best scene in the movie.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Or when I finally get my big break as a fashion designer and get to leave the world of self-satisfied sports pros behind.”
Erin works in sponsorship for the Auckland City Hawks rugby team, which is not her dream job, although she’s good at it. She’d rather spend her time creating designs for people of limited stature, like herself. (We never use the word “short.”)
I shrug. “I don’t know. I thought so to begin with, but now I’m not sure they’ll see Weekend Manager at Cozy Cottage High Tea as nearly ‘career’ enough. And it’s only for two days a week. Their newest intervention is for me to become an intern at one of their companies.”
“Seriously? An intern?” Darcy’s mouth drops open. “Aren’t internships unpaid?”
I let out a puff of air as I press my lips into a line. “Yup.”
Darcy’s eyes are wide. “What about that little thing called money?”
“They suggested I move back home.”
“Move back home ?” Erin guffaws as Darcy scoffs, “What?!”
“Are they serious with this? You’re twenty-five ,” Erin says.
“Exactly,” Darcy agrees.
I shrug. “I get it. They’re looking out for their little sister, that’s all. They’ve got their lives all worked out and they want to help me, too.”
Erin scrunches up her nose. “It sounds like you’re considering it.”
“I’m not,” I reply firmly. “It’s just—” What is it? They have a point? I should be doing more with my life? I didn’t get myself a degree to be a barista all my life? I let out a huff. “I guess they’ve made me think, that’s all.”
“But now you have the High Tea thing.” Erin beams at me.
“Exactly. Now I’m a manager, and I’m going to tell them I’m staying put.”
“Good,” Darcy says with a firm nod. “Because if you’ve got to leave your apartment, it would mean giving up the opportunity to catch Jason in just a towel each morning.” Her face breaks into a smirk as she waggles her eyebrows at me.
I guffaw. “Darcy! I don’t wait around to see that.”
“Oh, you should wait around to see that, babe. That boy may act like he’s God’s gift to us women, but he most certainly has got the goods.”
Erin nods. “It’s true. He does. We’ve noticed.”
“Got the goods?” I let out a light laugh. “Whether Jas has ‘got the goods’ or not as you so delightfully put it, how exactly did we go from talking about my exciting new job to how hot my roommate is in just a towel?” I shake my head at my friends.
Sure, I may have seen him in nothing but a towel once or twice, but it was totally by accident, even if he does have the kind of sculpted abs and broad shoulders that make many women swoon. He doesn’t have that effect on me. He’s just . . . Jason. I guess I’m simply impervious to his charms.
“It’s all linked,” Darcy says with a shrug. “Look, you don’t need one of their crummy no-pay internships. You’re running a successful high tea business now.”
“At weekends,” I add.
Darcy’s grin is wide. “Weekend now, total world domination next.”
“This calls for champagne,” Erin announces. “Gosh, I’ve always wanted to say that,” she adds with a giggle.
“Awesome idea, babe. I’ll go get us some from the bar. Cristal okay with you all?” Darcy stands, her purse in hand.
“ Cristal ?” I sputter. “Do you have a money tree we don’t know about these days, Darce?”
“I wish. I’m just messing with you. I’ll get our regular cheap local version, but we can pretend it’s Cristal, right?” She throws us a wink as she turns to leave. “brB.”
“You’re going to have to sing something like We are the Champions or Celebration tonight, Soph,” Erin says while Darcy makes her way to the bar.
“How about we choose a song recorded after we were born?”
“Are you saying my music taste isn’t up to date? Sophie McCarthy, I am shocked.” Erin’s look of mock-offense has my happiness bubbling up inside once more.
“Pass me the catalog. I’ll check it out.”
Erin hands me the catalog, and I run my finger down the list of songs, looking for something fun and appropriately celebratory to sing. Most of the songs I find are about falling in love or breaking up, of course, but there are a few contenders in my somewhat narrow voice range.
Concentrating on the list, I’m startled by something plunked down on the table in front of me. I look up from the catalog at a bottle of champagne. The real stuff, not the sparkling wine plonk Darcy promised to get.
I shoot Darcy a questioning gaze. “You got us a bottle of Mo?t?”
She takes her seat at the table opposite me. “I didn’t get us anything.” She looks to the side and I follow her line of sight. Jason is approaching the table, champagne flutes held upside down by their stems in his hands. He’s trailed by Ski Jump Nose—really, I should find out this girl’s name—who’s looking even prettier tonight with her blonde hair swept up in a high ponytail, her nose extra ski jump-y. If that’s a thing.
“Jas? What are you doing here?” I say as I stand to greet him.
He pecks me on the cheek then places the glasses next to the bottle of champagne. “What are you talking about, McCarthy? You know how much I love karaoke.”
I burst into laughter. “Jas, you hate karaoke.”
