Page 30 of A Taste of Vanilla

“Not me!” Oliver calls.

“I brought him a croissant,” I sniffle.

“I know.”

“I was apologizing.”

“You never told me what you were apologizing for.”

I take a deep breath, hating the fact that I’m letting Grant’s voice slither into my brain. “I showed him sketches for a cookie line I want to try. Fantasy maps. I was icing sugar cookies the other day and thought they would be fun. Maybe we can even have a D&D night at Oliver’s?—”

“No,” Oliver grumbles, cutting me off.

I continue on. “They had little kingdoms. Rivers and castles and mountain ranges. I thought they’d be really cute. Fun. Something for nerdy people who want dessert to taste expensive, you know?”

“They sound amazing,” she praises.

My voice drops. “He called them adorable.”

Marley inhales.

I laugh without humor. “Right?”

“Adorable in a good way or a condescending way?”

“Like he wanted to pat me on the head and buy me a far less embarrassing hobby. I got upset, and he said I was making it bigger than it needed to be. So this morning I made him an apology croissant.”

Marley is silent for so long that I look down and start picking at my cardigan.

She sighs. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

I mumble.

“You making something beautiful for someone who made you feel small does not make you stupid.”

My eyes brim with tears.

“It makes you hopeful. And he was lucky to be loved by someone with so much hope.”

I press my fist to my mouth in an attempt to keep myself calm, but it doesn’t work. The sound that leaves me is not pretty.

Marley stays on the phone through it all. She doesn’t hush me, or tell me to breathe through it.

She doesn’t try to patch the hole inside of me with motivational quotes or even threats. I know they’ll come later. She just stays there, on the other end of the phone as they draw nearer, breathing as I cry near exit twenty-five with my hazards blinking like a tiny roadside nervous breakdown.

The dark truck pulls onto the shoulder behind me, and I lift my head.

Oliver’s truck. Big, navy blue, and old enough to make concerning noises and yet it’s somehow always maintained with the kind of care that Oliver pretends not to give to anything.

The hazard lights come on, and the driver’s door opens.

Oliver gets out first, his black jeans ripped at the knees and his dark t-shirt wrinkled under his open flannel, despite it being warm enough outside to make the air look just a little blurry. His hair is messy, like he ran his hands through it the entire drive, and his expression is exactly what I expected it to be. Grim and irritated.

Marley jumps out of the passenger side a second later. She’s shorter than me, with dark hair twisted up in a claw clip and sunglasses pushed to the top of her head. She wears cutoffs with a faded red tank, and the look of someone who’s more than ready to ruin someone’s entire bloodline.

She knocks on the window once, and I unlock the car.Opening the door, she folds herself inside before I can say a word.

For a second, she looks at me.