Chapter Three Nomi #2
“Of course we do. I didn’t buy fifty dollars’ worth of nougat for nothing! But you have to be prepared to move. None of your overanalytical anxious girl bullshit today, okay?” Her dagger-tipped nails press into my skin. “You want this place? You take it.”
The pressure on my arms intensifies until I realize I’m supposed to nod, which I do vigorously.
God. Real estate agents are terrifying.
The listing agent arrives, which turns out to be Lexi Holmes, the hot, popular girl from my senior year at Sparrow Nook High. She’s got shiny blonde hair, a raging personality disorder if you ask Eve, and even longer nails than Veronica, hers bejeweled. Veronica’s eyes narrow as she takes them in.
“Right this way, ma’am,” Lexi simpers as she unlocks the front door and holds it open for Veronica. It’s been two minutes, and Veronica’s ready to cut a bitch.
I gasp as we enter, making Lexi titter. “It’s something special, right? After the city council took ownership, they began years of restoration efforts. They put a lot of money into this place.”
It shows. The original green-and-cream checkerboard floor tiles look new, the long counter painted the same meadow green, topped with a shiny metal cap.
The chrome barstools with their wine-red vinyl seats pop, drawing the eye.
The pièce de résistance, though, is the red neon sign hanging behind the counter against the white tiled walls.
In large block letters, it states strange drugs.
“Oh my God, does that still work?” I feel like I might stop breathing and keel over from pure joy.
“It’s actually a re-creation, so it works perfectly.” Lexi beams at us. “The idea was to fully restore the historic pharmacy and set up the town museum here, but then the old courthouse came open, and it was a better space for the city council’s vision. That’s why this beauty’s on the market now!”
It’s meant to be. For me to open my modern-day pharmacy in this historic one that prioritized both health and providing a space for customers to socialize, it’s one hundred percent my destiny.
And thank God, my destiny’s finally here.
When I first got sick, it felt like some disinterested overlord pressed pause on my entire forward trajectory.
Me and food always had a rocky relationship, but halfway through senior year, it went from it’s complicated to it’s Crohn’s disease.
After meals, it felt like I was walking around with a stomach full of loose knives, stabbing me over and over until the cramping would begin and I’d race for a bathroom where I’d moan and rock and wonder if, this time, I was actually dying.
It got so bad, I’d refuse to eat for entire debate tournaments, subsisting off nibbles of protein bars and adrenaline for days at a time to avoid the next brutalizing attack.
The doctors back in Georgia claimed it was the physical manifestation of my anxiety, but after we moved to Sparrow Nook, Mom took me to Dr. Appa, and he listened.
After an hour of talking through every symptom, Dr. Appa suspected the true identity of my personal boogeyman.
He referred me to a gastrointestinal specialist at Philadelphia General Hospital to confirm the diagnosis with testing, and my battle against Crohn’s officially began.
It was a long time before my condition stabilized.
After winter break my senior year, I didn’t come back to school.
Not right away, at least. They put me on Hospital-Homebound, which meant that a grizzled teacher came to my house once a week to drop off assignments and proctor my tests.
I’d already snagged valedictorian, but it killed me giving up debate.
Julian and I had just swept the state tourney and qualified for nationals, but after my doctors found out how I’d been coping with the intrinsic stress of tournaments, i.e.
, by developing disordered eating, debate was forbidden.
I was so ashamed of what was wrong with me, I never told him why I quit.
What would I have said? Hi Julian, thanks for all the amazing kisses after we won first at state, btw I’ll be spending the rest of my life in the bathroom because I have a diarrhea disease!
No way. So, I hid from Julian and debate and the stressful life I left behind.
It was easier that way, and when I finally did go back to school a few months later, Eve Ionides, the sardonic queer girl who perpetually wore beanies, punched me in the shoulder and asked if I wanted to sign up for Crew.
The drama club was short a lighting operator for the spring production, and I said yes.
Crew was easy, and drama kids were hilarious sluts, Eve the best of them all.
Smoking up with her and laughing our asses off in the theater’s balcony was a welcome relief after the intensity of debate and Julian and, surprisingly, a relief physically, too.
Weed brought back my appetite. When a flare-up knocked me out, it was the only thing that eased the horrible pain.
The prescriptions emptying Mom’s bank account couldn’t do that.
Pot was how I got through life from that point on, which was terrifying since it was illegal then, but I couldn’t give up the one solution I’d found.
When Eve and I scraped up enough money to go to Amsterdam for spring break our senior year of college, the coffeehouse culture there showed us what life could be like in a legalized future, where cannabis was appreciated for all the good it can do.
We wanted to bring that peaceful, harmonious vibe back home.
And now, we finally can.
I yank Veronica to the side.
“I want it,” I growl. “Make it happen!”
“Are you sure?” Veronica stares me down. “The city council hasn’t approved your license to operate the dispensary yet.”
“It’s in the bag,” I reply with more confidence than is strictly warranted. “The final vote is next week.”
“What if they don’t give you the cigar bar exception to the no-smoking indoors ordinance?”
“The back lot then.” I lick my dry lips. “It’ll be the perfect smoking patio.”
“They’re asking five hundred over your upper limit.”
I wince, but nod again.
Veronica’s predator eyes flash with approval. “They’ll want the down payment today—three months’ rent. Can you handle that?”
I swallow, stomach bottoming out. While Eve’s my partner, she’s even broker than I am since part-time baking and self-publishing lesbian erotica isn’t a fast ticket to the easy life.
This part of our endeavor all comes down to me.
