now, but someone full-time would be tight, and I hate to risk it. But with the contract, I think we could absolutely do a full-timer.”
“Whoa,” Butter says, staring off into the void. “That’s the dream, baby.”
I lean back in the chair. “What would we even do with ourselves if we could split the schedule with a new person? Life not working eighty hours a week seems like crazy talk.”
“I think I’d hire a closer,” Shannon says, gazing moonily at me. “And then I could see my kids for longer than an hour every night before they have to go to bed. I could make it to more than one football game each season. I could cook actual dinners like I used to. Or at least be there to order the takeout.”
Considering the free-time possibilities, I offer, “I wouldn’t have to have only scheduled date nights with Ryan. Plus, I could stop using the whole married-to-my-job notion and maybe not let my special go ignored for two years.”
“That there is an important goal,” Butter says seriously. “I’d date, too. That’s all I’d do with my free time. I’d ask out all the pretty boys and girls. Then maybe my parents would shut up about the horror of me being single.”
I frown. “They know you’re only twenty-six, right?”
“I don’t think logic is crazy important when it comes to familial shame,” she says with a flick of her hand.
“Ooh.” I turn back to Shannon. “What about a delivery van? We’ve been looking into that for over a year, man.”
She starts poking her notebook with the pen. “We can do a van now, actually. I just hate making the commitment for that kind of expense when we’re getting by just fine with what we have.”
Butter snorts. “No offense, but your minivan isn’t exactly the pinnacle of rides.”
“Hey,” Shannon scoffs. “It’s got a DVD player in the back. Don’t hate on my minivan.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’ll never get over you driving a beige minivan. If we get a delivery van, you don’t get to pick the color.”
Rolling her eyes and straightening her apron, Shannon ignores me. “Okay, the presentation is on the twenty-second, so we need to get to work. It’s focus time, people.”
“Isn’t your lady bits deadline on the twenty-seventh?” Butter asks me.
I frown. “Yeah. But that’s okay. I can multitask my major life events.”
Shannon looks amusingly unconvinced as she tucks her notebook into her apron and goes to wash her hands. Butter winks at me and returns to her cakes.
I turn back to the laptop and stare at fondant and buttercream chesticles of varying quality. There’s a surprising number of boob-cake images online. But then, I’m always surprised when we get odd cake requests and discover we aren’t the first to tackle them.
The four-foot edible mermaid last year was particularly shocking. To think there could be more than one of those in the world.
Just under a month until the presentation. A month and change until my deadline. I can absolutely handle this.
Everyone is setting up their stations before the Monday morning rush in silence, as per the usual. No one has had time to let any coffee take effect by this point, so the most we usually muster is a grunt or two in recognition of the other humans in the room.
We’ve got only a few minutes until the hordes come crashing in, so I am trying to chug as much caffeine as I can while I tie on my apron and get my station in somewhat working order.
“So,” Butter says, breaking our unwritten code of silence. “How’d the stuff work over the weekend?”
Liz pops her head up, and Shannon stops in her tracks, holding a tray of brownies she’s taking to the display case out front.
I yawn. “Pretty good. I’ve got some preliminary sketches done. I think I’ll come up with some solid ideas for the presentation.”
Everyone is looking at me like I’m maybe the stupidest person they’ve ever encountered. “The stuff,” Shannon parrots. “Like, vagina stuff, lady.”
I slowly blink at her. “Oh. I didn’t get to that. I was working on the Coopertown ideas until really late every night and was too tired. I’ll break it all out tonight.”
Shannon looks personally offended. “Kat! You have to do it every day! Otherwise it won’t work. While I appreciate your dedication to the contract, you can’t put therapy off! That’s how you got into this whole two-year mess in the first place.”
My nature is to be indignant and sassy back to her, but even in my sleep-deprived state, I know she’s right. I take another swallow of coffee and say, “Fine. You’re right. I promise I’ll work on it tonight, okay?”
The front door bell jingles, letting us know our first customer of the day has arrived, and we know a whole gaggle isn’t far behind. Shannon races off with her brownies, and I grab a tray of orange muffins with warm cinnamon glaze and follow her.
The rush hits, and Shannon and I are working hard to take care of all the customers while Liz and Butter make sure our display shelves are fully stocked.
An hour or so in, I see a face in line I recognize—a coworker of Ryan’s whose name I’m pretty sure is Alice. I smile as she reaches the counter and say, “Hey! Good morning!”
“Hi, Kat!” she says, all sparkling teeth and perkiness, despite it being so early. “How are you?”
“I’m great,” I say, keeping my customer service face on, despite the caffeine in my system being severely underwhelming to combat her level of cheer. “What can I get for you, Alice?”
She points at the blueberry muffins and says, “One of those, and a large drip coffee to go.”
I grab a to-go cup and start pouring her coffee. I find most customers like to get that to their lips as fast as possible. Hell, I’ve known people to finish their cups before they even get to the cash register. I admire that kind of dedication.
“How’re things?” I ask Alice as I pop a lid on her drink.
“So good!” she says, taking the coffee from me. I reach down to bag up the muffin when she adds, “I was sorry to hear about you and Ryan!”
My head snaps up, muffin clutched in my hand. “What? What about me and Ryan?”
I notice that she holds her coffee with a raised pinky. Who does that?
“That you guys split up,” she says, eyeing the other confectionary offerings behind the glass.
“Oh,” I say, fighting to keep that professional smile intact. “Right, that is true.”
He’s telling people we split up? It’s been less than five days. And did we really split up? Is that what I should be telling people while we’re on this break?
“I know this sounds weird,” Alice continues, “but I wanted to come and make sure you were okay with everything before our date. I didn’t want to step on any toes, or get involved in something that’s still messy, you know?”
My hand clenches on the muffin, and it crumbles into chunks on the floor around my feet. “You’re...you’re going on a date with Ryan?”
Shannon’s head whips up from a few feet away. She can sense danger the way police dogs can sniff out weed in an old station wagon.
Alice looks at her mangled muffin. “Yeah,” she says cautiously. “When he said you’d broken up last week, I asked him out to dinner. I hope that’s okay?”
Shannon is hovering in her spot,