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Because this is the make-or-break-it moment of playing nice with my neighbor, I went all out with the tray I’m bringing over. It holds cookies in all my flavors and half a dozen cupcakes with various frostings: my signature pink strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, cookies and cream, black and white, and peanut butter.
How could someone see this plate and not want to make nice?
Sugar and butter fix everything, after all.
I’m grateful that today is a bit less crazy than yesterday, giving me the ability to do things like taking a sip of coffee or, you know, pee.
It also gave me a few minutes to think about last night.
I was exhausted. I overreacted, letting my mind and my fear of failure fog up reality. Whether or not the landlord is a dick, and even if the reason I was able to negotiate a decent lease for myself wasn’t that I’m turning a new leaf and sticking up for myself, I still did just that.
I still stood up for myself.
I need to use that foothold and keep going, not disappear back into myself and clam up. ProjectNew Lolais still on.
That also means I need to channel Old Lola and make nice. With my customers having disappeared for a few minutes, it’s time to close up shop and be a good neighbor. He offered to talk in the morning when we met last night, and I need to put on my big girl panties and do just that. No more head in the sand and avoiding people because I’m afraid I’ll get a negative reaction.
No more safe, careful Lola. I walk the four steps until I’m standing in front of the door with the logo for Coleman Ink. It’s in some kind of elaborate old script font with thorny vines wrapping it—classy but still unique. Dark and ominous, it’s the complete opposite of my own bubblegum-pink storefront.
Immediately, I question this decision.
I should turn back.
This issoawkward.
Why am Idoingthis?
I’m about to turn around and spend my mini break in the backroom inhaling sugar and butter-filled treats as if it will coat my shame and embarrassment with some flubber when the door in front of me opens.
“New neighbor girl, right?” A woman stands in the doorway, holding it open, a thick black eyebrow raised. It’s pierced with a looped ring and she has thick pink glasses on, cat eye style with rhinestones in the corners, and a funky eyeglass chain keeping them connected to her. Straight black hair falls to her shoulders, paired with the same style of blunt bangs. There is a row of earrings up each ear, and both her arms are covered in tattoos.
“Yes. Hattie, right?” I say, unsure of how to act. I’ve met her in passing a few times but never actually had to interact with her truly.
“Are you bringing those to us?” she asks, tipping her face toward the tray in my hands.
“Uh . . . yes?”
“Killer!” Then she grabs my arm and pulls me in. “I have been dying to try your stuff, but yesterday you were so damn busy, so I figured I’d wait. I was planning to come by and buy something, but here you are!” She grabs the tray and walks toward a reception desk, plopping it there and promptly grabbing a cupcake and removing the wrapper.
“I’m Lola. I don’t know if I introduced myself when we met before,” I say, but the words come out low and distracted. Because I am distracted. My eyes are hungrily eating up the details of this room.
It’s not pretty in a conventional way, but still, it’s breathtaking.
Each wall is covered in frames of all sizes. Every frame holds a handful of different drawings, and as I walk farther into the room, I realize they’re all tattoo options. Flowers, hearts, an octopus on a sinking ship. Open books and birds and a deck of cards.
They line the walls in a flurry of colors, some all black and white, some a burst of rainbow.
“Oh, no need, I already know who you are,” Hattie says, pulling me out of my admiration. She’s chewing, a smile on her face when I look toward her.
“What?” My heartbeat is in my ears, my face starting to burn as I wonder what her—boss? Coworker? Oh God, what if he’s herboyfriend—told her about me.
Immediately, I prepare myself to tell her my side of the chaotic mess. A lifetime of damage control has taught me to act quickly. I need to tell her what happened, that it was all a terrible misunderstanding and I’d love to apologize and introduce myself properly, that—
“Mayor Turner’s daughter, right?”
Oh.
Of course.
