by Daisy Jane
“Um, it sucks ass because we had some issues today and I will be working again tonight, for the fucking millionth night in a row.”
“It’s why they pay you the big bucks buddy. And think of all that overtime you’re getting,” Bastian says, holding the bowl of almost all-eaten guac out to Eli.
“I’m salaried, not hourly,” he says, pulling a bottle from his work bag, unscrewing the lid and refilling it at the water dispenser on the fridge.
“If you’re hungry, I made some Chinese Chicken Salad and chocolate cake,” I said, having taken Bodhi’s advice to make some food and hang out downstairs tonight, in hopes of catching Eli.
He’d given me that advice a few times, but now that he was going to be out of the house tonight and Bastian was going to be working, finally, I took it. Bodhi reared back and winked at me and I gave him the PLAY IT COOL big crazy eyes until he silently turned around.
“Thanks,” he said, without saying if he wanted any. I couldn’t press. “If you still wanted to read my speech for the whiskey club, I’d appreciate it.” He pulled a manilla folder from his backpack and slid it across the island. He tapped the folder. “It’s in there.”
“Cool,” I said, immediately hating that response as soon as I said it. “I’ll read it tonight.”
He nodded, not saying much. “Second date tonight?” he asked to Bodhi.
“Yes,” he said and I couldn’t help it but I gripped his head a bit harder as I angled his hair. I used him as my human stress ball and he grumbled but took it.
“Good luck bro,” he said, reaching across the island where they bumped fists. “I’m gonna get a run in before I have to boot up again.”
“Cool, dude,” Bastian said, putting the guac container back into the fridge. “Alright, Sloane, take it easy tonight. Bod, good luck man. Don’t go too heavy on the Vegan stuff right away.” He see-saws his head as he grimaces. “I love you but you know, most people don’t care.”
“That’s the problem,” Bodhi agreed, “most people don’t care.”
With Bastian and Eli out of the kitchen, I finished Bodhi’s trim and dusted him off.
“Hey, listen,” Bodhi said, “when you almost crushed my head like a watermelon a few minutes ago,” he starts but I cut him off with an errant laugh.
“Sorry,” I laugh, “I meant to apologize for that.”
“Does he make you nervous or is it something else?”
“Something else,” I admitted, knowing that Bodhi was a safe space. “I thought he liked me. Even though we didn’t say the words, I don’t know, I thought as a woman I just, you know, knew the signs. But every time I think he does, then something happens and it seems very one-sided in my mind. Like it’s an absolute pipedream that he’d return those feelings.”
Bodhi takes a breath, rises from the stool and rolls his neck. The silence feels long.
“What’s the worst that happens if you just tell him that you like him? Sloane, if you can have sex with him and still live in this house, then you can survive being rejected, if he even rejects you, which I honestly don’t think he will. What are you afraid of?”
I bite my lip, a halo of pain forming around my brain. My eyes get warm and misty. I look at the counter and not at Bodhi. “I think I like him a lot and I’m scared that if he doesn’t like me, it will be really hard.”
“Hard how?”
I shake my head, feeling silly, but Bodhi puts a hand on my shoulder and tilts my face up with his other hand. “Hard how?”
“I lost my house. I mean, yeah, I was renting. But I loved that house. Brett, okay he wasn’t the one but he broke up with me. And I lost clients. I’m losing everything from migraines and Eli just seemed like a win, a gain, the only positive.” I take a breath, realizing just how much I like Eli. “It’s only been a few months but—”
“When you connect with someone, time isn’t really a factor,” Bodhi rubs my arm. “And you’ll never lose us. Not as friends. We may not all live here much longer but, for now, we got you Sloane. If for some crazy reason we learn Eli is an absolute fucking idiot and he doesn’t fucking adore you?” He rubs my arm, “I’ll get through it with you. Bas knows heartbreak. He will be here for you.”
My lip trembles at the heartfelt conversation.