“Yeah, okay. You got me. But I wanted to be here to celebrate your big news with my girls.”
“ Your girls?” Darcy, Erin, and I say in surprised unison as we gawp at him. He might have the goods hiding under that navy V-neck of his, but we’re not his girls.
He shoots us a cheeky smirk. “Sure, why not? I’ve always seen myself as the kindly father of the group.”
“You’re nineteen months older than me, Jason. Nineteen months,” I reply.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “But, Sophie, those are a vital nineteen months. Vital.”
I shake my head at him. With Jason still studying to be a doctor and his perpetual revolving door of girlfriends, his alleged maturity is just that; alleged. Mainly by the man himself.
“Maturity aside, it’s so sweet of you to buy champagne,” Erin says.
“It’ll only be enough for a glass each. I’m still a poverty-stricken medical student, you know.”
Ski Jump Nose prods him in the arm, and he seems to remember his manners. “Everyone, this is Megan Merson. We work together at the hospital.”
Ski Jump Nose—sorry, Megan —waves at us, her pretty face breaking into the prettiest smile. Did I mention she’s pretty? Like, most popular girl in school pretty. So Jason’s type. “Hi, everyone. It’s great to meet you all.”
Jason points around the group. “This is Darcy, this is Erin, and this is the woman of the hour, Sophie.”
“The woman of the hour? I think she should at least get a week, don’t you, Soph?” Darcy says as Jason and Megan take their seats.
“Oh, totally,” Erin echoes. “You need this.”
Erin’s right. I do need this. Getting this promotion has given me a new focus, a new lease on life, as Mum put it, in between calling me “ dote ,” “ a leanbh ,” “ a stór ,” and a bunch of other Irish-isms when she went Paddy on me.
“Oh. We’re missing a glass. I must have counted wrong,” Jason says.
Darcy quirks an eyebrow. “You don’t do math in med school?”
I hop up from my chair. “I’ll get us another glass.” I make my way over to the bar and wait patiently for the barman to finish serving the woman next to me.
“You’re going to have to explain something to me, McCarthy.” I turn to look at Jason, who has materialized at my side.
“What’s that?”
“What exactly is high tea? Is it drinking tea while you sit on a highchair like a baby? Or something you might have done in college, if you get what I mean.”
“You know this. You asked me when I first started working there. Remember?”
“Tell me again. I forget things.” He taps the side of his head. “My brain is full of important medical information that saves lives, remember?”
“It’s elegant sandwiches, little scones with jam and cream, slices of yumminess, all served with pots of tea.”
“Sounds like snacks on steroids for the truly hungry.”
“I guess it is. So, Megan seems nice,” I lead.
“She’s great.”
“Is this the second date?”
“Second or third.”
“Oh, this is serious!”
“You know me, McCarthy; I don’t do serious.”
“I can’t remember the last time a girl lasted more than a week or two.”
He grabs the barman’s attention and asks for another champagne flute. “What have you told the McCarthy Mafia about the new job?”
Yup, complete change of subject. That’s our Jason. He’ll remain a commitment-phobe to the bitter end.
“Mum and Dad have been super excited about it, but Sean and my sisters? I’m not sure they’ll see it as much of a promotion. Which I guess it’s not, really. I mean, I’m only in charge at the weekends. I’m still ‘only a barista’ during the week.” I use air quotes. My belly twists at the mere thought of sharing my news with my siblings.
“What’s your gut telling you?”
“Right now, it’s telling me to drink a glass of champagne to get some Dutch courage to sing.”
He laughs, his dark eyes dancing. “Well in that case, we’d better get back to the table.”
We make our way back to the others when he puts his hand on my arm and says, “Do me a favor, okay, McCarthy?”
“What?” I turn to look at him and notice how serious his face suddenly looks.
“Listen to what your gut tells you. It’s never wrong.”
“Is that your medical opinion, Almost-Doctor Christie?”
“It is. Now that’ll be $150, thank you, miss.”
I roll my eyes at him as I take my seat back at the table.
“The final piece of the puzzle.” Jason brandishes the glass as he sits down next to Megan.
“Have you two come to sing?” Erin asks Jason and Megan hopefully as Jason shares the contents of the bottle between the five champagne flutes.
“That would be a hard no from me,” Jason responds. “You’re going to sing though, aren’t you, Meg?”
“Oh, I love to sing,” Megan gushes. “My whole family is musical. I grew up singing and playing the piano. We were in a band called The Mersons. You might have heard of us? We were kind of like New Zealand’s answer to the Von Trapps. You know, from The Sound of Music .”
“I didn’t know Auckland had been occupied by the Nazis,” Darcy quips.
“Oh, not that part. Just the family singing part,” Megan clarifies for us unnecessarily, and I shoot Darcy a “be nice” glare.
“What?” she mouths at me, doing an extremely poor job of feigning innocence.
