Chapter 13
Melly
Mila: I need another study group night. Anyone in?
Penelope: Yes! We can do it at my place.
Me: Wednesday? I’ll bake the cookies.
Mila: Gianna? Lucy? Mara? Are you guys in the chat?
Gianna: Here. Sorry, I’ve been so busy, but yes, count me in!
Mara: Idk if I’ll make it.
Lucy: Yes! I might come a little late.
Gianna: My brother can let you go for one freaking evening.
Lucy: I’ll be at my mom’s. I go every Wednesday.
Gianna: Forgot. Sorry.
Lucy: I’ll be there after dinner.
Mila: It’s a plan.
I stare at my phone, feeling like I’m missing something.
I huff, knowing what it is. Me and Chase would text nonstop when I moved here, and I still haven’t gotten any texts from him.
We haven’t spoken, and I feel so much guilt towards the relationship.
The silence from him solidifies that he knew this was the plan all along.
I don’t regret breaking up with him. The only thing I regret is waiting so long.
He became a comfort blanket and the one person who made me feel like I was good enough.
I can’t remember half of the night on Halloween, but whatever happened at the Hawthorne House stays at the Hawthorne House. I saw the list of rules on the whiteboard, and I can’t disagree with it.
When I step out of my bedroom, Penelope is on the ground doing Pilates.
“I started like two minutes ago. Hop in.”
I question whether or not I should, and then I’m like, “You know what? Yes.”
She pauses the video and runs to her room for another mat. She runs back, and she presses play. I roll it out next to her and follow along.
Twenty minutes of agony, I exhale.
“How’s your Tuesday going?” she asks.
I sit on the mat in a stretch. “Could be better. Yours?”
“Same,” she says. “Do you want to watch a movie tonight?”
I nod. “Should I cook us dinner?”
“I was planning on some chicken and veggies.”
I nod. “Okay. Next time I’m at the store, I’ll buy more chicken.”
She grins. “Eggs too.”
“And stuff for cookies tomorrow. Should I make chocolate chip cookies? Oh, you know what’s really good? Brownie cookies.”
“That sounds good. Yeah, whichever you want.”
“I’m craving sugar.”
She says, “Drink more water.”
I stand up and roll the yoga mat. “On it.” I place the mat against the wall, and then I walk to the kitchen and drink a cup of water.
She walks over and opens the fridge. “Have you talked to your ex since you guys broke up?”
I shake my head. “No. Not at all.”
“Are you okay?” she asks carefully, closing the fridge.
I nod. “Yeah. I am.”
“How long were you with him?”
“Two years,” I say.
“Wow.”
“Yeah, they flew by.”
“So, since high school?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, freshman year of college. Almost right away.” We’re quiet for a moment while she drinks water. “Are you in a relationship?”
She places the glass down and shakes her head. “No. I highly doubt I’ll find my husband in college.”
I smile, imagining the statistics on that are pretty low. “Do you have a type?”
She leans against the counter. “My type?” she questions. “Tall. Kind. Considerate. Handsome. Ambitious.” She thinks to herself. “Healthy. Funny.” She smiles at me. “What’s yours?”
I raise my brows and tilt my chin. “I was going to say hot.” I widen my eyes playfully.
She chuckles. “I know. I know. I’m so picky.”
I shrug. “I don’t have a type,” I admit. I stare at nothing for a moment, thinking about Blue. Is it possible that my type is literally one person?
“Are you thinking about your ex?” she asks.
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and shake my head.
“Oh, the Halloween party?” She gives me a knowing smile. “I always thought Blue was good-looking.”
I inhale, imagining how many other girls have thought the same thing.
“I only know him through Gianna because he’s best friends with Benson, but he’s always been quiet and respectful. He’s rough on the ice, though.”
“Yeah,” I say, knowing firsthand what he’s like.
I remember the first time I saw him skating after the puck, and the first time I saw him be aggressive.
I kept it in my memory like a montage through high school.
He was so quiet at school, and he transformed into something animalistic on skates. I was hooked.
“Do you guys have a lot of history?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I smile. “We go way back.”
Wednesday is a long day.
I have an eight-thirty social work theory lecture.
I have a noon section where I’m the only one who has done the reading, and the TA looks at me like I’m crazy when I cite the chapter.
I have a two o’clock seminar that runs forty minutes over because the professor will not stop talking about her dissertation.
I get home at three forty-five. I drop my bag by the door.
