“Yes! Thank you!” says Younger. “So much!” It’s as though they’re giving me credit for how happy they are, as though just by being there to witness it, I had something to do with it.
It takes them three trips to carry all their food over to the table. Normally, I would have offered to help. But I just stand there watching. Older puts money in the tip jar—two dollars. No one ever puts in more than one. I can barely muster a “Thank you.”
Less than a minute later Brad is back, standing next to me. He watches me watching them, and puts one arm around my shoulder. “It’s time for you to go,” he says, and hands me a white paper bag. Inside are a dozen broken cookies iced in pink and green and white. “We can’t sell these,” Brad says. “I was going to give them to Thomas, but you should probably take them instead. Just make sure you remember to throw up after so you don’t destroy your adorable figure!”
I stick my nose in the bag and take a sweet breath of almondy air. The tightness in my chest starts to loosen. I am, I decide, very lucky to have Brad in my life who, for all his ridiculousness, knows exactly when I might need a big bag of cookie pieces. And also knows exactly when I won’t want to talk about why.
Two
I’m outside. The air is cooler now and the sun is going down. My eyes adjust to the dimming light as I walk.
I pass a day spa, a design store, a gourmet shop. I keep walking. Mon Coeur, where I work, and Attic, where my best friend Amanda works, are in the middle of town in Edgebridge, Illinois, which is a suburb of Chicago. It’s a fancy suburb for rich people, the Disneyland version of where people are supposed to live. There are beautiful new streetlights lighting up every corner and pink and orange flowers blooming in the tall wooden boxes that dot the sidewalk. In the fall this part of town is decorated with pumpkins and ears of dried corn, and in winter it’s all glittering Christmas lights and jingle bells. The town is about a two-minute drive from Amanda’s house, which is why we both got jobs here in the first place. There’s nowhere to work in my neighborhood, except liquor stores and used-car dealerships. Besides, I practically live at her house anyway.
Amanda’s waiting for me at the door to Attic. She kisses me on the cheek. Then she stands back and motions to her outfit. “I’m trying something out here, what do you think?”
She’s wearing a tiny navy-blue pair of kid’s running shorts, and a tiny boy’s ribbed white tank top. She has a pair of navy blue soccer socks pulled up to her knees.
“Well, if you’re trying out being a prepubescent boy, you forgot about a couple of rather important, ahem”—I stare directly at her boobs—“things.” We both laugh.
“I saw something like this in a magazine,” Amanda says. “You don’t think I can pull it off?”
“Oh, I think it would be very, very easy to pull off.”
“Ha-ha.” She adjusts her sock. “My parents are out tonight and so I’m thinking we should have a bunch of people over, including a lot of extremely hot guys we barely know. I’m sure they’ll like my outfit even if you don’t.” She sticks out her tongue and smiles. I can’t help but smile back. Amanda has a good life: Her parents love each other, she has two nice, funny brothers who she gets along with, and a giant house full of Jacuzzi tubs and flat-screen TVs, where everything looks beautiful and comfortable because someone has put effort into making it so, because they have the luxury of thinking about those things.
“What about Eric?” I ask. Eric is Amanda’s not-quite-boyfriend whose not-quite-ness is due to the fact that he continues to date other girls.
“I’m done with Eric,” Amanda says.
“Good,” I say.
And we both know this isn’t true, but we leave it at that.
“I already picked out some stuff for you,” Amanda says. She grabs my hand and leads me toward the back room, where we always try on clothes. “Good thing Morgette is rich, right?” Amanda grins, as though somehow she doesn’t realize her own family is pretty rich, too. Morgette, the owner of Attic, leaves early every Friday in the summer to go to her country house for the weekend, and she gives Amanda keys to the store so she can lock up. Basically this means that Amanda and I can pretty much borrow whatever we want from the store so long as we bring it back by Monday morning. The clothes are already used so it’s not even like it’s wrong or anything. All we’re doing is using them, y’know, a little bit more.