17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Imani Boudareaux
Cool as a Cucumber in the Fridge
She hasn’t stopped shifting in her seat since I told her we were only a few minutes away.
Her fingers keep drumming against her thigh, then flattening as though she realizes, “Oh shit she can see my nerves too.” If she is this unsettled about seeing this guy, there has to be something she isn’t telling me.
The city rolls past us in a blur of brick buildings, narrow sidewalks, and early risers tugging jackets tighter against the chill.
“You alright?” I ask, glancing sideways at her. I am hoping she will give in and admit to whatever is going on.
“Yeah. I’m as cool as a cucumber in a fridge,” she says quickly, her voice a little too bright.
I freeze, my foot easing on the brake at the next red light.
“Full stop. What the hell? What is wrong with you?” I reply, eyebrows raising.
“Cool as a cucumber in a fridge? You could not be more obvious right now.” She hugs her hoodie tighter and sinks into her seat.
“Elowen, please. Did he do something to make you uncomfortable?” I press.
“No, of course not,” she says, shaking her head a little too fast.
“Then, what is it? You’re really starting to worry me, babe. I thought it was just a little crush, but you’re acting super fucking strange,” I question, keeping my tone gentler this time.
“I feel like I’ve known him for longer than ten hours. Is that not super weird? It’s really freaking me out.” She whispers.
“You hit it off. That seems like a normal reaction to me, at least,” I reply with a shrug. Poor thing is confused and doesn’t know what to do with her feelings.
“I guess,” Elowen agrees, but the way she worries on a physical level and bites the inside of her bottom lip tells me she’s still reeling.
I let the car go quiet because I don’t feel the need to push any further.
If she’s this uncomfortable talking about him, she’s probably just trying to manage the shock of an instant connection.
And connections like that could knock the wind out of anyone.
Unfortunately, I’m not speaking from experience.
I wouldn’t know a true connection if it RKO’ed me.
I have known Elowen our whole lives. I have seen her break down and rebuild more times than anyone else.
She is living proof that the trauma we endure doesn’t turn everyone cruel or indifferent.
She is headstrong, and she loves harder than anyone I know.
Her luck with men, however, has been nothing short of cursed.
Most guys she finds attractive turn out to be walking red flags with no interest in giving her what she deserves.
Chances are, this Beau guy was just being a gentleman, and her brain started throwing every emergency signal it had.
It isn’t her fault that every guy she fucks with has it out for her.
It never works. The past few years she has slowly started shutting down more and more towards men.
We turn down a narrow street lined with angled parking and clusters of café tables.
The bookstore looms a block ahead, its old brick exterior standing out from the newer storefronts.
I slide into a parallel parking spot and shift into park.
The engine ticks as it cools, the sound filling the silence between us.
I reach for my purse, but Elowen catches my wrist before I can grab it.
“If I panic and go silent, help me. Please, don’t make a scene though,” she says, her voice small.
“Of course, love,” I whisper softly. I place the pad of my index finger on the center of her nose.
“You’ve got this.” We are polar opposites, but somehow it has always worked.
We are both career driven, but when it comes to social situations, total opposites.
I prefer to hit situations head on, while Elowen prefers to go with the flow.
That’s exactly why she needs someone that dominates socially.
“How about another dose of caffeine before we hit this head-on?” I suggest as I pull back. “Maps says there’s a coffee shop right where your car is parked.”
“Sounds good,” she says with a weak smile. “I haven’t nearly reached my max amount of milligrams for today.”
We proceed to climb out of the car. The autumn air is cool but not sharp, just brisk enough to keep us moving and not frolicking outside.
I tuck the key fob back into my bag after double-checking the locks.
Yes, I know the car locks automatically, but no, I was not about to trust it without hearing the click.
The sidewalks are busy but not crowded, a mix of dog walkers, commuters, and couples clutching paper cups.
For two girls who live outside the city, it’s a nice change of scenery.
I live close to Elowen and we travel to all the same places, minus what I visit for work purposes.
Downtown is sort of out of the way for us though.
It takes around thirty minutes to get here from Lise’s house.
El’s house. Not Lise… Losing Lise was almost as bad as losing Alta.
As we approach the café, I catch sight of the infamous bookstore across the street.
Crimson & Quill’s carved wooden sign hangs above the door like something out of another era, and sure enough, the lights are on.
Elowen had been right about the outdoor signage.
I wouldn’t know this place from Adam during the night.
Beau is inevitably inside. Of course he is.
Owner and all. The open sign glows faintly in the window.
It’s exactly ten o’clock, and still no sign of the tow truck, though El’s little car is miraculously untouched and ticket-free.
Which shouldn't be the case. You can’t leave your car out here all night and not receive at least a ticket.
The bell above the café door jingles as we step inside. “Hey-ya, girlies! What can we do for ya?” a petite blonde behind the counter calls out, her voice loud enough to bounce off the chalkboard menu.
“Good morning,” I say with a polite smile. “We’re waiting on a tow truck, so we figured we’d stop in and grab some quick, but required caffeine.”
The shop is empty as far as customers are concerned, but the staff is bustling, clattering dishes, wiping down counters, and rearranging pastries in the display case.
The rush for them must’ve just ended. “Alrighty. To-go or at home?” the blonde asks brightly with a twinkle in her eyes, batting her fresh set of lashes.
