Heart note //Increases attractiveness to others
Base note //Osmanthus
I thought I would be awake through the night after my discovery, but I sleep so soundly I miss my alarm and have to run to work. It’s like my body is trying to give me mental space by forcing me to physically shut down. The day helps by being shockingly busy. We’re inundated with so many customers that I ask a woman as she’s checking out where she heard of us.
“This place is all over social media,” she says. “I’m not one to follow influencers or anything, but I saw it on the Kitty in the City blog, and it looked absolutely adorable.”
When I finally get a break, I check the blog site. Ana groans and slips off her shoes to wiggle her toes and looks over my shoulder. “Hey, I remember that woman. I guess she liked what she saw. God, look at her follower count.”
“Like” is an understatement. Kitty’s feed is tastefully curated andshe loves the scents, our aesthetic, and Ana’s jewelry and vintage selection. Excellent news for us.
Ana quickly reposts Kitty’s post to our social media and then DMs a thank-you to Kitty before a new wave of customers comes in. By the time we close, we have a waiting list for jewelry, I’m running low on all my scents, our online orders are swamped, and Ana and I are wiped.
Just like that, the adrenaline of working drops away and I remember all the things I’ve been trying not to.
“Man, all I want is to eat,” Ana says, moving to the back of the room, her long red dress—vintage couture, and she had a woman try to buy it off her back—swishing as she walks. “You in?”
We go to a wine bar I haven’t visited before although it’s only one street over from our shop. The place is lovely, entirely staffed by beautiful women and men in toques. We sit at a high marble counter, and I let Ana decide on the wine as I unwrap copper cutlery from the thick cloth napkin. Restaurants are always a complex source of smells, and this one has an open kitchen, adding the sizzle of butter to the sharp vetiver of the man to my right, who nervously checks his phone.
Ana puts the small paper menu aside and gives me a blissful smile. “Soft launch for the win. My mother says my ideas are too out there to work, but I knew it. Dreams do come true.”
Eager to forget what I was thinking about, I latch on to her words. How many hints has Ana dropped about how unsupportive her family is? She’s been a good friend to me, and I only think of myself.
That can change, and this time I ask.
“What do you mean about your mom?” A bowl of fresh bread arrives with flavored sage butter.
“Nothing. There’s something going on with you, though.” She takes the bread and waves it at me. “Your mom isn’t the type to leave without a goodbye.”
She’s trying to change the subject. I’m not used to pressing people, and I’m allergic to the idea of not respecting her boundaries, but Ican’t get over the sense she wants to talk. Thinking about it, I can see how Ana depended on a few throwaway comments to make me feel like I knew more about her than I did. “There is something with me,” I say, getting an idea.
“Then spill.”
“How about this.” I wait until the server puts down a bowl of smoked fish dip and another of golden potato chips. “Neither of us want to talk about stuff we probably should talk about.”
“I talk.”
“You talk selectively.”
She looks guarded, the chip hovering midair. “Okay?”
“We’re going to play a game.”
“I once played strip poker in university and only lost one sock while everyone else ended up naked,” she says. “I’m good at games.”
“That’s great, but this is like emotional strip poker.”
She makes a face. “That sounds less fun, but also far less awkward for tomorrow morning.” She reconsiders. “Potentially less. Also, why do we need to do this?”
I look at the food because I’m not comfortable enough to make eye contact and I know I’ll give up at the slightest discouragement. Being in the crowded restaurant makes this feel more intimate. “Because you say a lot of stuff that sounds like it might be good to talk about. I know you love them, but every time you say something like that about your mom or family, I haven’t followed up. But I think you might want to talk about it? Maybe? Or think you should? I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
I shut up, already regretting this but feeling like I did a good thing. If the small decisions you make every day are what makes the kind of person you are, I made the right one this time. Ana can always say no.
“I didn’t think you liked talking about stuff like this,” says Ana. “It’s hard for me to be open with you if you’re not with me. You’re not even looking at me.”
I never had to open up in the way Ana is asking for. It’s been a long time since I let myself be close to someone, but Ana makes it easy.
Part of me is alarmed, because I’ve protected myself from accidentally revealing my family secret by simply not having people to divulge it to. The rest of me almost sags in relief at having someone to talk to—really talk. Willpower gets depleted over time, and I’m as vulnerable to the idea of friendship as I am to a bag of chips after eating salad all day.
