Cate and I alternate showers and hair drying and head out to Tea Cozy to open the café and fill up on tea and baked goods for cranky Monday-morning customers before I have to force myself to school.
By the time we drive into the Tea Cozy parking lot, Cate and I are wiping tears away. That’s how hard we are still laughing about Sasha Cotton. It is one of the things I will miss most when this baby arrives. Coming early to the Cozy and making a batch of scones just for me, Cate, and Paul, before the customers get here. Bitching about my math teacher. Dissecting the latest thing Jemma did or said to me. Quoting our favorite lines from The Princess Bride over and over again. We open to customers at six thirty, so with Cate and me being early risers and morning lovers, we get to do this every week or two. Family tradition, I guess.
I know when the baby is born, the early mornings will be reserved for catching up on sleep or breast-feeding or cooing.
This morning I use batter we made yesterday to bake some chocolate chip scones, and while we wait for them to come out, Cate makes a pot of vanilla-rose tea. We keep the lights dim and set ourselves up in the blue paisley armchairs by the fire.
“Cute dress, by the way,” she says when she gets up to grab the scones. She smiles, and it’s weird to hear a real live compliment and not some passive-aggressive backstabby comment.
“I don’t look like a slut?” I say.
“Uh, no?” Cate says, stopping midwalk to look at me again. “A slut? It’s from the Gap. It’s beige. You’re in flats. And the thickest tights I’ve ever seen. Am I missing something? Is it backless?” She pretends to try to get a glimpse of my back, but I just shrug. It’s short and I feel good in it, which I’ve decided must be wrong.
“Never mind,” I say. I don’t want Cate getting all riled up on a feminist tirade, but I also can’t stop turning Jemma’s comments over and over in my head.
“Hey,” Cate says, emerging from the kitchen with scones and a fretting face. “You know, in my day the pretty girls with perky breasts were the popular ones, so I’m just trying to—” I cover my chest with my arms. The relative jauntiness of my breasts is not up for discussion.
I send an emergency text to Elise telling her to get her ass over here and that I’m saving her a scone and a cup of tea. She lives literally next door to Tea Cozy, and she is basically the best friend ever, so she’s walking in the door minutes later. Cate’s no dummy—she knows I’ve called in backup.
“Oh, Elise, good,” she says. “Right on time.” She winks at me and I sigh, but deep down I know she knows she’s as close to a perfect mom as anyone’s going to get.
“Thank God,” I say to Elise when Cate’s in the back getting ready to open. “She was talking about my boobs. Like, she’s probably eager for customers to come in so she can ask them their opinions about them.”
“No prob,” Elise says, pulling at her pixie cut so that more little strands of auburn hair poke up. “I was actually gonna come by anyway.” She doesn’t laugh about Cate’s ridiculousness, and I hate the air that follows. The last thing I want is something awkward and empty between us.
“You knew we had the chocolate chip scones today?” I ask, grinning. Dishes clink and clatter from behind the counter, and Cate’s singing along with her rockabilly playlist, so we’re safe to talk. Paul doesn’t appear to be showing up anytime soon; maybe he didn’t see our note yet.
“Well, sure, that,” she says, before taking a big breath. “Also. Okay. Did you ever actually . . . follow through . . . on your feelings for Joe?” Elise is blushing, which I’ve never seen before, and I choke on my tea and feel the back of my neck go instantly damp and hot. I pull my hair into a ponytail. It’s gotten really long and even blonder—probably another sign of my sluttiness.
“Act on my feelings?” I say, trying to buy a little time before having to answer. I’m not the best liar, and more importantly, I hate lying.
“Some people are saying—”
“Which people?”
“Sasha’s friends mostly. People who like her. I dunno.” I can’t figure out the look on Elise’s face. Maybe it’s the unfamiliar flush washing over her that’s making her suddenly unreadable, but for someone I know so well, she’s definitely not knowable right now. I take a sip of tea and try to unblock my mind. It’s all swimming and out of focus in there—I can’t make it work for me.
“Jemma, I assume? I mean, let’s not sugarcoat.”
“I mean, I guess Jemma, yeah.”
“I don’t know why she’s all worried about what me and my slutty non-A-cups are up to.” I know I didn’t answer Elise’s question. But I’m thinking about my Assignment and the fact that she should be worried. It’s a terrible thing to feel good about.
“So the answer is no? To you and Joe hooking up?” she says. They are careful words.
“Right,” I say. I will myself not to blush. But it feels lonely, to lie to her.
“Okay,” she says. “Just thought I’d check.”