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“I . . . I don’t know what I want. I just wanted to see you. And to see how you were doing. What you’d done with your life. I thought about you. So many times. I almost contacted you, but then I couldn’t.” Why not? I was sure she had some excellent explanation. Maybe she’d been abducted. Or she joined a cult.
“I thought about you a lot,” she said again, and I couldn’t help but feel a twang of pain as I saw the regret written plainly on her face. Maybe she should have done something about it sooner? Like, an email? A Facebook message? Fucking social media had made communication easier than ever. So why now?
She sighed.
“I know you’re probably pissed at me. And I don’t blame you. I just . . . Do you think we could maybe have some coffee and talk?” I snort. I work in a fucking coffee shop.
“Oh, right,” she said when she saw my look. “Or maybe a drink? Or some pizza? I don’t know. I would really just like to catch up. Do you think we could do that?” I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell her that I’d been living without her for years and I’d been doing just fine. But that’s not what happened.
“Sure,” I said in a choked voice. I’m not sure how it happened, but it did. And then I realized that my break was over and I needed to get back to work. There were croissants that needed to be rolled and bread to be baked and cookies to decorate.
“Great,” she said, standing up and wiping her hands on her dress. As if her palms were sweaty. I hoped she was just as nervous as I was.
“So, um, here’s my number,” she said, handing me a business card from her bag. Huh. A business card. How adult. I didn’t read it as I took it from her and tucked it into my apron pocket.
“Okay. I’ll call you,” I said, my voice sounding like not my own. She gave me a little smile that seemed hopeful.
“Good. I look forward to hearing from you. And catching up.” I walked her back through the café and she lifted her hand in a little wave before she was out the door. Didn’t buy anything. Huh. Whatever.
I went back to work and Jen came over to talk to me.
“So. What was that?” she asked me, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. She was rocking some seriously gorgeous cat eyeliner and red lipstick today and had her brown hair up in the perfect messy bun.
“What was what?” I said, covering my hands with flour so I could knead some dough for sandwich bread.
“That girl that came in here. That was some major sexual tension if I do say so myself.” I stared at her.
“Are you kidding?” I shoved my fingers in the dough. I wasn’t focusing on my work. I was too stunned at what Jen had said.
“Um, no. I would never kid about something like that. Seriously, I thought you were going to jump over the counter and start making out with her.” What the fuck is she talking about?
“What?” I said, blinking a few times. Jen laughed.
“Oh, my sweet baby.” She patted my cheek and started whistling as she went back to the kitchen.
Seriously, though. What the fuck?
Two
I pulled Molly’s card out of my apron before I left work and slid it into my jeans pocket.
When I got back to my apartment, which was walking distance of the café, I fed my cat—I know I am a lesbian cliché—Pumpkin, and stripped off my clothes before heading to the shower. I had to shower immediately when I got home so I didn’t track flour everywhere. I also smelled like baked goods all the time and it could be kind of irritating when you were trying to cut down on carbs.
After my shower, I wrapped myself in my fluffiest robe and sat down on the couch with a cup of tea. The card was black with white glossy font.
Molly Madison, Social Media Marketer. And PR professional. Interesting. I turned the card over and saw a phone number as well as several social media accounts. That wasn’t what I saw her going into, but it fit. She’d always been good with people and computers, so I guess that worked. Didn’t explain what she was doing back here, though. I didn’t think there were a whole lot of job opportunities in this small town in Maine, but maybe she worked remotely?
Why was I thinking about this? It didn’t matter. We were going to meet up, catch up, and then I’d go back to never hearing from her again.
What Jen said was still bothering me. Sexual tension between me and Molly? I had no idea what she meant. I wasn’t into Molly and she wasn’t into me. We hadn’t even seen each other in years, and when we’d been friends it hadn’t been . . .
I was completely ignoring what happened at that one party. It didn’t count. “Spin the Bottle” doesn’t count.
It. Didn’t. Count.
Still, I grabbed my phone and decided to do the cowardly thing and send her a text message.
Hey, this is Daisy. I’m free tomorrow night if you want to go out.
