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“That’s nothing for true love.” She accepts the granola bar and peels back the package.
I fiddle with my noodles. They’re getting cold. “One of my sisters lives in Adamsville. It’s on the outskirts of Atlanta.”
Cindy’s painted-on eyebrows lift. “So you should go visit your sister.”
Should I? Tillie has already dropped the bombshell that she’s moving there. Maybe the two of us could make a trip down. Soon.
“You know what? I think I might.”
Cindy aims the granola bar at me. “Don’t wait for good things to manifest. Make them happen. You taught me that.”
It’s always funny when one of my newfound positivity mantras is pushed back at me. But she’s right.
Janet pokes her head in the break room. “I’ve got a customer in the lobby and one just pulled up to the drive-through. I need help.”
I push back my chair. “I got this,” I tell Cindy. “You eat.”
Cindy nods. “I’ll be out there in a minute.”
I’m about to leave when she stops me with a “Hey.”
I turn back around.
“Do you remember that reorganization I told you about? How the bank is absorbing another regional bank?”
“Sure.”
“We’ll have some changes. Good ones. We’ll get another teller.”
That’s good news. “More help is always great.”
She nods. “Don’t tell Janet yet. I’m not sure how the titles are going to shake out.”
“Mum’s the word.” I push through the door.
Interesting. Another new employee will help when we take breaks, for sure. I return to my post, but beyond what Cindy said about getting a new coworker, I think about her suggestion to visit my sister. It’ll put me within reasonable distance of Drew.
I just might do that.
Tillie is working tonight, so I stare at my phone while I heat up my second cup of Good Noodles for the day. Should I call him? Text him? Email? How do I reach out?
Dang. This is harder than usual to figure out.
I sit at the table with my Styrofoam cup. Steam rises from the noodles, and I breathe it in. A billion rules I’ve picked up along the way compete in my head. How women should act when dating. How men should respond. Who takes the lead. Who waits. How long between contact.
I need to write my own rules. Manifest the future I want, like Cindy reminded me to do.
And I want Drew. At least to talk to him.
So I text him.
The cat is always safe.
Me:How’s baby Sasha today?
I glance at the clock. It’s eight, earlier than when we talked yesterday. His clinic closes at five. I checked the hours. But I know he probably stays late. That’s just who Drew is.
It takes a moment, but I get a text back with a new picture. Sasha sits on the bedspread I remember from the first image.
