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“You promised me you’d babysit.”
I have a vague recollection of agreeing to do this. But wasn’t it for Sunday? Shit. Yesterday was Sunday.
“I’m sorry.” My apology is genuine. “I got a little caught up in everything that’s been happening lately, and I completely forgot.”
“I was counting on you.” The angry bump in her brow softens to an expression I’m not used to seeing on her. “I had a really important meeting last night, and I had to switch it up and do everything virtually, and it’s hard to look professional when you have a two-year-old in the background and she’s not wearing pants.”
“A meeting? For what? You don’t have a job.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve fucked up big-time. If I was getting the laser eyes before, I am getting death rays now.
“I mean, besides raising your three beautiful children.” I attempt to backtrack. “That’s like having two jobs.”
Kiersten continues to glare, then slowly reaches for my latte on the counter, lifts it to her lips, and takes a long, drawn-out sip.
Finally, she sets it down. “It’s like havingthreejobs. And it doesn’t matter what I was doing. It was important to me, and you bailed.”
I know. And I hate that I’ve let her down.
“I’m sorry, Kierst. Really, I am. It was a jerk move. I am a terrible human. Can I make it up to you?”
She huffs loud enough to communicate she’s still annoyed but shakes her head.
“You’re not a terrible human, just an occasionally inconsiderate one, and it’s fine.” Her words suggest forgiveness, but I’m not entirely convinced.
She gives me an obvious up-and-down. “If you’re going to stand me up, at least tell me you’re well sexed. The fact that you’re walking around like you rode a horse all weekend makes me think it was a good one?”
I open my mouth to tell her all of the wild and wonderful things that have happened since discovering my best friend has an incredible penis, but I’m momentarily halted when the bell above my front door chimes, and a new but familiar customer walks through.
“Sunny, hi.”
She’s dressed in yoga wear but looks like she’s going to and not coming from class. Behind her is another woman, also looking like she’s ready for sun salutations, but in an edgier version of Sunny’s outfit, with her midriff bared, fabulous boobs proudly displayed, and leggings that look distressed on purpose.
“Oh, Gemma, this place is so lovely.” Sunny holds out her arms and breathes in deeply. It’s the same thing I’ve done almost every morning since waking up in this life.
“Three hundred square feet, am I right?” The woman behind Sunny steps forward. “Great natural light. Ambience is everything. Not too much product on display, so your shelves aren’t cluttered, but customers can still self-serve. Definitely a must. What do you pull in on an average month? Two hundred? Three hundred? No, there’s no way. Well, maybe during a peak period. The foot traffic is decent.”
I’m not entirely sure if this woman is talking to herself or Sunny or me. Sunny makes a point of letting me see her roll her eyes as she grabs her friend by the shoulders and turns her to faceme.
“Gemma, this is my dear friend Priya.”
Priya holds out her hand and shakes mine with a firm pump. “I assume you lease? Do you store your inventory here? If so,how much? Or are your suppliers reliable enough that you can order on demand?”
Again, Priya doesn’t wait for me to answer. Something on the far wall catches her eye, and she wanders off before I can ask why I’m being interrogated.
“She’s an old friend of mine from medical school,” Sunny answers, sensing my many questions. “Although she abandoned me after our first year.”
Priya turns, jumping back into the conversation. “I wasn’t destined to be a doctor. It took me a brutal year to figure out I’m grossed out by sick people and lack any sort of bedside manner, or at least Sunny thinks so.”
If I was confused before, I’m even more confused now.
“Well, my brutally honest assessment of your skills gave you the push you needed to jump from the nest and follow your dreams, which is part of the reason we’re here today, Gemma, other than that I’ve meant to stop by and haven’t had a day off to do it.”
Sunny turns her attention to Priya, who is now walking the length of my store in long, even strides as if she’s measuring. I look to Kierst to see if she’s following any better than I am. She meets my gaze with a subtle shrug.
I turn my attention back to Priya, who looks up, then walks purposefully back over to where Sunny and I are standing, pulling something from her purse.
“I would like to talk.” She hands me a white business card. Her full name—Priya Bhavani—and the wordsSpa Dérive,along with an address, are scrawled on the front. I know the place. It’s a bougie spa in downtown Toronto. I think there’s even a second one in Oakville. Their shtick is that they are a European-style bathhouse, modernized for the millennial. A second glance at the card has me noting Priya’s title: owner and CEO.
