I didn’t ask you out, did I?The look of disgust on his face haunts me, and I cringe in mortification every time I remember how he accused me of drugging him so I could straddle him.
It shouldn’t have surprised me, then, when he got up in front of the whole town and said there was no excuse for my mediocrity to my face. That’s the Julian who hurt me all those years ago when I finally came back to high school, and that’s the one hechoosesto be, every day. So what if there’s a lovely person trapped inside, accessible only by increased dopamine activation in his nucleus accumbens from the presence of cannabinoids? Who he chooses to be matters more.
And he chooses tosuck.
“Come on.” Eve tugs my arm. “Let’s get to Stranger Drugs before the edibles hit.”
The morose mood Julian’s wasted potential put me in evaporates as soon as we park in front ofour building.
“Our building!” Eve says, a perfect echo of my own thoughts. We smile up at the red brick façade. “Ourdispensary!”
“We did it, Joe!” I hug her to my side, wishing I’d ordered a big ribbon and giant pair of scissors for the moment. Ooh, maybe for the grandopening! Where does one buy ceremonial scissors, anyways? In two thousand years, will some race of conquering aliens dig through the rubble of what was once Sparrow Nook and find my giant scissors? What will they think? How will they explain why most scissors fit our primitive human hands, but sometimes we made gigantic versions? I press my hand into my chest, empathy welling there for those little alien archaeologists. They’ll be soconfused.
Eve nudges me. “The muffin hit, didn’t it.”
My face breaks into a big, sunny grin. “Let’s get cleaning,bitch.”
“You realize that all your motivational one-liners end with the wordbitch. Not very progressive of you.”
“Let’s get progressive,bi—”
Eve drags me through the beautiful double doors as I cackle.
The morning disappears into a spirited haze of mopping, dusting, and after Graham arrives with his truck, unloading various furniture and supplies. While he’s an absolute demon at trivia, Graham’s also very strong, which is great since I’ve already tapped him to be our security guard and chief mover-of-heavy-things. The dispensary’s main room needs almost nothing—the glass display cases intended for historical artifacts are perfect for displaying our cannabis selections. The booths, old soda fountain counter, and bar stools are all perfect for socializing and enjoying Eve’s baking. We install an old commercial coffee maker Eve bought cheap off one of her Greek uncles and hang our thick, ceramic mugs with our dispensary’s logo lovingly emblazoned in red along the copper wall hooks. While I don’t drink coffee thanks to my angry colon, Eve convinced me coffee will go perfectly with her morning Wake and Bake line, so I gave in. As long as I don’t have to learn that machine, I’m fine with it.
Graham helps me hoist the antique wooden desk I scored from an estate sale onto a hand truck for my office.My office!It’s been like this all morning. Every time I touch something, the wordsMy ___!fill my brain, making mesmile in wonder.My desk. My office. My bathroom. My giant pair of scissors, I muse as I happily pressadd to cartduring a break later that morning. When you’ve waited your whole life for something to be truly yours, the simple truth of it feels like a hug, whisperingyou did it, over and over.
My dispensary. My future. My life.
I’ve just finished installing a new desktop computer for my office when Eve’s voice cuts through my concentration.
“Um, Nomi? Can you come out here?”
I break away from my new tech-baby and all the sweet, sweet spreadsheets I’m going to make and pad out to the front.
“Oh.” I startle back. There’s an officer standing in front of the door, but I don’t recognize the ruddy uniform or the patch on his chest pocket. Eve and Graham are standing motionless to the side of him, their eyes round, concerned, and aimed at me.
“Are you Nomi Wyeth?” he asks with the kind of pep that comes from loving your job.
“Yes?”
He hands over a manila envelope with my name and the dispensary’s address on front. “The Sparrow Nook Zoning Commission has received a citizen complaint regarding your business’s zoning eligibility. I’ll be performing the investigation.”
I stare at the envelope dumbly in my hands, then up at his face. The officer can’t be older than forty, but it’s difficult to tell since his face, hair, and facial hair are all the same, sandy color of old limestone. “You’re a…” I squint at the embroidered patch on his shirt, “zoning detective?”
“That’s right, Ms. Wyeth. May I ask you some questions?”
Behind him, Eve’s waving her arms wildly, mouthing, “Say no! You have rights!” She watches a lot ofLaw & Order.
“No, I have rights,” I repeat slowly. This appears to be the wrong thing to say, because the detective’s jaw tightens.
“If you want to play it that way.” A hostile sparkle gleams in his yellowish eyes. This man is jaundice personified.
“No, no, I mean—now’s not a great time, is all.” I make my tone as deferential as possible. “Can we make an appointment to talk over everything later this week?”
He sniffs, mollified. “I’d be happy to arrange a mutually convenient time with you, Ms. Wyeth.” His eyes skim over me to the platter of Eve’s baked goods with obvious interest. “In exchange for one of those scones.” His pasty lips quiver into a smile as he reaches toward the platter. I jump in front of it.
“No!Those are—” I scramble for what to say as his eyes narrow at me once more.
