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“Um…” Used to the abrasive ways of the city, they’re momentarily caught off guard by my politeness. “I’m well. And you?”
“Doing well. Doing well. My name is Lindsey Gorse, and I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”
Ten minutes later, not only do I have the amounts of the monthly fees to dock a yacht the size of Prince C’s father’s boat, but also the annual membership dues and all the perks the astronomical figure covers. Exterior cleaning, interior detailing, as well as stocking the kitchen with supplies before you arrive.
Job well done, I’m ready to reward myself. Time for lunch.
Since we’re based out of a strip mall in Rosewood and not some fancy high-rise in the city, our budget is not very big. Mike prefers to cut costs on operations and funnel our profits into salaries, which of course, we all appreciate.
I walk through our small, carpeted office, that’s not been renovated since the ‘70s, to the small kitchen at the back of the building. I don’t mind its harvest gold linoleum flooring, the laminate fake wood countertops, or the avocado green refrigerator. In fact, I find it retro and charming. I open the fridge door to grab the salad I packed this morning.
Before Patrick?
Lunch was a time to catch up with my other journalist girlfriends from our gossip column and hit the Rosewood Diner to partake in some comfort food, like a warm soup bread bowl or a mayo-covered chicken salad sandwich, talking over one another the entire time and catching up on our own gossip which focused mainly on whatever love interest Ava was currently attached to.
Now?
I save money and time, choosing a healthy option I make at home to nibble on at my desk. I’m still waiting for those ten extra pounds to melt off like Patrick’s promised me they would. I don’t mind my figure, but he seems to prefer me slim.
Speaking of, my wrap dress has scooted up over my soft rolls. I tug at the red lace hem, re-situating the fabric around my waist. My stomach rumbles. The drawback to saving the earth? My constant hunger pangs, which hopefully will pay off come bridal gown fitting time.
Hmm…
Mike brought in a delicious looking leftover chicken parmesan. Good job, Mike, I think to myself. I would have eaten the entire thing. He and his partner must have hit Café Fresca last night.
I would love to try their pasta carbonara, but my pageant mother’s voice nags at the back of my mind, saying a moment on the lips, forever on the hips, followed by Patrick joining in with a comment on Café Fresca’s massive serving sizes. Do you know how much food they waste in a day at that place?
I glance through the fridge, but I don’t see my stainless steel bento box anywhere. Shoot. I must have left it at home. Do I expand my carbon footprint for the day and run home to get it? Or just go without and eat it later?
My stomach rumbles again as Ava and Claire pass by the kitchen. Their arms are linked as they make their way to the side door that leads to the parking lot. I duck behind the wall, not wanting to have to turn down yet another lunch offer.
“Should we stop by Lindy’s desk to invite her?” Claire asks.
“Please.” Ava snorts. “Did you see her reaction to the Bachman announcement? Total disinterest. It’s all we’re going to want to talk about, and she’ll just be staring at her ring the whole time. Besides, she’s not gone out with us since Patty Potpie started coming around.”
“Patty Potpie? You mean Patrick?” Claire asks.
“Yeah. Things just haven’t been the same since he rode his electric car into her life.” Ava snorts. “There’s no way she’s coming.”
“Still,” Claire says. “It’s nice to be asked.”
They’re almost to the door now. Hot tears burn at the backs of my eyes. I move out of my hiding place so I can still hear them.
“Maybe you should cut out the middleman and just ask Patrick. I swear he does all her thinking for her now.” Ava pauses, snapping her fingers. “Oh my God, I know what I’m bringing to the bridal shower. A WWPD bracelet.”
“What does WWPD mean?” Claire asks.
“What Would Patrick Do?” Ava chuckles.
“Stop! That’s mean,” Claire says, sounding like she’s holding in a laugh. “She’s just in love.”
“Whatever,” Ava says. “I’m in love with Frankie. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my entire personality to please him. What he sees is what he gets, and he’d better like me just how I am. And if Michael lets me take the story, you know damn well I will.”
Ava’s voice disappears as they walk through the exit door and out into the parking lot.
White heat flashes over my cheekbones as nausea fills my empty belly. I lean my back against the wall, blinking back tears. I can’t believe my friends are talking about me like this behind my back! I wait till they’ve had time to get in Ava’s old Honda, then run to my desk and grab my keys.
I’ve got to get out of here. Now. No waterworks in front of others. My mom raised me to know crying is weakness and you can’t let anyone see it.