“I’m sorry?” I answer, thrown off.
“That’s my bad,” she laughs. “At home, means with us. It’s a new thing we’re trying out.”
“At home, then,” I say with a chuckle, followed by rattling off our intricate orders.
The café smells like cinnamon, roasted beans, and something else, something faintly artificial like the perfume they might’ve sprayed over stale bread.
It’s cozy, but I can’t help but smirk at the “obvious lies” scent layered in with the charm.
I watch Elowen across the tiny table as we sit down, her fingers curling tightly around her mug like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the same dimension as me.
She looks normal enough, fresh-faced, hair perfectly curled and sprayed, a calm expression, but her energy is electric, thrumming with nerves she’s trying to disguise.
All this over a man. Just because she feels connected to him.
She deserves the bare minimum, and from what I have seen so far, Beau has offered more than that.
Still, she is being too calm now. Suspiciously calm compared to our car fiasco.
I have never known Elowen to keep anything from me, but this.
This was something different for and to her.
“So,” I say slowly, like a detective who already knew the answer, “you still don’t want to talk about the guy?”
Elowen’s eyes stay fixed on her cup. “What guy?” she asks, deadpan. A little too nonchalant, El.
“Beau. The one with the swoon-worthy name who handed out a chartered ride home like you were trick-or-treating in a rich neighborhood. Ring any bells?” I ask pointedly.
She sips her drink, buying time. “Not much to talk about. You got everything, I believe.” El narrows her eyes, but ultimately decides on a wink.
I narrow my eyes back at Elowen over the rim of my cup, “You do realize if I had a mysterious meet-cute with a hot bookstore owner who sent me home in a luxury car, you would already have a spreadsheet started on him,” I say.
She smiles faintly, without showing teeth.
“Probably true, I do make a wonderful spreadsheet. Dare I say, I excel,” she laughs.
Buying time with dad jokes, I see right through you, Elowen Briar.
This is all my Dad’s fault. He used to harass Elowen with dad jokes when we were younger.
Elowen inevitably picked up on his shenanigans.
“And yet here you are, acting like the whole thing was just casual.” I ignore her stalling.
“It was casual,” she stirs her coffee. “He was nice. He helped. End of story.”
“Mhm. Sure,” I say, leaning back and letting the silence stretch. She doesn’t break. She never will. Elowen is too good at walls. Why did I encourage her to become a licensed therapist?
The young girl behind the counter is eavesdropping on our conversation, but neither Elowen nor I mind. A little girl gossip never hurt anyone. Plus, maybe Beau ventures this way himself and she can put in a good word for my girl.
“Fine,” I say eventually. “Let’s talk about something safe. Like how your emotionally repressed clients are doing?” That earns me a real laugh, the kind that crinkles the corner of her eyes.
“They’re doing great,” she replies. “Two cried this week and one finally said the word dad out loud!”
“Wow.” I raise my cup in a mock toast. “Healing. I love that for you.”
“Thank you, Imani. I’m thinking of getting it embroidered on a pillow,” she jokes.
“And how many times this week did you say, ‘that sounds like a pattern,’ with your therapy voice?” I ask.
“Three,” she retorts. “Four, if you count when I said it to myself while watching a reality show.”
“God, I can’t imagine doing what you do. I would start diagnosing everyone and get fired for unsolicited insight,” I respond.
“You basically do that already. You just don’t get paid for it like I do,” she teases.
“Well, it’s not in writing. My payment is your verbal vow to our friendship.
So, that’s the difference,” I say, smugly.
The conversation drifts into work stories, neutral ground.
Very Switzerland. Exactly what she needs, obviously.
I watch as her shoulders ease. Elowen stops checking the door behind her.
“I had to deep dive into some guy's crypto investments yesterday,” I counter, wrinkling my nose.
“He tried to explain NFTs to me with a PowerPoint. In Comic Sans. That was his explanation for how he would pay for the house.”
Elowen nearly chokes on her drink, “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. He said decentralized unironically at least twelve times during our financial guidance session,” I add.
“That should be a mark against purchasing on its own, right?” she mutters.
“Right? Honestly, tax season had me fantasizing about running away to the woods and selling herbal teas. It’s the only time anyone wants to buy a home, but in the end, I am making that dollaaaaa,” I shrug and stretch against the back of the chair.
“Do it,” she replies. “I’ll refer all my burnout cases to your moss-covered cabin. I can sense a wonderfully executed money-laundering scheme in our future.”
We both laugh, and for a moment it feels like things are back to normal. Until the low rumble of a tow truck’s engine rolls down the street, cutting through our laughter. The flashing orange lights fill the café window like a warning. Elowen goes completely still at the sight.
“Well,” I say, draining the last sip of my coffee. “Looks like your car chariot has arrived.”
She stands, brushing invisible crumbs from her hoodie. “Time to go formally thank the man across the street. I think it might be best if you laid low. Go unnoticed.” she states, quietly.
I grab my purse and follow her toward the door, giving her a side-glance. “If that’s what you want. This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook though. I’m just giving you space… for now,” I warn.
She doesn’t answer my threat. But her silence says everything I need to know. The poor thing is more nervous than ever. Maybe, I thought, as I hold the cafe door open for her, I’ll just slip in and observe this interaction from afar.