“But I don’t think that will be the case. You can do it Sloane. Hang out down here tonight. When he comes back from working late, have a meal. Meals are good. It’s a lot of time to talk. You can do this.”
He pulls me into the deepest hug I’ve ever had from him and God does it feel good. I feel like I’m floating in this safe space and nothing can get to me. Bodhi’s friendship is so pure.
When we pull apart, I wish him good luck. He gives me a peck on the cheek.
I wonder, but not aloud, what Carissa would think if she knew how kinky and free-spirited her soon to be boyfriend is? I smile at the thought of her discovering his frenum piercing. “Lucky lady.” I say, knowing that my time of enjoying Bodhi’s body is very rapidly coming to an end. But it was fucking great while it lasted and I enjoyed every second of it. Every drop, too.
“So, you’re gonna tell him you like him, then?” Brynn’s voice through the phone was all I could focus on. I forced myself to focus on this conversation. Because my heart was racing.
I felt like a junior high girl with a crush, getting ready to pass a “check yes or no” note to a boy. Butterflies and nerves tangled together deliciously as my heart pumped fast in my ears.
“Yes, I think Bodhi is right. I have to tell him.” I don’t ask if she agrees because I know that will make me look like I am doubting this. But I’m not.
“You know what?” Brynn asks, and I wonder if her head is cocked and her hand is on her hip. That’s her “I had a revelation” pose and her voice sounds like her “I am very smart now” voice.
“What?”
“I’m so proud of you. The last year has been shitty but look at you? You’re not hiding behind a pint of ice cream and a bottle of Lactaid. You’re taking life by the balls—you’re taking life by six balls—and owning it.”
I laugh, kind of liking the memory that it brings rushing back. Sickly, I wonder if she’s pictured it too. I didn’t shy from the details when I told the girls about that night. They wanted to know. And I’m pretty sure they were jealous. The funny part about their jealousy? They hadn’t even seen the guys. If they’d had know what they look like I’m pretty sure they would have exploded.
“Thanks,” I say, “I’m proud of me too.”
“When are you going to talk to him?”
“Tonight. He had to go back into work so I was going to read downstairs and wait for him. Then ask him if he wanted to eat and then just, spill my guts, I guess.”
“Gut spilling, I like it. Raw. Very in.”
“As opposed to what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You could’ve like, You’ve Got Mail-ed him and made him hang out with you and then fuck with his head online and make him fall in love with online you and in-person you, just to blind side him and tell him you’re the same person.”
“Okay first of all, you need to rewatch that movie because that’s a very poor assessment. And second of all, isn’t that just, torturing a person you’re catfishing? I wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah, I know, that’s why I said gut spilling is good.”
She’s distracting me, that’s for sure. “Okay well, I have to go take care of something before I start my waiting game.”
“Text me with updates as soon as you have some. Seriously.”
“I will,” I tell her, hoping their will be good updates indeed.
When we end the call, I reach for the manilla folder at the foot of my bed, prop myself up on some pillows, and being reading Eli’s speech. It feels like I’m getting my bait ready— “oh, hey, here’s that speech you wanted me to read”—but at this point, whatever kept him in the room long enough for me to talk to him, I’d do it.
Operation lure him with food and his spe
ech is in place.
Chapter 23
Bastian left for work and Bodhi’s on his date and Eli went back into the office.
“It’s just me and you, Grandma.” I pull open the fridge and turn my head, bending then standing, surveying the items. I’ve already made Chinese Chicken Salad and chocolate cake but I’m nervous and since my head hurts a little, I can’t read to soothe my nerves.
Instead, I pull out all the ingredients to make clean burrito bowls. They don’t really sound good—mostly because my nerves are so wild—but I really want to lure Eli into a meal. I feel very much like a witch setting a trap but when I’m around him, telling him how I feel becomes so difficult. Food, like Bodhi said, will make it easier. Definitely it will.
