“Amen. Back over to you. Have you given any thought on your next professional move?”
“A little.” She traced invisible circles on the laminate countertop as the timer’s seconds ticked. “Making cotton candy at Happily Ever After Land?”
“Happily Ever After Land?” Tuesday recoiled. “Do I even want to know what that is?”
“Whatever, Grinch. It’s a cute, historic amusement park on the edge of town, like Coney Island but more charming, with a wooden roller coaster and an old-fashioned Ferris wheel. Anyway, I’ll stop complaining. I’m fine.” Wow, that sounded believably easy breezy. Guess Tuesday wasn’t the only actress in the family.
“I have no doubt.”
At least that made one of them. “I’m going to go eat dinner.”
“Wait, promise you’ll consume a food group other than Orville Redenbacher. Give peas a chance.”
“Hello? Pop-corn. Counts as a vegetable. Plus I love beans. Coffee beans.”
Tuesday waved her phone in front of her Terrier’s face, her way of ending the subject. “Tell J.K. Growling you miss her, that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
Pepper grimaced as J.K. heaved at the screen, snorting loudly through her smushed-up nose. “I’m like George Washington. I cannot tell a lie.”
“For shame.” Tuesday stuck out her tongue and clapped a hand over her dog’s ears. “Don’t listen to horrid Auntie Pepper, Sugar baby, her brains have been rotted by fake butter. She doesn’t mean it.”
I do, Pepper mouthed. “Wait! Before you go. Show me your view.”
“What view?”
“Please,” she cajoled.
“All right. All right. Here you go. It’s no Park Avenue.” Tuesday positioned the camera to catch the brick building across the street, and the alley below.
“It’s also not Kissing Court or Hopes and Dreams Way.” Pepper sighed. “Oh! A dumpster. And oh! New graffiti. What does it say?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Tuesday deadpanned.
Pepper giggled. “Home sweet home. Thanks for indulging me. Be sweet, Parakeet.”
“Take care, Polar Bear.” The screen clicked dark.
Pepper traded her phone for her e-reader with a sigh. Tuesday once quizzed her on why she still read romances. When not going to casting calls, her sister moonlighted as a kiddie birthday party princess, but scoffed at the idea of happily-ever-afters. At the time, Pepper changed the subject to her latest Netflix series addiction because the truth was tricky to articulate, even to her sister and best friend. It wasn’t because like some people assumed—she wanted her bodice ripped or to be ravished. The truth was far more subversive.
These books educated her on how to have an orgasm—life-changing in and of itself—but (possibly) more importantly, had taught her not to settle, reinforced that she deserved to be cherished, mind, body, and soul. Unlike Warren, her last boyfriend, who’d slunk his arm around her waist in the fifteen-items-or-less-checkout-line and announced, “I’m dating someone else and she asked me to choose.”
At least Pepper had already paid for the pint of vanilla fudge Häagen-Dazs. Then there was her first (and only) Tinder date with the guy who’d taken her to the movies and moaned under his breath during the steamy scenes.
The only benefit to having a dating closet full of losers was that each one got her another step closer to Mr. Right.
That’s how it worked. Hopefully.
The microwave dinged, and she rose to grab a mixing bowl. Time to eat her feelings and the niggling fear that she’d die alone, watching aGolden Girlsrerun, while clutching the paw of one of her twelve cats.
A knock came at the front door as she poured out the popcorn. Her bare toes curled against the linoleum. Couldn’t a girl stuff herself silly on artificial flavoring while finishing her book before watchingThe Princess Bridefor the six hundredth time in peace? Plus she was dressed for a self-pity party in her NYU Law hoodie paired with her comfiest yoga pants, the plum-colored ones with the hole in the thigh.
The knock came again. Three insistent raps. She cursed under her breath. Unexpected visitors ranked high on her list of least-favorite things, right below getting fired on day one. She reached for the light and paused, fingers hovering over the switch. Going dark was too obvious. Should she tiptoe to the bedroom? Pretend not to be home?
Or stop being ridiculous?Her crown might be battered, but she was still queen of this castle. Thrusting back her shoulders, she yanked down her hoodie strings and marched to the hall, tripping on a box of paperbacks. Her forehead struck the door with a bang and she yelped.
So much for dignity.
“Everything okay in there?”
