CHAPTER TWO
I squint as I see the sun coming through the sides of my blinds.
I’m guessing it’s only about 7:00 a.m. based on the amount of sun trying to shine through my blinds. I pull the duvet over my head and squeeze my eyes closed.
I can hear Bob throwing his food on the floor in the kitchen next to my room. He’s a rescue that I adopted last year, and he still won’t eat out of his cat bowl despite getting him the cutest little dishes with his name imprinted on them. I know he can’t read, but still.
I hear more food being tossed on the floor.
I feel irritable.
I turn over in my bed, my legs getting tangled in the sheets, irritating me. Maybe I’m PMSing, or maybe there’s a full moon coming.
I called Briar and Lucy after I got in last night after the game. We spent three hours on video chat dissecting the proposal and the last two years of my life while taking shots of Fireball. I rub my forehead, regretting the latter. I don’t even know how that bottle got into my apartment.
I hear a loud grumble come from my stomach as hunger sets in. Bob jumps onto my bed and starts walking across my stomach, not a care in the world for my organs. My stomach growls again. I lift the covers off my face and sit up.
“Bob, can you not?” I ask.
He jumps down.
I know I should feel sad or like there should be a hole in my heart where Jake used to be, but I just don’t. I don’t know why, but it’s just not there.
I mean, I cared for Jake, and I still do, but I don’t think I was in love with him. Yeah, I guess I’m officially one of those. I love you, but I’m not in love with you. How did this even happen?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet dangling. I’m 5’2”, and it’s not uncommon for me to not reach the floor sitting on most chairs. Just last week, I had to buy the more expensive orange juice at the grocery store because I couldn’t reach up and grab the no-name brand. Usually, I would just climb up onto the bottom of the fridge to reach up, but there were too many people in the aisle for me to do that without embarrassing myself. And, of course, being Miss Independent, I’d rather spend the extra money than ask for help. Short-girl problems, I sigh. Ugh, I hate it when people sigh. Clearly, I’m PMSing.
I stand and walk to the window, pulling open the blind. I may live in a small one-bedroom, but I’ve got a great view of the river. The snow has melted, and you can tell spring is on its way, but it looks cold out. I feel a shiver run through me.
My phone buzzes, and I turn around to reach for it. Lucy and Briar’s pictures pop up on my screen. We’re supposed to make vision boards today, Briar’s idea, obviously .
I’ve been collecting magazines since I was a pre-teen during the days of mail-order subscriptions. I flinch at the thought of cutting up the pictures and words in the magazines. Briar would insist that it’s recycling.
I turn from the window and peer around at the clothes lying on the floor. I can see some magazines that have slid from their pile under my bed, slowly making their way out and into sight. Lucy’s right; I am a bit of a hoarder. I look down at my phone in my hand as it buzzes again. I see the notification indicating my daily horoscope is in my email. My phone buzzes as I set it on the nightstand and plug it in, noticing the battery is at fourteen percent.
I get on my hands and knees and look under my bed to where I stash pretty much anything that is on my floor for longer than a week.
I start pulling shoes out, and some clothes. Last year’s vision board comes into sight on a bright yellow bristle board. I pull it out and sit back on my heels, lifting the board to my face. Well, oh shit. There it is: a picture of a bride and a groom. I don’t remember gluing that on there. I close my eyes, rubbing them with the tips of my fingers. What is wrong with me? Did I seriously manifest the proposal?
No, I couldn’t have.
I thought you had to display your vision board where you would see it every day for the stuff to come true. I look at what else is on there and see palm trees and a vacation I never went on. I see a girl lifting weights–nope haven’t done that either. Geesh, I’m not really sure why I make these when I have no intention of eyeing them every morning, wishing and hoping.
This one will be different.
Will it, though?
Clearly, I don’t have much faith in myself.
I fold it in half, then fold it again and again until it is small enough to fit in my kitchen garbage, and set it aside.
