CHAPTER NINE
“Black pants that show off all the bootylicious stuff I’ve got going on? Or red skirt that hits mid-thigh, paired with funky tights?”
Marisol stands in front of me wearing nothing but a sheer pink camisole and underwear—thankfully a pair of bikinis so I don’t get an eyeful of her ‘bootylicious stuff’. She holds black trousers in one hand and a red skirt in the other, shifting them up and down as if she’s literally weighing her options.
“I need more details,” I tell her, setting down my pen to give her my full attention. It’s the first Saturday in October and, after working most of the day, I’m now camped out on my living room floor with papers, notebooks, and pens scattered around me. I had planned to stay at the café a while longer until Marisol convinced me it was time to give Cami and Naveed more responsibility and let them handle the evening shift and closing, with us available by phone if needed.
It’s not like I’m present at Cravings twenty-four-seven, but since we opened nearly four months ago, one or both of us have been there for opening and closing. I wonder if this is how mothers feel when they leave their babies with a baby-sitter for the first time.
“We’re seeing a show at the playhouse and then having a late dinner,” Marisol says.
“Okay, so which of those is most comfortable to sit in for a few hours?”
She eyes the pants and skirt with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Neither,” she says after a minute. “I think I’ll wear a dress instead. That way there’s no waistband pressing into me for hours. This is why I come to you for help!” With a cheeky air kiss in my direction, she whirls around and disappears into my bedroom.
“Glad I could be of assistance,” I say, even though she can’t hear me. Marisol has way more fashion sense—and confidence—than I do, and yet for some reason she’s always come to me for advice. I’ve always longed for a friend I could share clothes with, but despite the fact we’re both thick through the butt and hips, my thickness is spread out over the rest of me too.
Smiling to myself at the sound of Marisol’s quiet singing from my bedroom, I pick up my phone. No new texts, no missed calls. I promised Marisol I wouldn’t phone or message Naveed or Cami to check in. Thankfully, Cami understands my desire to be what she calls hands-on—and what I call anxiety-riddled—and she assured me she’d update me throughout the evening and let me know when she had locked up and headed for home.
There’s no use returning to my work plans until Marisol leaves for her date, so I open the photo gallery on my phone and swipe through some of the pics from last weekend’s Fall Festival. Jasper was in charge of taking photographic evidence for the scavenger hunt—which we won—but that didn’t stop me from snapping shots of the beautiful early-autumn day, some of the food we ate, and our friends.
My favorite shot is one Gwen took of Jasper and me after our winning dinner at Luigi’s. With the eight of us crammed around a table, Jasper and I brushed shoulders and knocked hands throughout dinner. When Gwen went to take the picture, I instinctively leaned closer to Jasper. In the picture, we’re still wearing our Fall Festival hats, and my smile looks borderline giddy, likely because Jasper had just surprised me by shifting even closer and sliding his arm across my back. The best part of the picture, though? Jasper is actually smiling. It’s small, but it’s enough to light his eyes and make tiny crinkles form in the skin around them.
When Gwen sent the picture to me later that night, her accompanying text said, ‘You two look like a couple’ with a bunch of heart-eye emojis.
“How’s this?” Marisol asks, emerging from my room wearing a form-fitting burgundy sweater dress with a loose belt that accentuates her waist.
“Gorgeous.” I make a spinning motion with my finger. She obliges, turning in a slow circle and then striking several exaggerated poses that make me laugh. “Who are you going out with anyway? Diana?”
Marisol waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, we stopped seeing each other a few weeks ago. She wanted to get serious, but I wasn’t feeling it. Tonight’s date is with Ted, that cute ginger guy who comes into the café every few days. He kept dancing around asking me out, so I finally asked him last week.”
“Good for you. I’m sure you guys will have a great time.”
Not only do I wish I had Marisol’s confidence, I also wish I could be as laissez-faire as she is about dating and love. Marisol has a strong belief love will find her at the right time and until then she wants to have fun. She dates a lot, doesn’t get attached, doesn’t seem afraid of getting hurt. There are times when I’m envious of her attitude and other times when I feel sad for her that she’s never experienced anything deeper than dating or short relationships, especially since I know she has so much love to give. To each their own, though. At least she’s not afraid to take chances, and she doesn’t let her own history affect her life the way I do.
Marisol eyes the array of notebooks and colored pens spread out on the floor in front of me. “You’re missing the point of a night off by continuing to work, you know.”
“This doesn’t count,” I say, waving a hand toward the closest open notebook. “I enjoy coming up with plans and dreaming up unique ideas for the café, and I haven’t had much time to do any of this lately. If it makes you feel any better, I promise to spend the latter part of the evening vegging in front of the TV.”
She gives me an indulgent smile. “Okay.” She inhales deeply, her gaze trained on me with an inscrutable look. As she blows out the breath, she steps over my mess and perches on the edge of the couch, patting the seat next to her.
I lift myself from the floor onto the couch, wariness tickling my senses as I shift to face her. “What’s up? Don’t you have to leave soon to meet Ted?”
She waves me off and takes one of my hands in both of hers, setting them on her lap. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yes…” I say slowly.
“Because I do. So just know I’m saying this from a place of love.” When she pauses to take another deep breath, my wariness turns to full-blown anxiety, causing my whole body to go cold and then tingle with prickly warmth. I’m not sure what my face is doing because I can’t currently feel it, but Marisol’s eyes go wide. She releases my hand and scoots closer, throwing her arms around me. “I didn’t mean to freak you out! It’s nothing bad, I promise. I should know better than to start a conversation like that.”
“Yes, you should,” I say through shaky laughter.
She sits back and picks up my hand again, raising it to her lips and kissing my knuckles. “Okay, let me try that again. I know Cravings is your passion project. It’s mine too and I couldn’t be happier or prouder of everything we’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time. Most people don’t even stay friends past high school, let alone live out the seemingly impossible dreams they cooked up together as kids.”
“Itispretty amazing.” My voice is still quivery even though my skin has stopped tingling. My anxious brain went straight to thoughts of Marisol telling me she wasn’t content with our arrangement or I was doing something wrong or any other number of dire scenarios.
“We both know the first year is make-or-break-it time, and new business owners usually have to work like mad to keep things afloat and keep track of all the moving pieces,” she says. “But I think we can agree we’re doing better than expected. It helps that there are two of us and we each have our own strengths.”
“Right.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this.
