Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Oh God, one true love? I was getting sappy and that meant I was really in trouble.
The pizza arrived, I cried over a fucking dog commercial, because it was just that kind of day, and then in the afternoon there was a knock at the door.
Huh. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Andy could be, since he sometimes had friends over, but he was always good about letting me know ahead of time and besides, he’d been gone all day. Spent the night at the apartment of the girl he picked up the night before, and then went to play football with friends in the park, now they were doing some kind of movie marathon. I was just glad he was texting me periodically so that I knew he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.
I didn’t think the person knocking could be Michael, but… maybe?
My heart fluttered with stupid hope anyway. Maybe things were turning around, impossible as it seemed. Or maybe he just wanted to apologize for the harsh words we’d exchanged two weeks ago.
I knew that I regretted them. Even though what I had said was true and I knew, in hindsight, that what Michael said was true, it had all still hurt. But I didn’t know how to apologize, or at least how to start. And there never seemed to be a right time. I was busy in the kitchen constantly and Michael was making himself scarce… either out of anger, or guilt, or shame, or some combination, who even knew anymore. I had thought I could read his mind after so many years paying such careful attention to him but it was apparent that I couldn’t. That I’d been a fool.
“Coming,” I called. There was no time to clean up the apartment and make it look nice and hey, if it was Michael, he’d see evidence that I really was feeling like shit about this whole thing. Maybe I could finally find the right words to say that I was sorry.
I opened the door…
It wasn’t Michael.
Brooke stood there, two pints of Ben & Jerrys in hand. “I couldn’t remember if you liked Phish Food or Chocolate Devotion better, so I got both and I’ll just take the one you don’t want.”
Her smile was so gentle and knowing, plus the ice cream… “How’d you know I was having a bad day?”
“Best friend radar, duh.” I opened the door further so that she could enter. “Oh, and uh, your brother and my dad both texted me. Dad said things were going bad at the restaurant and that this was your day off and then Andy said that you’d been weirdly quiet lately and down on yourself, so I thought, hey, ice cream!”
To my own horror, I burst into tears. Brooke immediately set the ice cream down and pulled me into a hug. “Oh my God, Stevie! Honey! Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”
I don’t usually cry much, but especially not like this. Culinary school is three years of verbal abuse and it gets fucking tense in kitchens. You have to be able to let shit slide off your back, because when the head chef is yelling profanities at you and insulting your mother, it’s not really personal. Tempers just get really high.
And like hell was I going to be the girl among all the guys who cried. Fuck that shit.
Brooke led me over to the couch, and took my hands. “This is about that awful review, isn’t it? Dad tried to hide it from me but the restaurant was doing so well and then things went downhill, and… well… I might not be in the restaurant business but I’ve been a hostess and sort of office assistant there for years, and I grew up listening to Theo and Mom and my dad. I know that when things turn around this quickly it’s a bad review. It wasn’t hard to find it.”
“Oh great, it’s not hard to find, so the entire fucking internet can see it.”
“Honey, I didn’t mean it like that! Do you want me to call your mom?”
“Fuck, no, don’t!” I snatched the phone away from her and quickly shoved it under the couch cushions. My parents were so proud of me, the last thing I wanted was for them to hear about this. Especially since they had appreciated my loyalty but hadn’t understood why I was going to work with Michael instead of under some prestigious chef elsewhere.
I was already feeling fragile enough. I didn’t want to deal with my parents’ well-meaning confusion and suggestions for problem-solving. I just wanted to lounge around and let myself feel like shit.
Brooke nodded. “Okay, I understand. It’s okay.”
I sniffled, feeling pathetic, and reached for the tissues. “Thanks, hon.”
“No problem. What else are best friends for, okay? Now, dump it all on me.”