I’ve been saving up for years, opting to drive my rattling Subaru into its grave, and living for cheap.
The fact that a huge chunk of all those years of sacrifice is about to pour out of my bank account is both terrifying and exhilarating, because I’ve never bet on myself before.
But Strange Drugs is undeniably perfect, and it’s either move now or lose it.
“Let’s make an offer.”
“I’ll make the offer. You stay quiet.”
“Hi-ii! It’s us again!” Veronica sweeps us both back to the soda fountain area, where Lexi sits at the counter waiting.
“Okay, here’s the deal: we want it, and you’re going to lease it to my client at this rate per month with the price locked in for the entire five-year term.
” Veronica slips a piece of paper across the counter to the listing agent, whose eyes widen just so.
“And why would my client agree to that?” Lexi’s tone has gone cool and professional.
“Because Sparrow Nook loves this place, and the city council has spent ridiculous amounts of taxpayer dollars to restore it. My client will keep the historic renovations in tip-top shape, so the town still has its historic pharmacy and a thriving new business.” Veronica places a hand on one hip as she eyes the soda fountain skeptically.
“How many other interested parties would be willing to leave up a neon sign screaming strange drugs? From what I heard, your lead contender wants to open a chain restaurant in here.” Veronica leans in for the kill.
“This is a way for the city council to save face for spending all that taxpayer money and never delivering, and might I remind you, it’s an election year.
Heads will roll if you let an Applebee’s come in and bulldoze this space. ”
“I’ll—just call the city manager.” Lexi scurries into the kitchen, and Veronica grins at me.
My eyebrows rise. “You are the scariest D’Angelo.”
“You flatter me, babe.” Veronica throws an arm around my shoulders. “But that’s my mother.”
“Speaking of scary D’Angelos, um, what’s with your cousin coming back home?”
“Frankie?”
“No, Julian.” I’m aware my cheeks are tinged pink, but I push forward anyways. “I… saw him the other day.”
Veronica snorts. “That condescending d-bag moved back a few weeks ago after he fucked up his gig at Philly Gen. He’s working at Dr. Appa’s now.”
I swallow, stress-sweat prickling beneath my shaggy bangs. Veronica’s just confirming what I already saw with my own eyes, but it still raises my blood pressure.
Concerning since I can no longer go to my doctor about it.
Veronica, apex predator that she is, picks up on my discomfort immediately.
“He’s not back forever or anything. He’s on probation, and Dr. Appa’s letting him work off his time here.
He’ll move back to Philly as soon as his time is up.
” Veronica looks down her nose. “That doesn’t change your mind, does it? ”
“No.” I cross my arms tightly. I’ve had my eye on this building for years—no surly phantom from my past can scare me off now just because he works next door.
Even if he did just handle my labia professionally and I’ll never look at lasagna again without feeling mortified.
I’ll figure out his exact schedule so I never see him. Easy.
Veronica makes a small, satisfied huff, and I side-eye her.
“What?”
“The pot-smoking valedictorian who stole Julian’s thunder is opening up Sparrow Nook’s first dispensary, and straight-laced, better-than-everybody Julian’s gonna have to walk by it every day to serve his glorified community service hours.” She smirks. “He’s gonna lose his goddamn mind.”
A small, nervous laugh escapes my mouth.
I’ll never forget the day he found me smoking up with Eve behind the theater after I came back to school.
Julian went on this tirade about how I was ruining my life, how I’d never be anything and nobody’d ever want to be with a loser like me.
Those words haunted me for years. He didn’t know that pot was my lifeline back then, that it was saving me from the agony I experienced every time I tried to eat.
And he couldn’t know what I really heard in his horrible words was that Crohn’s was ruining my life, that it would stand in my way of becoming anything, and that nobody would ever want to be with someone as sick and hopeless as me.
Even all these years later, those words still feel true.
Veronica’s studying me closely, and I force a big, bright smile on my face.
Julian may have written me off as a loser, but for the first time in ages, I’m finally winning.
Judgmental, unfortunately gorgeous Julian can’t take that away from me, especially not now that he’s spinning out in his own shame spiral.
I clear my throat. “Do you know what he did? At Philly Gen?”
Veronica gives me a conspiratorial smile. “No. But for my favorite babe, I’ll find out.”
Lexi reappears with a big smile, and then I’m shaking hands, trembling with joy while Veronica patiently pats my shoulder as I review the paperwork that’ll change my whole life.
Soon there’ll be no more Damon or Cuntsicle or waiting for my life to begin.
Next week, I’ll have my license to operate, and next month, we’ll open our doors to Stranger Drugs officially.
With Eve’s edible bakery counter, my extensive knowledge of product and dispensary operations, and one thousand percent better vibes than XYB, Stranger Drugs will be a huge success.
It even has office space for the nonprofit I’m cofounding to expunge the records of individuals convicted of marijuana-related offenses prior to state legalization.
Being able to gift free office space and a dedicated portion of the dispensary’s proceeds will finally get it off the ground, and the rush of knowing all the good we’re about to do fills me up with a golden, shimmery happiness.
A golden, shimmery, poor happiness, but still.
I can cash flow a few months’ expenses, and investing in my dream is worth the uncertainty.
If I have to work next door to a certain asshole doctor, at least I get to delight in running a successful dispensary and rubbing it in his intense face, proving once and for all that I, Nomi Wyeth, am both a pothead and a cunning businesswoman, and I do have a future being exactly who I am after all.
I cross the final t in Wyeth on the lease with a flourish.
Fuck you, Julian D’Angelo. I win.