Chapter 13
SHAY
Two Months Later
I should’ve left work fifteen minutes ago. Normally, the store is tidied and mopped by now, but every time I refold a bath towel or fluff the pillows on the display bed, I zone out. Finding my landlord’s eviction notice pushed under my door this morning hasn’t exactly won me Salesperson of the Day.
Five times tonight, customers have had to ask if I heard their repeated questions. I’d apologize, then glaze over again.
Evicted. Me.
As I rearrange the vases on the table the way Angela likes, I catalogue the timeline of my impending doom: fourteen days’ notice, two to four weeks until a court date, then eleven days to pay up or move out. If I’m lucky, I still have seven and a half weeks to come up with the money.
This is temporary, I remind myself.
I just need to turn these evening and weekend shifts at Sass and Style into more cash by working harder for commission, and before I know it, my nine-to-five internship at Concept will be a paid designer gig. I’ll scrape together enough cash before then to keep my head above water. Hopefully.
Angela puts down her pen and rubs her eyes. Her medium-brown skin is always glowing, her dyed red hair stylish. She leans on the checkout counter and gives me her signature smile. “You don’t have to stay, Shay. I’ll cash out tonight. When you’re done tidying, you can go.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, wanting to make up for today’s shoddy performance.
If Angela wasn’t such an understanding boss, she would’ve given me hell for being late this morning and zoning out with the customers.
I’d blame my tardiness on the eviction notice, but, really, it’s all Kolton’s fault.
If I hadn’t dreamed about him (again) and woken up flushed and flustered, I wouldn’t have closed my eyes while my hand journeyed downtown.
I wouldn’t have brought myself to orgasm. Twice.
Yep, it’s the Asshole’s fault.
Yawning, Angela arches over the back of her chair. “You’re sweet, love. Really. But you deserve to get out. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Go. And get some rest. You look exhausted.”
I force a weak smile.
Purse over my shoulder, I push out the front door and lock it behind me. A block away, I lean my back on a brick building as the weight of the day settles on my shoulders. Streetcars grind by and pedestrians march, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere.
Lives moving forward. Constant motion.
Mine seems to be traveling in reverse.
I steel myself for my night ahead with Lily and Raven.
If I let it slip that my meager paycheck at Sass and Style isn’t enough to cover my rent, Raven will yell at me for not telling them sooner, and Lily will have me staying with her and Kevin before I can blink.
Or she’ll offer me money. The last thing I want is to be someone’s charity case.
I inhale deeply and—cinnamon. Man, that smells good.
Wafts of spice and coffee curl out the café door to my left, and my belly gurgles.
These days, I’m not one to skip meals, but dinner out means something has got to give.
At least it was my turn to choose tonight’s restaurant.
Kwong’s chicken lo mein won’t bleed my wallet dry, and their portions are huge.
As another person leaves the café, I glance through the door. In the length of time it takes for the door to close, I’ve mentally rearranged the décor, covering the walls with vintage metal utensils and kitchen gadgets. I hang old cheese graters from the ceiling as funky light fixtures.
Too bad the most design work I do these days consists of choosing my outfit.
I kick off the wall and hurry with the throng of commuters bustling along the sidewalk. Six blocks later, I push into a tiny eatery half filled with people bent over slurping noodles.
Raven smiles, and Lily stops biting her nails to wave me over. Lily is all styled out in a loose cream top and layered knit vest, tone on tone, three necklaces hanging to her waist.
Familiar necklaces.
I slip into the seat opposite them and nod at Lily’s leather and beaded jewelry. “Aren’t those from that high school trip to Tobermory?”
She runs her fingers down their length. “Yeah. I took some old pieces apart and mixed them up. Just fooling around.”
“It’s cool, but if you don’t toss some of these relics, your apartment will end up on an episode of Hoarders.” These days, her pack rat tendencies straddle a worrying line. Her craft room alone is on the verge of exploding.
She sticks her nail back into her mouth.
Raven pours some green tea for me. Next to the whitewashed walls, oddly decorated with kitschy cat drawings, her charcoal eyes and black wardrobe are more striking than usual. “How are things?” she asks.
I signal the waitress. “Can we order first?” If the sounds from my belly persist, people will wonder if there’s a troll below our table.
We rattle off our orders, and Raven’s about to engage me when I call the waitress back to add a side of spring rolls.
As I devour the fried noodle snacks on the table, Raven tries again. “How are things? How’s work?”
