Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
They both looked at her, wide-eyed. She pulled a joint from behind her ear and a lighter from her cleavage and handed Veronica both.
“Go smoke this and calm down. Greta and I will check to make sure everything’s where it should be.”
Veronica and Helen drifted out back as if in a trance. At the last minute, they both reached for each other’s hands.
“They’ll be fine,” Carys assured Greta.
“Should they get stoned right before the launch?”
“Nah, it’s like one part weed and three parts lesbian herbs,” Carys said breezily.
Thirty minutes later, the bartenders had all arrived, and Veronica and Helen were back to their normal selves, emo panic having passed, and were talking a mile a minute about future, bigger launches.
“Okay, c’mere, y’all,” Helen said, gathering Veronica, Carys, and Greta at the bar. They passed out cups of lemonade. “Toast time.”
Veronica rolled her eyes but raised her glass indulgently.
“Carys, you’re the raddest housemate ever. You’ve been so supportive and you almost never complain about there being honey everywhere.”
Carys snorted.
“Greta, when you came on the scene…well, I’m not gonna lie. I thought y’all would break up in a week. You’re so sweet, and I kinda didn’t think you could hang.”
Veronica snickered into her cup, and Carys elbowed Helen in the ribs.
“But—I was about to say but. But you’re actually a total badass, and I’m so damn glad you’re part of this honey, lemonade, wax crew. Whatever. I can’t wait to see what you’ll grow next that we can incorporate into recipes.”
Greta tipped an imaginary hat and smiled at who she’d been the first time Helen had met her.
“Veronica. You’re the sister I never had.”
Veronica said, “You have a sister.” But Greta saw her dab away a tear.
“You’re the sister I should have had, and I’m so fucking excited that we’re taking all this to the next level. You’re the best. The total best.”
“Damn it,” Veronica hissed, tipping her head back so tears wouldn’t run down her face. “Okay, since we’re doing this. Helen, you’re the brother I never had—yes, yes, I do have two brothers. They both suck. Never thought I’d meet someone as up for wild shit as me. I’m so damn glad we didn’t work out, because otherwise I never would’ve gotten you as a best friend.”
“Wait, you two used to date?” Greta’s mouth dropped open.
“We went on a very ill-fated date five years ago. We were not compatible…uh…you know.” Helen made vague gestures between them that Greta assumed meant sexually.
Veronica snorted and swatted Helen’s hands away.
“Anyways, that’s history. Here’s to the future of Lagniappe motherfucking Lemonade!”
“Cheers!” they all chimed, clinking glasses—well, bumping, since the cups were cardboard.
“Knock knock,” called a voice from the door. Greta recognized Ollie from Eleventh House parties.
The launch had begun.
They’d all reached deep in their social pockets to invite every contact they had. At first, Greta had thought she wouldn’t have much to contribute since she hadn’t been in New Orleans long. But when she began to invite everyone she knew, she realized how many points of connection she had already made in her new home.
The Garden Gang had been an invaluable resource, as they had forwarded her invite far and wide. The gardeners she was interning with had also been enthusiastic to come and to spread the word. Everyone Greta worked with at the coffee shop, the folks at the community garden, people at the co-op where Greta was a regular customer, Ramona and her friends…the list went on and on.
Greta had never considered herself very social. But here she was, only six months out, and she’d created an entire network that she could call on for support. It had made her proud of herself as well as eternally grateful to the people who had been so welcoming to her.
Muriel strode into the launch in a bright red jumpsuit and a yellow straw fascinator with a red feather. She lowered large white sunglasses to pick Greta out of the crowd, then glided over to her. Greta had the distinct feeling that if she hadn’t peered over Muriel’s garden wall all those months ago, her life might be very different.
“This is wonderful, darling,” Muriel drawled. “How do you feel about it?”
Somehow, even in a loud crowd, Muriel had the ability to make you feel like it was just the two of you, sitting in her garden, and nothing else mattered.
“I can’t even believe this is my life,” Greta said. The lemonade toast (which had definitely had alcohol in it) had kicked in, and she was feeling deliciously honest. “I was such a loser when I moved here. I never would’ve believed I could be in business with my friends, have an amazing girlfriend… I can’t believe it.”
“You know, another way to say loser is someone who hasn’t bloomed yet,” Muriel said. “You’d never call a plant that had not yet put out its flower a loser.”