Mid-lick, she freezes, her eyes snapping to mine, and slowly lowers her hand. “Do you want a sounding board or a solution?”
It’s our go-to question when one of us has something we need to get off our chest. She’s asking whether she should listen and let me get it all out, only offering commiseration or congratulations, or give me advice to find a way out of my predicament
“If there was a solution, I’d have found it by now,” I admit, still not looking up. “I’ve already considered other banks or cosigners or whatever else you’d suggest. I just need to be mad about it for a little while.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her expression full of sympathy, then nods. “Okay. Be mad.” She takes another bite of cinnamon roll, speaking around it. “Want me to be mad with you or just sit here?”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “You can be mad with me.”
“Good. Because fuck that bank.” She points her cinnamon roll at me for emphasis. “You would’ve paid them back. You’re annoyingly responsible about money.”
A huff escapes me. “Apparently not responsible enough.”
“No, you don’t haveenoughmoney. That’s different.” She leans against the counter, studying me over the rim of her coffee cup as she takes a sip. “How much does this affect your plans?”
“It means I’m stuck doing orders out of my apartment for the foreseeable future.” I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but it’s pointless. I sigh. “And I’ll have to keep turning downorders because I physically can’t produce enough with limited space.”
“Fuck, Kenn.” She’s quiet for a moment, tearing off another piece of her cinnamon roll. “How long until you could reapply? Or save up on your own?”
“Without the loan?” I do the math in my head for the thousandth time, once again disappointed by the number. “It’s going to be a while.”
Goose sits beside my feet and brushes up against me like he knows I could use the comfort.
I scratch his head with my free hand. “It’s not the end of the world, but it’s one more thing that’s not working out.”
“Yeah.” Her voice is softer now. “I know you don’t want advice?—”
With a breath in, I give her a sharp look.
She holds up a hand. “I’m just saying. If you change your mind, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly. The truth is, acknowledging that I’m drowning when everyone else seems to have their shit together is hard enough as it is.
“Anytime.” She picks up her coffee and takes a small sip. “Now tell me about dinner with Cameron. I’ve been dying to ask.
I set my cup down on the counter and meet her eyes. “It wasugh.”
Nose scrunched, she tilts her head. “That bad, huh? I know he’s not the easiest guy to get along with, but you’ve also had a one-sided beef with him since you thought he said your raspberry whipped mascarpone cake was dry.”
“Someone told me he said that, and I got over it once Sophie confirmed he’s celiac and couldn’t have tried the cake,” I defend. Yes, Cameron was on my shit list for a short while, but that was forever ago. “And it’s notughbecause it was bad, it’sughbecause it was surprisingly nice.”
Sure, Cameron’s not super chatty, but when he does speak, what he has to say is worth listening to. And yes, he glares a lot, but it’s not like I’m the one who’ll have to pay for the Botox he’ll need to fix his frown lines in a few years.
“And…” Maya probes, as if my declaration that it was nice isn’t enough of an issue to warrant anugh.
“And at the end of the night, I asked if he wanted to come up and he said no.” The admission drips with my undisguised disappointment. “It was awkward to say the least, so I quickly said good night and went inside.”
Cinnamon roll in hand, she points at me again. “We know his ex gave him serious baggage.”
“I didn’t invite him up for a continued discussion about the socioeconomic implications of reality television.” I sag into the counter. “I invited him up so I could trace his tattoos with my tongue.”
She snorts coffee through her nose, coughing and laughing simultaneously. “Jesus. Warn a girl before you say things like that. And after the David fiasco from last year, didn’t we decide that theReal Housewivesare second date conversation material?”
Fucking David the Defender. He’s on my shit list, too. “First, this wasn’t a date, and second, he actually engaged in my points rather than just dismissing them.”
“Oh,” she chirps. “That’s good. Better than going on a tangent about why off-Broadway shows should have a special category at the Tony’s and…” Maya notes my expression and trails off. “You talked about that, too, didn’t you?”
I take a quick sip of my coffee, burning my tongue in the process. “Of course I did. Off-Broadway theatre is vital to the New York theatre ecosystem. It’s where innovative work is developed.”
