Chapter 6 Everly
EVERLY
When the beverage and food cart comes around, Manimal returns squarely to his seat but doesn’t spare an apology for encroaching on my personal space. Goodie and I chat some more about Concordia and their world-famous chocolate cake.
“I’m more of a cookie gal.” I go on to tell her about the Cookie Dough Diary.
“When I was in college, I had a demanding professor and a very full second semester.” When I think about my more recent problems, I almost laugh at myself, but creating the Cookie Dough Diary was the best thing I could’ve done because it still serves me now.
“What did you study?” Goodie asks.
“I majored in business with a focus on hospitality services and minored in Victorian history. One practical, the other—”
“A delight?”
“Exactly. One day, I needed comfort and I always found that in cookies and milk.” I stage whisper, “Cookies and milk from a store. Don’t tell anyone, but up until that point I’d never turned on an oven.”
“How’d you make it to college without doing that?”
“Don’t ask,” I mutter across Manimal’s sawmill snore. I don’t like to talk about the cold and modern house I grew up in, the cook, the nanny, or the general lack of cookies in my young life. “So I got all the ingredients, made the dough, and—”
“Don’t tell me you couldn’t turn on the oven,” Goodie says.
“No, it was in my dorm’s common room and wouldn’t work. It was plugged in, but I guess there had been shenanigans the weekend before when some genius tried to defrost frozen bottled beer in the oven and blew the thing up.”
Goodie laughs. “Did you eat the cookie dough?”
“Sure did.”
“Raw eggs too?”
I bite my lip. “I didn’t say I followed the recipe exactly.
I forgot the eggs. Somehow. Anyway, from that day on, I’d make a batch of cookie dough to nibble on while I studied.
I started keeping track and rating my attempts, which morphed into me actually making cookies.
Let’s just say, I know how to operate an oven now. The stovetop, not so much.”
“My mother used to make delicious gingersnaps.”
“Do you have the recipe?”
“I sure do. Now that I know how to turn this thing on, let’s exchange email addresses and I’ll send it to you.” Goodie jiggles her phone.
“I’d love that. Thank you. The thing about the Cookie Dough Diary is that it doesn’t just contain edible cookie dough recipes, though I do record my favorites so I have plenty to draw from when I someday become a mom.
So far, I’ve perfected chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin, sugar cookies, and my favorite deluxe double-chip cookies—the secret ingredients? Chocolate chips and potato chips.”
Goodie arches an eyebrow.
“Don’t knock it until you try it. Pro tip: you have to use the wavy potato chips.”
“Chocolate and chips are two of my favorite things. Never thought to put them together.”
“You’ll thank me later. Also, grateful for the happy accident with the original batch of cookie dough and the diary it prompted me to start, every day I write down three things I’m thankful for.” I draw in my diary too, but don’t show anyone my sketches.
“And today’s entry?” Goodie asks.
My shoulders bunch up. “Well, I’d have to say, meeting you. Despite…” I discreetly point to Manimal, who would be catching flies if there were any on the plane, “This flight has turned out pretty great so far.”
Manimal rouses, glowers at Goodie, then me, and says, “What does a guy need to do to get some rest around here?”
She and I both suppress laughter.
“Well, I’d better try to get some more shut-eye because when I get to my sister’s, I have a feeling we’ll be gabbing all night.” Goodie smiles warmly and then closes her eyes.
I inhale a deep breath and then take out the Cookie Dough Diary. It’s the ninth one with that title—one for every year since starting it in college.
I gaze out the window at nothing but clouds stretching in every direction. For an instant, my mind feels spacious, open, and free from the recent burdens—the Todd tragedy, the cancer scare and surgery, and losing everything in my life as I knew it.
From my right, a thrppp sound rips into my moment of serenity, followed by a foul stench.
He didn’t!?
Yep, he did.
I fight the urge to smash the panel above my head to deploy the oxygen mask.
I will not be writing about Manimal passing gas in my diary.
Instead, when the air clears, my pencil scratches the paper as I sketch a well-built warrior with a leather uniform and armor—back in college, I was part of the LARP Club.
Like the popular book and movie Fight Club—one of the reading requirements to join—the first rule of LARP Club was you didn’t talk about LARP Club.
We also had to go deep into the J.R.R. Tolkien and C.
S. Lewis catalogs, along with numerous contemporary novels.
Afterward, I’d always draw a scene we acted out as I envisioned it. In this one, I imagine my valiant hero defeating the Manimal of the Underworld.
As I fill in the details, the hero’s features resemble the Viking’s, my fake husband? Non-husband? Husband of convenience? I’m not sure what to call him as I fiddle with the ring on my finger.
To my drawing, I add a sword, imagining severing the ties between us. It’s not because I’m ungrateful, rather, Todd ruined me for marriage. No way will I cozy up and couple down with a guy, at least not anytime soon.
My eyes flutter closed and I dream of the Viking riding into battle atop a powerful steed.
A Manimal tries to attack, but he scares it off and then whisks me off my feet and onto his horse.
We ride across rocky terrain. A man atop a black stallion appears in the distance.
Only, it’s a spider. The Viking challenges him, vowing to fight for my honor.
After engaging in battle, the Viking remains standing and Todd, begging for mercy, lies at his feet.
I startle awake, my heart pounding as I remember where I am. I pat myself down, making sure that I wasn’t in Manimal’s space or worse, cuddled up with him. Thankfully, there are several inches between us. However, my cheek is tender from being pressed up against the window.
I try to shake off the dream as Goodie wakes up and our chatter resumes, much to Manimal’s annoyance. We even try to include him, but not even a snooze and a snore refreshed the guy.
Soon, the plane lands with a warm welcome to Concordia from the captain. He describes perfect weather and wishes us a pleasant stay.