The hour passes quickly as I cook ground turkey and chop onions and bell peppers, sliced heads of crispy romaine, steam cauliflower rice and chop up cilantro. After pressure cooking a large batch of black beans, I add some to the mix before reserving a bit for black bean brownies. I know Eli’s only been back in the office for a couple of hours so I have time to kill. I knock out the black bean brownies and add them to the now quite full fridge.
Then I shower, shaving my legs and everything else. Just in case. I blow out my hair, which I rarely do anymore because all three of the guys have commented that they like my natural waves and its given me the confidence to own them. But I have time, so I straighten my hair, and I even put on the tiniest bit of mascara and lipstick, too. I put on my favorite black romper that is a perfect mix of sexy and casual, with a tie around the waist, and decide to paint my nails. I haven’t painted my nails in a long time. The smell can often be a trigger. But I have time and shit am I nervous. It’s not a marriage proposal Sloane, relax.
I take Grandma on a spin around the block, passing by my old house which seems to still be empty, which makes me somewhat sad. Such a beautiful home to sit alone. I’m sure my garden is dead and the succulents are, too. Grandma does a hearty bark and tugs for me to keep going, and so I do.
When I get back, I see Brynn’s car is out front. She and I have both expressed our mutual dislike in the “pop in” visit, so immediately I wonder if everything is okay. Unclipping the leash from Grandma’s collar, I let him inside before approaching the driver’s side window of Brynn’s car. Tapping, she rolls it down and I can see she’s been crying. Sobbing actually, her eyelids rimmed with red.
“Brynn, what’s wrong?” I reach inside and pop the lock, opening her door. She seems to spill out and drape herself around me, arms tight at my neck. I reach up and take her arms and pull her into a hug, rubbing her back and she sobs long broken cries into my (perfectly straightened) hair. “Come inside, come on,” I say, weaving our fingers together, taking her up the walkway to the house. She goes rigid at the doorway.
“Come in,” I say, tugging her.
“Are they home?” she snorts, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist.
“Nope, it’s just me and Grandma.” The stupid name for the dog makes her smile a tiny bit, so I know this can’t be the anguished sobs of loss.
We sit at the barstools around the island. The afternoon is quickly fading away, the colors of evening filling the sky in the windows behind us. It’s my favorite time of day and the kitchen is filled with the smells of home cooked food, the faint scent of cologne and testosterone and the way the setting sun bleeds through the curtains makes the entire moment feel so beautiful.
Brynn reaches out and takes my hands in hers, smoothing over my thumb as she stares at our connection.
The idea that this is about Bryan quickly falls away.
“Okay, tell me what the hell is going on because you’re starting to scare me.”
She raises her face to mine and gives me a truly sad smile. The internal battle of loving me and delivering whatever this news is written all over her face.
“Salon Six’s lease is up,” she says, clearing her throat. I knew this was coming, that Brynn would either need to re-sign or find a new location. This isn’t the news nor is this news at all. I nod.
“Earlier this afternoon, some of the other stylists came in. They found a really cute location. It’s this great place downtown, you know where Wilting Daisy is, right?”
Wilting Daisy is the local bakery that everyone loses their minds for. The next town over has a chain Crumbl but still, the locals here refuse to check it out. Wilting Daisy sugar cookies for life.
I nod. “Of course.”
“It’s next door.”
“Okay,” I say, “so we move. That spots gotta be a bit smaller, so we have maybe like, a sale on Facebook, get rid of some of the salon stuff we don’t need.”
She sobs when I say that, and it’s such a deep belly sob that it makes me break our connection at the hands and pull her into me, smoothing her wild red hair down. “It’s okay, our location now has awful parking and it gets super-hot in the summer.” It’s true. Even with the AC cranking, we can’t control the temperature because our current building has old, single-pane windows.
“Stop,” she pushes me back gently, the word more of a beg than a command. “There’s only six stations, Sloane.”