I sit on the kitchen stool for one full minute and stare at the cabinets because they are the only thing in the apartment that requires nothing of me.
Then I get up.
I shower. I put on soft pants. I put on an oversized t-shirt. I pull my hair up into a low knot the way Penelope does. It’s so chic on her, and I just look weird, but I keep it anyway.
I make the cookie dough at five.
I decided to make brownie cookies. Melted butter, two kinds of sugar, cocoa powder, and an extra egg yolk, because that’s the trick.
I let the dough sit for twenty minutes while I dice the chicken Penelope is going to cook.
I scoop the dough into balls. I line them on the tray. I slide them into the oven.
The apartment fills with a deep chocolate scent. The cookies smell delicious.
I do some reading while I wait for the oven timer to go off. When it does, I pull the tray. The cookies are perfect. I snap a quick picture of them and inhale the smell. So good.
I leave them on the cooling rack, and I drink a glass of water at the sink. I look out the window and stare at the trees for a minute. Then I put the rest of the dough on the baking sheet and plop that one in
Penelope’s at her sketch table. She’s been working on a floor plan for a community center for three hours. She’s drawing windows and erasing them and drawing them and erasing them, and I watched her draw and stare too long at the paper.
I steal a cookie off the cooling rack. It’s too hot, but I eat it anyway. It’s perfect. Crispy on the outside and gooey on the inside. I want to hide the entire batch for myself.
The girls arrive around six. Mila walks in first. She does not come empty-handed. She holds up the bottle. Penelope smiles at her. She’s also holding a small bag of Hershey’s Kisses. It’ll pair perfectly with my cookies.
She hugs me hello and then sets the things on the counter. She grabs a cookie and takes a bite.
“Oh my god. I’m going to eat all of this.”
“I have more in the oven.”
She steals another one. “You are so loved by me right now.” She leans against the counter and says, “So, remember how my dorm was a wreck after Halloween?”
I nod. She called me on Sunday to tell me that her dorm was trashed. Her roommate had a party and didn’t bother to tell her.
“Sara literally thought that a purple polka dot thong was mine. I put it on her side because what the fuck, I don’t want to touch it. You remember. I told you about it. Well, I was just home to change after class, and she put it back on my side.”
“Ew,” I say. “What did you do?”
She chews on a cookie. “Asked her why she isn’t picking up her thongs.
” She deadpans, “She said she thought it was mine.” She rolls her eyes.
Penelope is listening now. “I asked her why someone left their dirty panties in our dorm, and she didn’t say anything.
She grabbed the thong and threw it in the trash. ”
“Did you finally wash your sheets?”
“Yes,” she exclaims, taking another bite of the cookie. “Finally got them clean. God, what did you put in these? Crack?”
“Lots of sugar,” I joke.
“This is criminal. Penelope? Have you had one yet?”
“I’m waiting until they’re cool,” she answers, and the oven timer goes off again. I pull on the pink mittens and take the tray out. I grab the spatula and start putting the cookies on the cooling rack.
Mila walks over to Penelope and looks down at her drawings. “Are you kidding? Melly, have you seen this?”
I nod, working on the second row of cookies. “She’s an artist.”
Mila gets excited. “You should do this for people. Like just start posting your art on socials. Throw your pretty face in there and your Pilates routine. You’d blow up.”
Penelope continues drawing a line. “I wish it were that easy.”
A knock on the door interrupts their conversation. Gianna’s head pops through the front door.
“Come in,” I say.
“Hi,” Mila says, turning to her.
Mara is right behind her. They walk in and close the door behind them.
Gianna inhales. “Oh, we’re coming here every time there’s a study session.” She looks at the counter. “That looks so good.”
Mara walks around her. “Melly!” she gushes. “I knew there was a reason I immediately had a girl crush on you. You’re so wholesome.”
My face warms at that. Girl crush? I didn’t know that was a thing. “The ones on this rack just came out.” I just remembered that I took them out and didn’t turn the oven off. I turn around and turn it off. “These are cool and ready. Have as many as you want.”
“And wine?” Mara says.
“That was Mila,” I say, looking at Mila. Mila is still raving over Penelope’s drawings.
“I thought you weren’t gonna make it,” I say to Mara, remembering our texts from earlier.
She shakes her head. “I canceled on the dickhead. It’s fine.”
I look at Gianna. Gianna takes a bite of the cookie, ignoring us. “This is so good. Mara eat one.”
Mara grabs a cookie and eats it. “So good,” she mumbles.