The thing is, Jason brings a series of random women to our get-togethers. They’re all sweet, nice girls, pretty much cookie cutters of one another. We learned early on not to get attached to any of them because almost as soon as they’re on the scene, they’re off it again, and we’re onto the next version of Megan before you can say “whiplash.” Really, I think the longest a girl has lasted with Jason has been a month. Look “serial monogamist” up in the dictionary and you’ll find a photo of Jason Christie, wearing that adorable smile of his that sets so many unsuspecting victims’ hearts racing.
True story.
Jason raises his glass in a toast. “To Sophie and her brilliant new career.”
“To Sophie and her brilliant new career,” everyone echoes, and I beam at them as I take a sip of my champagne.
“Oh, that’s so good,” Darcy comments. “Much better than our usual.”
“That’s because our usual sits way at the other end of the scale,” Erin comments.
“It tickles my nose,” I say as I rub it. “It’s so nice of you, Jas. Thank you.”
“You’re super generous, Jason. Sophie’s so lucky to have you,” Darcy says with a cheeky grin.
“You know what, Darce? I think I’m the lucky one. Sophie’s quite the catch,” Jason says in a mock Sean Connery as James Bond accent. It’s his go-to accent of choice, and it’s poor at best.
“Oh, the guy who gets Sophie will be very lucky,” Erin says. “And speaking of which, we’ve got some vetting to do before the first big date, right, Soph?”
“Yes, although I need to meet him to see if I want to take it to the next level first.” My heart rate kicks up a notch at the thought of dating Oliver, the “good guy” Paige wants to set me up with.
“Well, duh,” Erin says.
“What’s this?” Jason asks. “You’ve got a date already?”
“Maybe. We need to vet him, though. Make sure he’s one of the good ones.” I take another sip of my champagne, the bubbles tickling my nose once more. “I got some tips at the café this week from Cassie on how to do it. Apparently, she had an entire dossier on the guy she chose. She left no stone unturned.”
“We don’t want any wolves in sheep’s clothing,” Darcy says. “I’ve dated guys like that. They look like normal, fully functioning men on the outside, but on the inside? Raving freaking lunatics.”
Jason’s eyes are dancing when he questions, “Lunatics? What did they do, escape from the local asylum just so that they could date you?”
“That’s right,” Darcy confirms, her face impassive.
“Ok aaa y,” Jason replies with a sarcastic lilt. “So, back to the real world. Who is this guy, Soph?”
“His name is Oliver Price. He worked with Paige at A.G.D. I’ve done some detective work and found out a few things about him, and so far, he seems pretty good. Cute, smart, a bit of an action man.”
“An action man sounds good. He’ll have a great body, all buff and athletic. Think G.I. Joe,” Erin says.
“But hopefully not made of plastic,” Darcy adds.
“You’re on fire tonight, Darce,” I say.
“But why are you stalking this guy? Why don’t you just ask him out?” Megan asks.
“Because of the pact,” Erin explains. “We three girls have made a pact not to date jerks anymore. We have a long history, you see.”
“A long and bitter history,” I confirm.
“Oh, we’ve all been there,” Megan replies. “That’s why I’m glad I’m dating a nice guy like Jason now.”
“Yeah,” I reply with a not altogether honest head nod at the same time as Erin says, “True,” and Darcy echoes, “Totally.”
Although we all know Jason is far from boyfriend material, there’s no need to upset the girl.
A swift change of topic is needed. “We’ve got to agree how we’re going to do the No More Bad Dates Pact.”
“Rules. That’s what we need,” Darcy begins. “There needs to be an initial contact phase, after which we need to vet the guys to see if the girl who wants to date him has missed any red flags.”
Jason’s lips quirk into a smile. “An initial contact phase? Is that what normal people would call a first date?”
“Well, yes, but it’s not,” I reply.
“Exactly. It can’t be a date. It’s just a ‘getting to know you’ thing,” Erin says. “That way it’s not an official date.”
Jason leans back in his chair. “This all sounds way too technical for me.”
“I’ll put some rules together and email them to you both,” Darcy offers.
“Don’t forget me,” Jason says to enquiring looks from my female friends. I’d neglected to tell them Jason was lending an “expert” hand in our pact, as he’d put it.
“You’re part of the pact?” Erin questions as her eyes dart to Megan. “It’s for us singletons, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he replies, his arm hanging off the back of Megan’s chair. “Think of me as a guest judge on American Idol . I’m full of expert advice and strong mentoring capabilities.”
I laugh. “You really lack confidence, you know that, Christie?”
“Are you going to be an ‘expert’ for all of us, or just your roommate?” Darcy asks.
“I want to share the love around, so I’m offering my services to the whole group, if you want them,” Jason replies.
Darcy’s jaw clenches. “When I finally meet a guy who warrants vetting, I’ll let you know.”
