“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Portia asked.
“Floral shop.” Cadence bit into the pasta she’d spent two hours carefully preparing. She didn’t want Mark’s help. She wanted to do it herself. And it was damn good, she realized. Even cold.
“Cute,” Portia replied. The word was speckled with the tiniest bit of condescension.
Cadence smiled sweetly. “I guess flowers can be cute.”
“No, I just meant that I can see you owning a flower shop. You have this whole cute look that goes along with doing something like that,” Portia explained. “You kinda remind me of Meg Ryan in all those romantic comedies she used to do. You’ve Got Mail! She owned that adorable little bookstore. You know what I’m talking about?” She shook her head. “Well, it was kinda before your time.”
“Her bookstore got bought out,” Cadence said evenly.
“I know,” Portia replied. “Business is a tough . . . well, business.” She laughed and finished off her wine. She poured a third glass.
“I plan to be really good at it,” Cadence said.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that! But you’ve got some hills to climb in this economy. Most businesses go under in the first year. Just too hard with everything that’s going on,” Portia replied. She liked to talk with accompanying hand gestures, and it pissed off Cadence.
Mark spotted Cadence in his periphery—her body reacting to the words. She was about to pounce, so he piped up.
“So I got those tickets for that DJ sample concert,” he said. “You still wanted one, right?” He directed the question to Dylan.
“Yeah,” Dylan replied.
“You owe me 64 bucks.”
“What?” Dylan said. “Jeez. No one even knows these guys.”
“Whatever. You still owe me 64 bucks.” Mark glimpsed Cadence and put his hand on her thigh. She turned to him and smiled. It was disingenuous and annoyed him. It wasn’t his fault! He told Dylan to tell his idiot girlfriend about Cadence. He wanted to strangle Dylan. He wanted to strangle Portia. She needed to back the hell off of his girlfriend. Suddenly he felt a surge of primal protection for Cadence. Caveman style. He needed a club.
He was unaware that the conversation had progressed while he was thinking.
“You’ll understand in a few years,” Portia was saying. Her tone dripped with pomposity. “It’s like a whole different world when you get out of college. Like running headfirst into a brick wall. Reality. Responsibilities. I know you don’t get it now, but you will. You’ll understand eventually.”
“Your dad bought you a car, Portia,” Mark said. “And he pays your cell phone and car insurance bills, too.”
Portia froze, wine glass pressed to her lips.
“And your rent, if I’m not mistaken. Cadence here knows a little about responsibilities. She pays her own bills.”
He bit a chunk out of his bread and eyed Dylan. The message? “Don’t bring this chick around my house again.”
Portia shot Dylan a scathing look, then cleared her throat and continued eating. Everyone followed suit. Conversation was sparse and forced after that, and Dylan and Portia decided to leave before dessert. And card playing. There’d be no card playing.
Cadence was quiet as they cleared the table and washed dishes.
“I told Dylan to tell her about you,” Mark said mid-clean up.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean for tonight to be uncomfortable for you.”
“I know.”
“Tori Amos?”
Cadence cracked a smile. “I thought it was . . . fitting.”
“Yes. It was,” Mark replied, smirking. “And I like your hair up, down, any way you wanna wear it. I like it all.”
“I felt stupid,” she whispered.
“I didn’t want you to feel like that,” Mark said. “I’m so pissed at Dylan.”
“I don’t like Portia.”
“Neither do I.”
“I don’t like when people talk down to me. I know it’ll be hard to own my own business. I don’t need a person who doesn’t own her own business to tell me that,” Cadence snapped.
“I know.”
“Avery would have called her a straight-up cunt.”
Mark chuckled. “That would have been interesting to witness.”
“Oh, I could see those two going at it. Avery would totally win,” Cadence said.
“I think Avery could beat anybody,” Mark replied thoughtfully.
“I’d appreciate it if Portia didn’t come around again,” Cadence said.
“She won’t. Don’t worry.”
Cadence nodded.
“She’s the cornflake girl,” Mark said. He wrapped Cadence in a hug.
“Tell me about it,” Cadence replied, burying her face in Mark’s chest.
“Are we okay?” Mark asked softly.
“Yes. And thank you.”
“For what?”
“Sticking up for me.”
“You’re my girl. I’ll always stick up for you. Ain’t nobody gonna talk down to my shorty.”
Cadence burst out laughing.