She takes her phoneand types something. “What are you doing?” I ask.
She concentrates onher phone. “Gabe … in real estate … in Texas …” she says, typing it into hersearch bar.
“No!” I say, tryingto grab for the phone, but she pulls it away.
“But you could findhim!” she protests. “You could find him and email him or something, and thensee if he really liked you. If he doesn’t, then who cares. But maybe he does.”
“No,” I say,shaking my head. “No way. I can’t contact him after the way I left.”
“How hard can it be?”she says, scrolling. Her face falls. “Oh. Well damn. The Texas real estateagents website lists over three hundred guys named Gabe and another two hundrednamed Gabriel.” She looks up at me and smiles. “Still, that won’t take too longto filter through. Most of them have pictures.”
She holds up herphone and I shove it away. “I’m not looking him up.”
“Okay, okay,” Livisays, shoving her phone into her purse. “I’ll let it go. Do you need helpcarrying your suitcase inside?”
“No,” I say with asigh. I open my truck door and then hesitate before I get out. That whole goingback to the bakery thing sounds like a bad idea now. All I really want is icecream, a soft blanket on the couch, and lots of movies I’ve seen a milliontimes. “Hey, Livi?” I ask. “Will you hang out with me for a while?”
Chapter 11
It’s like the pastversion of myself knew I’d need this day because my freezer is already filledwith ice cream. Nothing makes a day of wallowing in self-pity better than nothaving to go to the store to stock up on junk food.
Livi is a greatfriend in so many ways. For one, she’s always here to listen to me whine andvent and complain, and she’s never judgmental about it. And, possibly the bestpart about her: she doesn’t judge me for eating my feelings. It seems likeevery girl friend I’ve ever had was constantly on a diet, forever countingcalories and bitching if I wanted to bake cupcakes. Yes, baked goods are fullof fat and sugar and calories, but that’s what makes them good. That’s whatmakes people happy. It’s literally my entire life’s work—baking to make peoplehappy.
I know I’moverweight. I know I have too much junk in the trunk, and that’s probably alsowhy I don’t get many boyfriends. But I really don’t care. I’m happy with mybody and my life and besides, some men think curves are attractive.
Okay, Alexa.Time to change the subject. Now that I’m thinking about curves, I’m thinkingabout Gabe. Ugh! I wince and take a deep breath, grateful that Livi iscurrently fighting with a two-liter bottle of root beer and doesn’t see me.
“Why is this sohard?” she asks, turning around with a grimace on her face. “It’s justplastic!”
I laugh and takethe bottle from her, and try to crack open the lid. It’s stuck on there prettytightly, but eventually I get it open. Livi crosses her arms and pouts. “I needto workout more because it’s embarrassing to be this weak.”
“Maybe it’s allthose fifty pound bags of sugar and flour I haul around at the bakery,” I saywith a chuckle. “It makes me Wonder Woman strong.”
I scoop vanilla icecream into large cups and Livi pours the root beer over them, and then we takeour root beer floats over to my couch, where I’ve already laid out anassortment of my softest blankets. My couch is L-shaped, and Livi and I eachtake an arm rest to lean against while our feet face each other in the cornerof the couch. It’s the perfect couch for relaxing, or wallowing in self-pity,and I’m excited to get started.
We find some sappychick flicks on TV and refill our floats twice. My stomach hurts from all ofthe sugar, but I don’t even care. This is the kind of girl time I needed when Iasked Livi to stay with me. We’re chatting and making fun of the movie andhaving a good time. No boy talk is allowed, and we’re doing a good job of stickingto that unspoken rule.
I don’t even feelbad about keeping the bakery closed. I’d thought I would be nervous andstressed out knowing I’m losing money on sales, but it’s okay. Sometimes youjust need a little self-care, and right now my sad heart needs mending.
I can’t exactly sayI have abrokenheart because I onlyknew the guy for one day. But it’s definitely a sad heart. It’s a littlebruised like an old apple, but unlike fruit, I know I can bounce back. I canheal and move on.
Maybe this whole ordealjust had to happen to awaken something in me. I’ve spent so many years focusingon my business and letting my dating life fall by the wayside. Maybe I justneeded to be reminded that dating is an option and that I should do it.
Livi and I watch afew movies, and soon it’s after six in the evening and Mason’s calling her.
“I should probablyanswer it,” Livi says, giving me an apologetic look. “Just so he knows I’m safeand with you, or else he’ll worry.”
I wave my hand.“Girl, answer your boyfriend’s call. I don’t mind, really.”
She gives me asmile that’s a little sad, like she feels guilty about it, but she answers thephone. “Hey, babe,” she says. “Oh, not much, just watching movies with Alexa.”
Her eyes widen.“Uh,” she says, looking up at me. “Yeah, she’s home.”
“I’m so sorry!” shewhispers, her hand covering the phone. “I forgot we didn’t tell him you camehome early.”
I shrug. It’s notlike he wouldn’t have found out eventually, when he didn’t have to pick me upfrom the airport tomorrow. “Tell him I didn’t feel well.”
“She didn’t feelwell,” Livi says into the phone. “Yeah, I got her. The shop is closed. It’s nobig deal,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Your cousin is totally fine. Ipromise.”