“You will, Darce. Not all guys are slimeballs.” This from Erin.
Darcy has dated some real doozies in the past. “Slimeball” is probably the nicest thing Erin could say about any one of them.
I clap my hands. “That’s settled then. I’ll text you all a date and time for the vetting once I’ve met this guy, and you can interrogate him.”
Jason raises his glass. “To interrogating the living crap out of the unsuspecting male population.”
We all clink glasses.
“I only hope he’s not scared off by you all,” I say.
“And if he is, he wasn’t your man, anyway,” Erin says.
I pick the song catalog up again. “I think I’ve found the perfect song for tonight.”
“What is it?” Jason asks.
“ On Top of the World .” I grin at my friends, confident in my choice of happy song to celebrate my success.
“Imagine Dragons? I love that song,” Jason exclaims.
“I know you do. But I can’t say you will once I’m done slaughtering it.” I laugh self-deprecatingly, despite my friend’s protestations.
I punch the song number into the device on the table and it immediately flashes up the number three. Third in line. Time to lube the vocal cords with the rest of my champagne.
“I’m going to sing, too,” Megan announces.
“Good for you! Are you a karaoke queen?” Erin asks.
“The Von Trapps, remember? We sang a lot as kids,” she replies.
“Do re mi.” Darcy shoots me a smile.
“Fa so la ti do,” Megan finishes in a sing-song-y voice, and then to our astonishment continues to sing, “Doe, a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden sun.” She grins at us. “I love The Sound of Music .”
“We can tell,” Darcy says.
“You’ve got a lovely voice,” Erin, ever the sweetheart, says. “I’m looking forward to hearing you sing.”
“Well, you won’t have to wait too long. She’s number two on the lineup, and the first group’s about to begin,” Jason says as he gestures toward the stage.
Three women about our age are looking about as nervous as a bunch of deer during hunting season as they wait for the music to kick in.
“Tell me more about this band of yours. Do you still play?” Erin asks Megan.
“Oh, yes. Well, not my parents anymore, but my three brothers and I have a band. We play the classics, you know, seventies stuff. I’m the lead singer.”
“Awesome! I love the music of the seventies. I bet you’re amazing.” Erin is clearly impressed.
The opening bars of “Never Gonna Give You Up” resound around the room, putting an end to Erin and Megan’s buddy-buddy get to know each other session.
“Rick Astley. Now there’s some karaoke gold, right there,” Jason says as the girls on the stage begin to sing the opening line with shaky, uncertain voices. After they butcher the first chorus—and I’m not complaining here; these girls make me look like freaking Adele—they relax into it, and with the crowd’s support, manage to pull the whole song off with their pride intact. Well, mostly.
That’s the awesome thing about Jojo’s Karaoke. No matter how bad you are, people support you when you’re up there on the stage. Of course, they may never invite you back, but that’s another thing.
One of the waiters announces the next in line, and Megan pops up from her seat. “A good luck kiss, please.” She pats the side of her cheek, and to my surprise, Jason reaches up from his seat and kisses her.
“You’re very obedient,” I comment once Megan is out of earshot. “You must really like this girl.”
“He’s just being a good doggie, aren’t you, Jas?” Darcy teases with a smirk.
“Megan’s great,” he replies, clearly ignoring Darcy’s gentle jibe.
“I bet she’s going to sing this song beautifully, too,” Erin says.
We hear the opening bars to “Wrecking Ball” followed by Megan’s singing, her voice strong and rich and beautiful. Seriously, she sounds like Miley Cyrus, only better, because she’s here in the room with us—and not writhing around naked on an oversized metal ball as she licks a mallet.
Thank goodness.
We sit and listen, spellbound, right to her very last note, after which the crowd bursts into spontaneous, enthusiastic, genuine applause. Megan gives a bashful and totally endearing curtsey before returning to our table where we all congratulate her on her stellar performance.
“You seriously undersold your talents with that Von Trapp thing,” I say with a shake of my head.
How am I going to follow that ?
I don’t even have time to think about it before my name is called and I’m the one up on the tiny stage, the lights shining bright in my eyes. I grab the microphone as the first bars of “On Top of the World” play, and say, “For what you’re about to hear, I am truly, truly sorry.”
And then I launch into the song, thankful it’s low enough that my voice is disguised, until someone shouts, “We can’t hear you!” I respond with a louder voice, and it’s then that I remember how much I love this. So what if Megan sounds incredible? I come here almost every Saturday night to do this and I’m going to give it my all. I may sound like a pack of cats fighting to get out of a box, but you know what? I have passion, willing, and at least two glasses of wine inside me.
Just like my new job as Weekend Manager of Cozy Cottage High Tea, and my Initial Contact with Oliver “the good guy” Price, I may not be perfect, but I’ve totally got this.