4
I have never—and I mean never —met a guy who’s so full of himself, who cares so little about the people around him, and, and…” I gesture toward the ceiling.
“Okay, take a deep breath and start from the beginning.” Micki pulls her legs up under her on our couch and pops open a can of seltzer. She and her sister, Jaz, returned from their cousin’s wedding hoopla in Barbados last night, and the apartment looks like a closet ate something bad and threw up.
“Yeah, who is this person?” Jaz asks. She’s a few years younger than we are, graduated with a double major in English and theater arts but no plans. As far as I know, she’s been working on the same screenplay since I first met her. “I need details, so I know where to direct my ire.”
“His name is Leo, and he’s a jerk,” I say, the petulant child in me stomping her foot. I tell them about our run-in in the park and his visit to the store. “It’s like he’s dying to rub our faces in how he’s going to steal our customers. Just, ugh!”
“Sounds stressful.” Micki brushes her newly purple bob away from her heart-shaped face. She’s a hairdresser at the salon next to Happy Paws and changes her look with the frequency others change their towels. “What does Harvey say?”
“You know him—always seeing the best in people. He called him ‘a nice, young man.’” I roll my eyes.
“Really? Maybe you misjudged him then. You have only met the guy twice.”
“Well…”
“Is he old? Young?” Jaz asks.
I twirl the tassels of my hoodie together and then untwirl them again. “I actually went to high school with him. Or, well, he was a year ahead of me.”
“Wait, hold up.” Micki straightens.
“You know him?” Jaz adds.
“It’s not important.” I don’t like where this conversation is heading so I go for distraction instead and point to Micki’s head. “I like the purple-gray fade thing you’ve got going on there.”
“Nuh-uh, that’s not going to work. Spill.”
“I don’t know him know him,” I tell my captive audience. “More like I knew who he was because everyone did.”
“Ooh, do I sense a confession of a youthful crush coming on?” Micki hoots.
I tsk. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Boo.”
“But he remembers you?” Jaz asks.
I shake my head. “He’d have no reason to. I was a complete nobody. A younger-than-him, complete nobody.”
“You should tell him you went to the same school,” Micki says. “Maybe that’ll chill him out a bit.”
“I did. He could not have cared less. I believe his exact words were ‘What’s wrong with your dog?’”
“Seriously?” Micki’s face contorts.
“Told you he’s a jerk.”
“Was he always?” Jaz asks.
An image of Leo with his peer buddy from the special education program imposes itself in my mind, unbidden. They were always huddled together in the high school cafeteria at lunch. I know the peer coaching program was for credit, but if I’m being honest, despite all his popularity, teenage Leo had seemed like a pretty decent guy. So either I misjudged him back then or something’s gotten stuck up his butt along the way.
“Who knows?” I ball up a few wrappers from our dinner and tuck them in a paper bag. “But why did he have to open his stupid store right here?”
Micki pulls me into a sideways hug. “Aww. Maybe he’ll fail miserably. You’ve got this.”
“Thanks.”
“What you need is some pampering.” She smiles and flips her strands forward. “If you honestly do like my hair, you should let Donna do yours, too.”
I shake my head. My hair is a constant point of contention between us. It’s a rich, dark brown, thick and halfway to my waist—the kind “everyone wants” according to Micki. But I never do anything with it. It’s either up in a bun or pulled back in a sloppy braid, and by this point, she takes that as a personal slight. “I’m good.”
“One day,” she mutters, gathering her trash and putting it in the bin in our small galley kitchen.
“Never going to happen.” Which reminds me… “Speaking of rare events.” I pull out the cash from Harvey and hand it to Micki.
A grin spreads on her lips. “Rent!” She bats her lashes and fans herself with the bills. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have.”
“I’m a little short, but we have overdue bills at the store, and I couldn’t take all of Pop’s money when he’s already in the hole. I’ll make it up to you. Breakfast in bed, foot massage… Oh, I can make you a new dress.”
“Sell me your hair?”
My hand goes to my braid as if she’s serious. “No.”
Micki laughs. “Seriously, it’s fine. Better than nothing. You’ve helped me out in the past. That’s what friends do. Besides, I’m still using your Netflix daily and you’re still going to help me study, right?” She recently went back to school to get a massage therapy license since the salon is expanding its services.
“Of course. And I promise I’ll pay you back. But first I need to figure out how to make the store do better.”
“Isn’t your grandpa old?” Jaz asks. “Doesn’t he want to retire?”
“He’s too sentimental,” Micki tells her. “Plus, he can’t afford to, which is why Cora is stuck there even though it’s not what she wants to do.” She gestures toward my sewing machine that’s tucked underneath our kitchen table, indicating where my true passion lies.
