“Our dream is to open an Amsterdam-style coffeehouse. Not an actual American one.”
“How hard can it be? I’ve dated enough baristas. Some of it probably rubbed off on me.” A wicked smile perks up Eve’s mouth. “Other stuff did.”
“Dammit, Eve! Now’snotthe time for double entendres!”
“Come on, just for a little while until we figure out what to do. I’ll call Uncle Dimitri, see if he’s got an espresso machine he can bring over.” Eve begins idly scooping up her hair with a pair of bakery tongs and placing it over her shoulder. “Still think the crutch idea’s gold, though.”
I arch an eyebrow. MaybeIshould get high, too.
The detective exits the inventory room, and we both sit up straighter. “My investigation inside the premises is complete.” He’s holding a long-poled object with a wheel at the bottom.
“What’s that?” Eve asks, starry eyed. She loves toys.
“It’s a measuring wheel,” the detective says, pleased by her attention despite himself. “I’ll use it to count the feet between this building and establishments that serve children.” His eyes cut to mine. “Like family clinics. Afternoon, ladies.”
My stomach cramps ominously as the door closes behind him.
“Fuck.” I press my forearm against my middle, hunching over, as another surge of pain grips my insides.
Eve’s brow knits together. “Are you—”
“No!” I belt out, sliding from my chair behind the counter. “I’m not okay. Nothing’s okay! Everything I have is riding on this dispensary, which thatdetective’sabout to ruin!”
“Then we’ll appeal the decision and keep fighting.”
“With what money, Eve?” Sweat collects under my hair, on my neck, in the curve of my lower back. I have to get out of here. “I’ll be wiped out before we get a hearing date, and we’ll lose everything. All our hard work. All my savings. It’ll have been for nothing.”
“Hey. You’re not alone in this, Nomi. We’re going to figure this out.” Eve walks around the counter and wraps her arms around me, which my stomach can tolerate for about one second before I have to shake her off. Her face is hurt when I pull away, and another wave of pain crests inside me.
“I’m—sorry. I have to go.” I push through the glass doors, praying I’ll make it home in time, and knowing, no matter what Eve says, that Iamalone.
JULIAN
Eight showers later, Istillsmell the scum of New Jersey’s waterways. Somewhere on my body is a phantom patch of something mossy and unnatural, and it’s driving me insane. Or maybe it’s the memory of Nomi’s threats sliding out of her lush mouth that’s making me lose touch with reality.
She doesn’townthis town.
I’m not in anydanger.
I flick open my office blinds to glance out at the street. No Kia Souls in sight. That doesn’t mean I’m not being watched, though. I haven’t been physically harassed since the river park, but Nomi’s lackeys are still messing with me. First, it was the flyers stapled around downtown, then the nonstop prank calls. Even the Ohs descended upon me one night at Mom’s house in a cloud of competing cologne.
“Julie, seriously.” Marco’d gripped me by the shoulders. “Withdraw the complaint.”
“I’m amedical professional. Maybe that means nothing to you meatheads, but I took the Hippocratic oath and specifically swore to administer no poison when asked to do so, and guess what? Weed’spoison!”
“That’s a weird oath, man.” Aldo frowned. “They really make doctors say that?”
“If weed is poison, why’d it make you such a decent guy that night? Huh?” Marco crossed his arms over his chest. “That was the first time you’ve been nice to us since we were kids, Julie.”
“What?” I’d sputtered, feeling caught and entirely unprepared to handle their interrogation when I still smelled the river on me, still burned with anger at Lil Dom eyeing Nomi like she was a stuffed prize to win down the Shore. “That’s nottrue—”
“It’s true, bro,” Ellio said. “You’re a stone-cold dick when you’re sober. Pretty decent when you’re high, though.”
“Yeah, pretty decent,” Aldo agreed. “Everybody liked you stoned.”
And the thing is, I’d thought the same thing. At the Pot Luck I felt… I don’t know. Connected to everyone, somehow. My cousins. The townies who never left home, or who came back on purpose. Even the folks like me, who ended up back in Sparrow Nook through every fault of their own, but unlike me, were making the best of it. I felt included. Accepted. I made my cousinslaugh, and for once, it wasn’t at obnoxious Julie’s expense.Or… maybe it was. Maybe they only liked me when theycouldlaugh at me, when I was stoned and pretending to smoke beer bottles and stuffing my face with pizza. Maybe they had to see me transformed into an idiot to forget how much they resented me the rest of the time. I learned early on in life that people don’t like reminders of their own shortcomings. They transmute your success into their shame. They blameyoufor howtheyfeel instead of facing the real source of their discomfort—their decisions not to try. Not to work hard. Not to grab hold of this one life we have and shake it for everything it’s worth.
Well, that’s not my fault. And I shouldn’t have to debase myself so people like me.