I’ve been here once before, during my figure skating years.
I recall it being a beautiful and wealthy country, complete with old-world charm and abundant nature, including mountains, beaches, hot springs, and more, along with friendly residents.
There are loads of restaurants and my mouth practically waters, anticipating a slice of chocolate cake.
I try to remember the name of the bakery or restaurant where I originally got it, but that was about fifteen years ago and the memory faded.
I’ll have plenty of time to explore when not working and promise myself a piece of that chocolate cake once I find it.
After getting off the plane, I follow the signs to the luggage carousel. Manimal bumps past me, grabs his suitcase, and carelessly swings it into my legs.
“Ow,” I say, hopping on one foot.
“Watch where you’re going,” he says and hurries away.
Where is my Viking when I need him? Granted, this doesn’t qualify as a sword-slaying incident, but I’m guessing Manimal would think twice about being so rude and watch where he’s going if I had the Viking by my side.
I give my head a little shake for being so silly.
My doctor assured me I’m in perfect health, but there is more to my recovery than just the physical aspects.
I’m still healing from the change to my appearance, my relationship with Todd, the difficulty that followed, and having to sell everything I owned.
I’m firm in my decisions, but they weren’t easy, so I give myself a little grace for wanting a strong Norseman with a steed and a sword to defend my honor.
Although he isn’t my Viking, and typically, I don’t need rescuing. Ours was a marriage of convenience and nothing more. I’ll probably never see him again.
As the other passengers collect their bags, two little kids scamper around, probably restless after the long flight.
Longing tugs at my heart. However, their mother, also traveling alone, looks like she’s going to have a meltdown of her own as she repeatedly instructs them not to climb on the conveyor belt, ride the luggage cart, or pinch each other.
Eventually, only the mother, her kids, and I remain, waiting for our belongings.
The mom and I exchange a knowing glance, both realizing the same thing at the same time. The airline lost our stuff.
It’s been a long day, a long week, and an even longer series of months, but I refuse to let the inconvenience get me down. I tell myself my suitcases aren’t at an airport in New Guinea or Cape Horn.
The little girl tugs on her mom’s shirt. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, me too,” the little boy says.
“Our car is waiting and we’ll be at home soon,” the mother says. “I guess we have to go report our luggage missing.”
“No!” the little girl yells, throwing herself on the floor.
From the exchange that follows, I gather that her favorite doll was inside their suitcase.
“Sweetie, we’ll get LuLu back,” the mom says. The poor woman struggles with her tired and hungry children as they whine.
Wearing a friendly smile, I give them a wave.
“Excuse me, can I help? My suitcases didn’t make it either, and I’m hungry too.
” I glance at the little girl, on her belly and kicking the floor.
“I kind of feel like doing that myself, but I was going to grab something from that kiosk over there. I can get them something, too. Or I can help you report your missing belongings.”
The woman relaxes with relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much. We’re just coming from a funeral and—” Tears prick her eyes. “It’s been a hard week.”
I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for your loss.” In my own way, I understand. I’ve lost so much and am hoping my new life in Concordia will lead to a brighter future. “I’m on snack patrol. Any food allergies I should be aware of?”
“Mercifully, no.” The woman exhales like she’d been holding her breath since boarding the plane.
“In that case, I’ll meet you at the baggage office with some goodies.”
Fifteen minutes later, I have two new best friends who perch in the plastic chairs on either side of me, contentedly munching on popcorn and drawing pictures using blank pages from the Cookie Dough Diary. I’m like Mary Poppins with this thing.
Sam and Zoe draw me pictures of their pet frog and fish, respectively.
Patty, their mom, returns from the help counter, looking somewhat relieved. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“Don’t mention it. We were all at our wits’ end. Trust me, if I thought lying on the floor and crying was going to help, I would’ve been right down there too.”
I tell her about sitting next to Manimal. We chat for a few minutes and exchange numbers when the woman asks if I’d ever be available to babysit.
I tilt my head from side to side. “I’m just starting a new job at Blancbourg, but once I’m settled in, I’d be happy to.”
“Good luck recovering your bags,” the woman says before leaving with her kids.
And that’s where my charm and resourcefulness end because the worker can’t locate my luggage but assures me it’ll be delivered to Blancbourg Academy as soon as possible.
“Soon as in tomorrow or soon as in—?”
“It can take anywhere between twenty-four hours and we’ve had some luggage not turn up for twenty-four months.”
“Great. Looks like I’ll be wearing a daisy dress and leopard print denim jacket to my first day as an etiquette coach.”
While waiting for a taxi outside the arrivals gate, I breathe in the fresh air, feeling thankful to be far away from Todd despite losing Heidi’s hand-me-downs.
An empty cab pulls up and as I gesture for it, a businesswoman with coordinating luggage brushes past me with purpose and gets in.
I check the incoming lane for another taxi.
Concordia is generally a friendly place.
I guess the airport is the exception. I bet Goodie would’ve shared her ride with me.
In the distance, a man built like a linebacker and with long hair gets in a sleek black car.
Last time I was here with the Ice King, we traveled in style.
Gone are those days. Now it’s just me, the last of my savings, and my luggage.
Or not. I clutch my carry-on bag in case Manimal is a purse snatcher and tries to make off with it.
But the sun is coming out. Things will get better from here. I hope.
A taxi approaches. Wouldn’t you know it? Manimal scuttles by me and gets in.
“Can I share a ride with you?” I call.
He’s about to slam the door.
I thrust my metal water bottle forward—a sacrifice I’m willing to make if he tells the driver to step on it.
When he glowers, I add, “Please?”
He scowls and then squishes over.
I just barely resist calling, Par three! If this were a golf game, I’d have won.