“Well, that sucks,” Jaz says.
“It’s not that bad,” I say. “It’s all he has left of my grandma. And if the store folds right now, the dogs will have nowhere to go. Harvey would end up moving, and he can’t take care of them himself, this building doesn’t allow pets, and the only other shelter around here isn’t no-kill. What chances do you think any of them have of making it there?”
“Right, the dogs.” Jaz nods as if she’s thinking hard. Then her expression brightens. “Hey, there was a poster about some dog show at the grocery store. Maybe that’s something?”
“The one at Winter Fest?” Micki asks, and Jaz confirms.
I shake my head. “The grand prize is only five hundred dollars. Not enough to make a difference. And I’m about to start on some new costumes for the shop and maybe some other stuff, too…” I gesture to my laptop that’s sitting open to the Flockify server. No responses yet other than a few general hellos. No guesses from the Riddler either.
“Ah, well then.” Micki smirks. “Practically living the dream.”
“Really, it’s fine. Not everyone gets to do exactly what they want.”
“True. But I guess I believe everyone should at least get to try.”
Her words grate at the back of my mind and prickle my throat when I look at the stack of soon-to-be tutus on the table. That’s what I want. I want to design clothes, have my own line—only not for pets.
“Hey, I remember that Flockify server,” Jaz says, interrupting my thoughts. She leans closer to my screen. “Ms. McInnis’s class, junior year. God, she was so into it. We all had to post research and have discussions on there, but I spent most of my time perfecting my avatar. I think my username was MrsShakespeare or something else inane like that.” She chuckles. “But why the heck are you on it?”
“It must have grown a lot bigger since you used it for school because there are thousands of members from all over the world now.” I tell her about my sewing commissions while we clear the table, and once the topic is exhausted, Jaz and Micki commence their post-travel cleanup while I do the dishes.
Micki’s words about living the dream echo in my mind, but I keep a steady hold on the pragmatic side of things. At least I still get to work with fabric from time to time—things could be worse for a college drop-out like me who hasn’t managed to live up to any of the potential I was told I showed when I was younger. Besides, I’d have no idea how to run my own business. Not like Leo Salinger who practically oozes Ivy League business schools, ten-year life plans, and a trust fund to fall back on.
Before I get too far down that rabbit hole, my phone rings in my purse on the counter. I get to it at the last second and pick up.
“Coralynn? Coralynn are you there?” My mother’s voice echoes as if she’s in a cave.
Only my parents call me by my given name. I suppose I should be thankful they didn’t go with the runner-up, Hildegarde, after my great-grandmother, but Coralynn still feels like a mouthful. It’s not me.
“Mom, where are you?” I lean against the counter and cradle the phone to my ear. I haven’t seen my parents since Christmas. Twelve years on the road now, all fifty states visited, and they’re still all about that RV life. I don’t know how they stand it, but they’ve never been happier.
“Montana!” Mom hollers. “We decided to chase the fall foliage this year. It’s gorge.”
“Is that Coralynn?” Dad says in the background. “Tell her I said hi.”
“Hi, Dad,” I mumble.
“Hello?” Mom shouts. “I don’t think the reception is very good here.”
“But you guys are doing well?” I walk over to the window and look down at the streetlights below. From behind the door to my left, I can hear Jaz’s and Micki’s muted voices.
“Never better. We saw an enormous herd of bison today. Frontier adventures! How’s Dad doing?”
“Harvey is doing all ri—”
“Did I tell you your father is improving at his putting game? We stop at every golf course we pass. I go with him once in a while, but a drink on the green is my preference. You know how my back acts up. As luck would have it, we met this wonderful couple that…” And on and on she goes.
The windowpane is cool against my forehead while I listen, and my breath makes foggy circles on the glass until eventually Mom announces her phone is running out of battery and she needs to go. “I’ll call you again from Wyoming or Colorado. Hugs and kisses.” She hangs up.
I look at my phone and sigh. “I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking,” I say out loud. “Bills to pay, places to be. You know.”
“Talking to yourself again?” Micki asks from her doorway.
I turn and give her half a smile. “Something like that.” I toss my phone onto the table and sit down at my sewing machine. The tutus are bestsellers, so my plan is to make a few more of those tonight and then move on to my first literary costume. Mrs. Keller’s Scottish terrier would look fantastic as Sherlock Holmes.
“Hey, is it okay if Jaz crashes on the couch for a few days?” Micki heads toward the fridge.
“Another guy bites the dust?”
“Seems like it.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Cool. Don’t stay up too late.”
I give her a noncommittal wave and dive back in.