I peer back under my bed and see the stacks of magazines that have been sliding out. I reach and pull them out, standing and placing them on my bed. Bob jumps back onto the bed and steps onto the pile, circling, obviously about to make the pile his new throne.
I undress and toss my pajamas onto my bed beside the stack of magazines where Bob is now cleaning between his toes. I hate when he does that, especially on my bed. I make my way into the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the hot water run down over me.
* * *
The intercom crackles loudly, and I walk over to the wall and buzz the girls in. I don’t have to ask who it is. I can hear them laughing from in here. The walls are paper thin, and I can hear Lucy’s cackle from miles away.
I smile to myself. I am so lucky to have such great friends. I open my door as they make their way up the two flights of stairs. I see Lucy with a large brown paper bag in her hands, and I know from the smell that Chinese is what we will be having for supper. My mouth waters at the thought of some Kung Pao chicken and egg rolls. Briar, a few steps behind Lucy, is slowly making her way up. I noticed that she pulled her long chestnut brown curls back and piled them high on her head in a bun, making her look like a ballerina.
Briar glances up and sees me. “Hey, Sof!”
A wide smile spreads across her face. Lucy looks up from the stairs as she reaches the last step. She has on hot pink lipstick, and I see that her nails are painted matte black. Her jeans are ripped in an artful way, and I know they are one-of-a-kind because she made them herself. Lucy always expresses herself in her clothes, jewelry, and hair. She may dress loudly, but she has one of the softest hearts.
“Hey,” I say as I open the door a bit wider to let them in.
I step back and take the food from Lucy’s arms, noticing the aroma quickly filling the space, and I head towards the kitchen, making room for them to take off their boots and coats.
I walk back and see Briar fixing a strand of hair that has come loose from her bun. She is all elegance and poise. Briar is a teacher at an elementary school. If anyone can handle a room full of loud kids, it’s her. I don’t think I have ever heard her raise her voice or get irritable in all the years I have known her. Maybe all this meditating and vision board stuff actually works for her, and I mentally urge myself to take this more seriously. I run my hand through my thick, short hair, which falls just above my shoulders, my fingers getting caught in a knot. I’m kind of in between the two, not quite as calm and collected as Briar, obviously, seeing that I get irritated at the bed sheets getting tangled around my ankles, but not quite as loud or outgoing as Lucy.
* * *
“I ate too much!” Groaning, I lean further back on the couch, trying to stretch my stomach out to make room for the food I just consumed.
I prop my feet up on the coffee table and knock a glue stick onto the floor. Bob is there sniffing it almost instantly. Briar is lying on her stomach, hugging one of the couch pillows under her.
“I can’t believe we ate it all.” She closes her eyes and rests her chin down on top of the burnt orange fuzzy pillow.
Lucy is on the chair next to the couch with her feet also up on the table, turning to me with a satisfied smile. “You guys are amateurs.”
She cracks her fortune cookie open and pulls out a thin white piece of paper, opening it to reveal her future.
“If you eat something and nobody sees you eat it, then it has no calories.” Lucy squints at the small piece of paper. “Geesh, what kind of fortune is that?”
Briar lets out a muffled laugh, her face now smothered in the orange pillow.
“Read mine!” Briar says in words that are barely recognizable.
“No one can crack open your cookie for you, or your fortune won’t come true,” I say, rubbing my belly, trying to aid in the digestion of one too many chicken balls.
Briar props herself up onto her elbows and reaches toward one of the cookies on the table. She splits it open and pulls out the fortune. She rolls over onto her back, laughing hysterically. Lucy throws a pillow at her, and we both join in, laughing. We’re not quite sure what is so funny, but Briar’s laughter is contagious.
Briar sits up as she opens the fortune again. “I cannot help you, for I am just a cookie,” she reads, her voice shaking as she starts laughing again. “I got ripped off!” she says, still laughing. “But that’s okay. I make my own fortune.”