“Okay,” I draw out the word, quickly doing math in my head. We have eight stylists at Salon Six now. Then it clicks. She’s going to have to let two stylists go. I reach out and smooth my hand down her arm. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and I notice her freckles are a lot darker when she’s flushed this way.
“Listen,” I say, “we can do it together. It’s okay, whoever you choose, they’ll understand. It’s business.”
Her lip trembles. No, her entire jaw shakes as she takes my hand in hers again, pressing a kiss to my knuckles before holding my hand to her cheek and closing her eyes. My stomach does that ugly freefall again and I pull my hand away, hard and fast.
“Brynn,” I say, and she sobs again. “Brynn,” I say again, because I don’t know what else to say.
“I’m so sorry Sloane. If it was just up to me—”
“You own Salon Six,” I remind her. “I was the one who urged you to buy it. When you got your inheritance and wanted to spend it on a fucking vacation to Europe, I told you to invest. I told you to buy the business from your aunt. If it weren’t for me,” I hiss, tears streaming down my face, “you wouldn’t even be a fucking business owner.”
I’ve never lashed out on anyone the way I just lashed out on Brynn. The world around me is silent. All I can hear now is my anger. My rage. My hurt.
“Sloane, the other girls, they said they’d leave if I kept you.”
“What?” I clap back, feeling the blades of seven knives tearing through me at once. “They don’t want me?” Then another thought. “They said them or me and you chose them?” I don’t even know why I pose it as a question because it’s not. It’s not a question at all. It’s a cruel statement of fact.
“You’ve lost so many clients and, and, we’ve had to fill in for you here and there and it’s really hard, Sloane, to balance all that and our own shit.”
I hold her gaze in silence. “I’m your best friend.”
“You always will be. This is business. You just said it.”
Tears fall down my cheeks though I don’t want them to. I don’t want to cry. I want to show her I’m angry, I don’t want her to see all the hurt. Pushing from the bar, I get to my feet and pace backwards until my butt bumps the fridge. “Please go.”
“Sloane, please, try to understand.”
I asked her to go. Why can’t she go? I can’t stop the words from riding out of me fast on a wave of rage. “Of all people, you should know how much this job means to me. You’re supposed to be my best friend. You’re supposed to defend and protect me and have my back!”
“I am,” she sobs, “I do!”
“You’re doing you. That’s clear. So please, just go.”
“Sloane—”
“I said leave Brynn. Leave! Leave!” Grandma races to my feet and barks loudly towards Brynn, defending my an
ger. She flinches at the dog and looks up to me. We stare at one another while the tears flow but I don’t say anything after I tell her to leave, one last time. And she does.
The nerves and excitement to see Eli are now sitting under a big stack of what the fuck.
I knew the girls were trying to help, cover for me and take clients off my hands. I was always appreciative. Thanked them, apologized to everyone, fell over myself to make sure they knew that I knew their sacrifice. But it wasn’t enough.
Best friendship for years and years, endless support and love, what does that amount to? How can I just say, this is business and set aside the fact that Brynn owns that business and she chose them over me? I mean, they wouldn’t have all really quit. It was a threat. And that’s all it took for her to turn on me—a threat.
My head starts to throb with anxiety and pain. I pinch my eyes with my fingers and take a deep breath. I can’t get a migraine. She doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of this impacting me enough to give me a migraine. I only have two vials of my injection left, so preemptively taking one wouldn’t be smart. My hands are shaking when I pull my phone from my back pocket.
Me: Bod, I’m fine, no headache, where’s the pot?
Bodhi: Top drawer next to the oven, inside a jar.
Me: Thanks, have fun
Quickly, I google how to make an apple bong because I honestly don’t remember how the hell the guys did that so quick all those nights ago. Turns out, making a bong from piece of fruit isn’t all that hard. Then again, it probably has to be easy for a stoner to be able to do it without cutting their fingers off.
Taking Grandma with me, I sit on a lawn chair on the back patio and enjoy the setting sun as I smoke from the green apple once, twice, then a third time for good measure.