She means well deep, down inside, but she has been almost relentless since she told me her feelings. She went from harboring secret feelings, to reminding me every chance that she gets. It’s almost creepy and has definitely killed our weakened friendship.
I ignore yet another text from Emma as I move the food from to-go boxes to plates. She’s still oscillating between asking me nicely about Celeste to demanding that I tell her. I’ve ignored every text except for the first. Once I realized she was being unreasonable, I’d stopped responding. Three texts in five minutes later, I threaten to block her if she doesn’t calm down. She nor Wes will kill my last hours with Celeste.
I’m tip-toeing up the stairs while balancing everything on the bed tray when I hear Celeste call my name. The concern in her voice makes me sad. She’s scared to be alone even with Wes not knowing her location.
“I’m here, honey.”
The endearment is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I keep a straight face like it’s natural to call her ‘honey.’ Celeste is sitting up in the bed, with wide-eyes filled with worry, the sun shining through her wild hair, and her breasts are on full display. I ignore how my body reacts; she needs to eat.
“I went and picked up breakfast,” I announce as I put the tray in front of her.
Her eyes light up at the sight of the food. I know she is hungry. Her stomach growls in agreement as she eyes the chocolate chip and banana waffles, cheesy eggs, bacon, pan sausage, and grits. She licks her lips and rubs her hands together.
“Where’s yours?” she jokes with a sly grin.
“Very funny. Wait. I have something else.” I return a few minutes later and put the orange juice on the tray. I also have another food item that wouldn’t fit on the tray. “I remember you expressing your desire to try this.”
I open the container to reveal the fluffiest, most buttery biscuits ever covered in the tastiest sausage gravy I’ve ever had. My stomach growls during the big reveal because I’ve uncovered my favorite meal.
Celeste’s eyes grow big with wonder. “Ohh! Gimmie! Gimmie!”
“Gimmie?” I question with a laugh. “I have to eat something, too.”
Celeste ignores me and dips her spoon into the container, liberates a piece, and moans when it enters her mouth. Her eyes roll back.
“So good.”
I ignore that as well. Now is not the time to get worked up. I choose to focus on something not as sexy as her moaning over good food.
“Since both of my plans get you money, what do you plan to do with it?”
“Finish my degree,” she answers around a bite of waffle. She considers her other options as she chews. “Both agreements allow me to pay off any extra bills my parents have due to moving so abruptly. If I get the higher amount, I’ll buy them a house and move us as far away from the Chesterfields as humanly possible.”
I fight against the punch of sadness I feel because of her statement. The farther she moves from them, the farther she moves from me.
“If I get the lower amount, I’ll save it until I decide on a career. I want to help people; I’m leaning toward looking into being a social worker.”
“You will see heartbreaking and depressing cases, and you’ll be overworked. Also, some people work the system so well it’s hard to spot the liar.”
“Oh.”
Celeste looks down at her food and eats in silence for a beat. My chewing slows when I realize she’s discouraged.
“Celeste, I’m not shooting down your plans. As someone working in the legal system, I’m just giving you the cons. That’s all.”
Her nod is faint as she continues to avoid my gaze. I put my fork down and grab her hand.
“Look at me,” I implore as I lean closer. When her eyes meet mine, I tell her the God’s honest truth. “I would never shit on your dreams—ever. If you feel social work is your calling, then go for it. I just want you to have all the sides…you know, consider all angles. Okay?”
Pressure eases off my chest when she smiles at me again.
“I would not go as far as to say it’s ‘my calling.’ I do want to help people. Maybe after I finish my psychology degree, I’ll open a center to assist domestic violence victims. Most of the time, people stay in an impossible situation due to fear—sometimes of the person and other times they’re unsure if they can make their own way.”
The light is back in her eyes, and she becomes more excited as she speaks. My excitement grows with her. I think she just found her niche.
“It could be a multi-service program. I could help people regain their confidence and self-worth. Then teach them how to enroll in a trade program or college so they can set themselves up with careers. I could network with professionals that could help them along the way…” She starts ticking things off with her fingers. “I could have someone come teach self-defense on certain days, people of different trades to provide lessons or skill enhancement workshops, and monthly meetings where they can get free or discounted legal advice—”
“I’d do it bi-weekly if I get to spend time with the founder.”
