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Dry Spells & Fairytales
Chloe
Across the pond
Seattle, Washington
What the hell am I doing with my life?
How can I reincarnate into someone else for a re-do?
I was twelve hours away from turning thirty years old, and I had nothing—absolutely nothing—to show for it. My credit score was far too terrible to even dream about buying a car, my apartment set the standard for the word “shithole,” and my dating life existed through my extensive collection of romance books. (And my top drawer of outdated vibrators.)
As Seattle’s morning tram coasted along the tracks, I pulled out the latest cover of Audio World—tracing the edges of my best friend Kristin’s smile. With her ‘Single at Thirty’ podcast, she was now the top female podcaster in the country, and this was her fourth cover feature this month.
Don’t compare yourself, Chloe. Don’t you dare compare…
I set it aside and pulled out another magazine, this month’s edition of Bon Apetit. Under the headline, “Meet The Owner of the Sexiest Ice Cream Shop in the Country,” my other best friend—Madison—winked at the camera.
My besties were a full year younger than me, appearing in media outlets left and right, and the only magazine cover I’d ever graced was the one my seventh-grade enemy published: Fugly Ass Bitches of Central Middle School.
As far as my accomplishments, I could list them on three fingers: One, not murdering my boss. Two, not assaulting or beheading my boss. Three, keeping the same job for over six years and…not killing my boss.
That has to count for something.
“Now approaching The Cold Hearted Creamery at Pike Place,” the tram’s speaker suddenly declared. “Please approach the doors if this is your final destination and have a great day!”
Standing, I stuffed the magazines into my purse and headed toward the doors.
When they opened, I took my time walking down the sidewalk, inhaling the sweet scent of freshly baked waffles and homemade ice cream.
Like a tourist, I snapped pictures of the pastel pink and mint chairs that stood outside the building. Then I read the neon “Try me” signs that clung to the building’s white bricks, as if I hadn’t read them a million times before.
Instead of typical titles like ‘Birthday Cake,’ ‘Rocky Road,’ or ‘Chocolate Mountain,’ Madison’s flavors boasted far more memorable names like ‘Pineapple Depressed,’ ‘Don’t Call Him Again Mint,’ and ‘Berry Best Sex I’ve Ever Had.’ There was also ‘Fuck Me Daddy (Issues),’ ‘Peaches and (Truffle) ‘Cream,’ and ‘BDS-yuMMM’ but she only showed those at night.
Snapping one last picture, I pushed the doors open, and a loud hissing sound filled the room. Then gallons of pink and gold glitter fell all over me.
What the hell?
“Happy early fucking birthdayyyy, Chloe!” Madison and Kristin screamed at the top of their lungs. “We effin loveeee you!”
Huh?I looked around the shop, noticing that my name shone in neon lights on the back wall. A huge stack of beautifully wrapped presents stood on top of the counter, and there were bright words etched onto the windows.
“You’ve accomplished so much before turning 30!
You’re practically the CEO of that publishing company and you (& everyone else) knows it! <3”
“I think she’s about to cry, Madison,” Kristin whispered. “Should we comfort her?”
“I don’t think so.” Madison shook her head. “She looks like she’s still in her ‘I’m turning thirty tomorrow and I haven’t done anything with my life’ mood. We can’t let that type of negative energy get near us.”
I laughed, and they pulled me into a long embrace.
“Thank you.” Tears pricked my eyes. “Thank you both so much.”
“You’re so welcome.” They let me go and handed me the one thing they gave me every year. A shiny silver envelope that held the first clue to an “Epic Birthday Scavenger Hunt.” A tradition my parents started before passing away, and one these two refused to let die.
“Here you go.” Kristin handed me a bright pink box. “Open mine first.”