The handful of deep-fried goodness turns to sludge in my mouth.
I coax the glue down with a sip of tea. “Which job, exactly? The one where I fold towels and sheets like a big-box store’s employee of the month?
Or the one where I’ve conquered the photocopier and have finally remembered how many sugars Cruella likes in her coffee?
” I lean back and fiddle with my wooden chopsticks.
Burning the money I spent on my design diploma would’ve been less painful than watching my degree wither as I boil water, working under my least favorite associate, Maeve—a.k.a. Cruella—who treats me like I’m her personal butler.
“It’s not that bad,” Lily says. “Your internship at Concept is a stepping stone, and I love Sass and Style. Most of my apartment’s from there.” The second the words are out, she reverts to chewing on her bright blue nail polish, likely kicking herself for bringing that fiasco up.
I didn’t talk to Lily for a week after she came in and bought up half the place…the day after I told her I work on commission. Like I’m a child. Like I’m not capable of making it on my own.
Now I’m about to get evicted. So much for self-sufficiency.
Swallowing hard, I say, “I appreciate the encouragement, Lil, but it’s tough. You’ve scored a gig designing for Moondog, which I still have no idea how you snagged, and Raven finally got that school transfer she’s been after. Both of you are getting your lives together, and I’m stuck in reverse.”
Raven pffffts me. “This is just a blip. It’s only been a couple months. And if it makes you feel better, that school transfer fell through. Not that it really matters. I don’t think teaching wealthy kids in that area will be any better for me.”
Lily cringes. “Sorry, Rave. That’s too bad.” Then she pats my hand. “Things will turn around. Soon. I know it. What about your apartment? You need to invite me over so I can give you your housewarming gift.”
Yeah. That. “It’s great”—not being able to afford the rent—“I love the space”—that’s decorated à la starving student—“but it’s still a mess. I’ll have you over soon.”
My bullshit meter just blew a fuse.
God, when did I start lying to my friends?
My apartment’s great. I’m not strapped for cash.
Their success isn’t my failure. Life isn’t a competition.
So why am I so afraid to admit the extent to which mine’s stalled?
Every time I pick up the phone or open my mouth to confess my money woes, shame thickens in my throat.
Before Lily can grill me further, the waitress returns with our dinner, and I don’t breathe or speak for the next five minutes.
“How do you eat like that and not weigh a thousand pounds?” Raven asks.
I finish off my spring roll and glance down at my hips, happy with my curves since terminating my juice cleanses. “I still run. It’s the only option. Never again will I diet for a guy. Nothing is worth giving up fries and pasta.”
Lily scoops noodles into her mouth and then dabs her lips with her napkin. “Speaking of which, have you been dating?”
I love my friends. I really do. They don’t grill me or ask questions to build themselves up, or as a way to turn the conversation onto them.
They want me to succeed. Both women stare at me now, eyes twinkling, as they wait for me to dish about the nonexistent guys in my life.
I know they love me, but this game of Twenty Questions isn’t helping tonight.
“Haven’t been dating. Nothing to report. How’s Kevin?” I ask Lily—deflect, deflect. “How come he hasn’t proposed yet?”
She picks at the label on her Diet Sprite. “Things are fine.”
“That’s girl-speak for things are crap,” I say. “What’s going on?”
Raven pauses, forkful of noodles midair. “Please tell me you guys broke up.”
I glare at her. “A little tact wouldn’t kill you.” Then to Lily, “Ignore her. What’s up?”
I take another few bites of lo mein while Lily shrugs and sighs and peels her label.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Things are just…fine. Good, I guess. Yeah, they’re good.” She nods as if convincing herself. Her gaze flicks up, that twinkle still sparkling. “What about Kolton? Do you still think about him?”
Always. “Rarely.” Did it just get warmer in here?
“Even”—she lowers her voice—“the sex?”
Twenty-four/seven. “Nope.” I stretch the neckline of my top as heat crawls up my chest.
“But he’s so hot.”
That model hair, those full lips, his dark eyes that flared with hunger. “Barely remember what he looks like.” Yep, the temperature has spiked to steamy.
Raven leans on her elbows, displaying the inked birds spiraling up her skin. “You’re so full of shit.”
Apparently, there’s no hiding the blush creeping up my cheeks. “Okay. Busted. Yes, I think about Kolton. Often. But he doesn’t live here. There’s no point pursuing things.”