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One
“Hello, Daisy Grace,” she said. Normally, my name doesn’t make me into a clumsy fool, but that voice did. The measuring cup full of milk slipped from my fingers and splattered all over the floor of the bakery.
“Shit,” I said under my breath, grabbing a towel to clean it up. I couldn’t turn. Not yet.
“Oh, sorry about that,” she said, and I still couldn’t look at her. How long had it been? She’d moved away just before high school started, so that was . . . more years than I felt like doing the math on as I tried not to cry over spilled milk.
“It’s fine,” I said to the floor as I mopped up the rest of the milk. It was on my shoes too. Great. Now I’m going to have to wash them. Not like they don’t get covered in flour on a daily basis, but having shoes that smell of old milk wasn’t something I wanted.
I finally stood and turned. There she was. Molly Madison. My childhood BFF who was now a twenty-two-year-old woman standing in front of me.
“Hey,” she said when my eyes made it from her sandal-clad feet—toes painted a cute mint green—to her black maxi dress and up to her face. A face I had stared at during summers at the beach and winters during sleepovers, watching the moonlight move across it. She was the same. Almost exactly the same.
“Hey,” I said, feeling like all the oxygen I’d been saving in my lungs had deserted me. Her eyes were still blue, her hair was still dark with subtle highlights of red. Her cheeks were still round and high, even more so when she smiled. Like she was doing now. But it was a trembling smile. A smile I hadn’t seen in so long.
“Daisy!” Jen, one of my bosses called. Her wife, Sal was the other half of the duo. Jen was always the more stern of the two, so when she said my name like that, I knew she meant business.
“Yeah?” I asked, turning back toward the kitchen where she was putting together sandwiches for an order.
“You okay in there?” I locked eyes with her. She must have seen my milktastrophe and she knew me well enough to know when I was rattled. Like right now.
“Sure, fine,” I said, but I wasn’t convincing anyone.
“Okay. Just remember that we have to get those orders started tonight so we have them for this weekend.” Right. I totally forgot. In addition to being Violet Hill Café, we also sometimes hosted events, including a birthday party this weekend for one of our favorite customers.
I nodded at her and then she finished the sandwich and shoved it on the counter for one of the servers to pick up and take to a customer.
“Why don’t you take your fifteen now?” she called back to me, her eyes flicking between me and Molly.
“Oh,” I said. I looked over at Molly and she was still staring at me. I could only imagine how much flour and other baking supplies I had on my face, and my hair was definitely falling from its clip. I’d recently gotten it cut and it wasn’t quite long enough to stay up all the time. I was also still getting used to the undercut on one side. Molly’s eyes had raked across it and I wondered what she thought. I wondered a lot of things actually. Namely, what the fuck was she doing here?
“Sure,” I said. “Uh, give me a sec?” I held up my milk and flour covered hands to Molly and she nodded.
“No problem.” I quickly scrubbed off the worst and hoped my hair was arranged. She was still within my sightline, so I couldn’t exactly fix myself without her seeing. And I didn’t want her seeing me doing that.
“Um, why don’t you come around the back?” I asked, pointing to the door. Violet Hill was a wide-open space, punctuated with shabby tables, chairs, and couches. A comfortable place that looked like it had been decorated with only yard sale finds. Which it had been. The bakery was only separated from everything else by a half-wall that had my sinks and supplies, with the ovens and shelves on the wall behind me. At first, it was a bit unnerving knowing that the customers could see me while I was working all day, but I got used to it.
I ushered Molly out the back door and into the little courtyard that most of the other employees used as a gossip-slash-smoking area. A few rusty café tables and lawn chairs were strewn about. I took a chair and Molly sat on one as well.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you moved to Chicago.” Well. That wasn’t exactly what I wanted my opening line to be, but whatever.
She shrugged one shoulder.
“Moved back. Wanted a change. So. Here I am.” She folded her hands and looked down at them. I was still having problems processing this.
“Oh,” I said. I sounded like I didn’t know another word.
“I know it’s been a long time, but I heard that you worked here so . . .” She spread her hands and shrugged again. “I thought it would be nice to see you and catch up.” Catch up. Yeah, I’m sure we can catch up the almost nine years that we haven’t seen each other.
“You said you were going to write. Or call. Or email.” She’d promised. And then she didn’t. I’d tried again and again and figured my best friend had just found a new best friend. Or maybe it had to do with that party at Elizabeth Walker’s house. What happened that night shoved itself to the forefront of my brain.
“I know. I’m so sorry. Things were just . . .” she trailed off and then shook her head. “There’s no excuse for it, really. I’m sorry. I bailed on you. Completely.” I crossed my arms.
“Yeah, you did. So what do you want from me? Forgiveness? From so many years ago?” She opened her mouth to respond and then shut it.
“You look really good, by the way.” Well, that was out of left field. She looked good, too. Clearly, she had filled out more since I’d seen her last because she was working that maxi dress. I had to tell myself not to stare at her chest. She wasn’t into girls.
“So do you,” I said reluctantly, wiping some sweat from my upper lip. It was cooler out here than in the bakery, so I was going to enjoy the breeze and the palpable tension.