She turns to the bright pink bristle board beside her, which is now jammed with photos and words written in colorful markers. She goes all out on her vision boards. The queen of manifestation.
“Pass me a cookie,” I whine, making no effort to move from the reclined post-food binge position I have managed to slide into.
Briar tosses me the last cookie. I open the cookie with less grace than both of them as the cookie starts to crumble, spilling crumbs all over my boobs and belly. I pick up a few and pop them in my mouth.
“You miss one hundred percent of the shots you never take.” I lay my head back. “Is this cookie trying to refer to the proposal I was so quick to decline last night?” I ask both of them but look directly towards Lucy, to my right.
“Sof! Come on, don’t do that to yourself. I know you feel bad, but he wasn’t right for you,” Lucy says, leaning down to pick up her own vision board, running her hand over the magazine pictures, and playing with the edges that have already begun to lift.
I pick up a few more crumbs and pop them in my mouth with the rest of the cookie. My stomach groans, obviously thinking it’s a bad idea for me to stuff more food inside my mouth when I am already at maximum capacity.
Briar gets up and walks over to the couch. “There are so many opportunities out there for you, you’ll see.” She winks at me in her comforting, schoolteacher way.
“I know of one opportunity that is right in front of your face.” Lucy’s eyebrows raise as she sits back, turning her attention to me.
“And what opportunity is that?” I ask. “I’m already writing and gaining experience. I know I have yet to start my novel, but I just have so many ideas, and I need to figure them out in my head before I get started. I want it to be about love, like the real love stuff,” I add, thinking of the dream I keep shoving to the back of my mind, too scared to put any effort in, worrying I will fail.
“I’m talking about Ben. That man is so into you,” Lucy says, and my eyes widen as I sit up.
“What are you talking about?” I ask frowning, confused.
She smiles. “You know that guy is head over heels for you.”
“Ben is just a friend, a work friend. He’s a great guy, yeah, but just a friend,” I say, now thinking about Ben.
He has an undergraduate degree in botany and plant science and moved back to help his uncle out at Plants, Pottery & Books. It’s kind of cute he’s always talking to his plants. In fact, he has even named a few.
Ben makes a point of coming to the bookstore during his lunch. I think he just likes the comfortable chairs we have that fill the small space. No one actually sits in them, other than him and me, but they give the bookstore a cozy vibe. Plus, our lunchroom is kind of small. There are no windows, and lately, it seems to always smell like hard-boiled eggs.
Ben’s uncle Jeffrey is my boss. He’s always following new fads and researching healthy lifestyles. He’s currently on the three-day boiled egg diet, considering we are going on about two weeks of eau-de-egg in the staff room, he is clearly enjoying this one.
Anyway, Ben is a great sounding board for my ideas. Whenever I’m working on something, he’s always so supportive and the first to read it. Even all my blogs on lawn care lately. Who would have thought I’d be writing about lawnmowers? I mean, I’d rather be writing about anything else, but hey, it pays well. He gets me. He doesn’t push or ask why I haven’t started my novel, and I appreciate that.
Yes, definitely just a friend.
“I am in no rush to jump into anything, anyway,” I say. “I want to write more. I’ve thought about reaching out to some of the magazine editors that I have worked with.”
I play with a thread that has come loose from the bottom of my sweater, twirling it around my finger till it looks like it will cut off my circulation, then I let it go and repeat.
“I’m just saying, he likes you, Sof, and you’re single now,” Lucy continues.
“He is kind of cute, too,” Briar chimes in.
I roll my eyes. “I haven’t even been single twenty-four hours, guys. Give it a break.”
Lucy stands, picking up some of our takeout containers. “Just remember what the great fortune cookie said to you tonight. You miss one hundred percent of the shots you never take.” She turns and makes her way toward the kitchen.
I pick up my vision board and press down on the magazine cutout that reads “write” with a pile of colorful books next to it.
I will, I think to myself, I will.