100 Days of Cake (23 page)

Every time I hear his phone buzz with a new text message, I automatically assume it's from V and feel this cramp of anger/sadness/general suck in my rib cage. Maybe she's asking if I jumped down his throat too? Maybe they're cracking each other up over what a whack job I am? Or maybe they're not even talking about me at all. I know it's probably messed up, but that would somehow hurt more. If they're going to have this dreamy Barbie and Ken romance, they
should
feel guilty, damn it!

Thinking about them together makes me want to curl up like a cashew and lie down in one of the piles of mouse droppings in the super-disgusting stairway. I try to channel all the emotion into sweeping away the dust bunnies and spider carcasses.

All the improvements and marketing efforts might finally be paying off. When I come down to tell Alex I'm done and he can start caulking the cracks in the roof's concrete, there are actual living, breathing customers—the most rare and exotic species in all of FishTopia.

A woman about my mom's age and two tweens—all with bright red hair—are examining these cylinder nano
tanks. Alex explains that while those look cool, for saltwater fish to really thrive, you need a tank that's at least ten gallons. He shows them a couple of different models and demonstrates how the pump works, and then he acts all animated helping them pick out the fish. It's adorbs. The kids are super into it, and so is Alex (he clearly learned whole volumes of fish-ipedia by making the labels), and the mom is eating it up.

“You're so knowledgeable!” She beams. “Is your major marine biology?”

Chuckling, Alex says he's still in high school but that he has always had a passion for the beauty of sea creatures and wanted to work here from the moment it opened. (He says absolutely nothing about Charlie's minimum wage mix-up.)

“It really shows,” says the mom. “You know, we must have driven past this place a hundred times, but we had no idea what it was all about. I'm so glad we found it.”

“Well, unfortunately, we might not be here much longer.” Alex gives her the whole spiel about Charlie thinking about selling and the fund-raiser on Friday.

Taking one of the flyers with my logo on it, she says that the event is past the kids' bedtime but maybe she and her husband will get a sitter and come by.

“Oh, you guys would have a blast.” Alex nods. “There'll be music and drinks; it would make a really nice date night.”

By the time they leave, she and the kids have gotten a dozen fish and a twenty-gallon tank with every possible accessory, and she's promised to try to convince some other couples she knows to come with her and her husband on Friday.

If everything weren't screwy because of the V thing, I would run over and give Alex the biggest, longest hug.

An hour later I'm watching
Golden Girls
and keeping an eye on the store, when a thirtysomething guy in a suit comes in. Channeling Alex's turbo upselling with the redheaded family, I ask if I can help him find anything.

“Naw, I just need gravel for my tank,” says Suit Guy. “That still in aisle three?”

“You know it!” God, I sound like a dork; maybe retail isn't for me.

Bag of aquarium gravel in hand, he's at the register a few minutes later.

“Oh, I remember this one.” He points to the TV. It's the episode where Blanche's brother is scared to tell her that he's gay. “It's pretty funny.”

“Yeah, I love this one.”

“It's so sad,” he sighs. “Except for Betty White, every one of them is dead now.”

I just stare at him. What?

“Get out!” I say, even before I realize what I'm doing. Why
would anyone ruin the nice happy bubble where everything is solved in a half hour? Who does that?

Suit Guy holds up his bag of rocks. “But I haven't paid yet.”

“Just get out. We're closing early.”

“But the sign says you're open till—”

“Doesn't matter. We can't sell you anything.” I usher him to the door.

“Fine, I'm going, I'm going.” He pulls open the door. “But just so you know, I intend to write this all up on Yelp!”

“Go right ahead.”

“What's your name, so I can make sure to mention how unhelpful you were?”

“Veronica!” It was the first thing I could think of.

As suit guy mumbles to himself and leaves, I turn around and notice that Alex is standing there staring at me with this look that's somewhere between horrified and amused. “You realize we're trying to keep the store in business, right?”

“Trust me, he's not the kind of customer we want.” I sound like an idiot.

Alex shrugs. “That guy's been in a few times; always seemed nice enough to me.”

“Are you finished with the roof?” I ask, and Alex shakes his head. “Well, then you should probably get back to that. We need to have everything ready to go by Friday.”

I
t feels really good to be in Dr. B.'s office listening to nineties music and complaining about Alex and Veronica. I really haven't talked to anyone about it—Elle can be so judgey; Mom is, well, Mom; and obviously V and Alex are no-go's—and it's great just to get it all out. I'm not even sure what I'm saying anymore. It just keeps coming out like diarrhea of the mouth.

“I don't mind so much that he's seeing her.” (Completely not true.) “But why would he lie about it?” (Technically omit.) “She's my sister, we live in the same house. Did she think I
wouldn't
find out? It's all the sneaking around, you know?”

“I've said before that your sister seems to have a lot of anger toward you,” Dr. B. says. “This might be a manifestation of that.”

“Exactly!”

“And we've discussed that Alex has some maturity issues,” Dr. B. says.

“Ohmygod, I didn't even tell you. His stupid band doesn't have a name anymore; they decided they're going to let the music speak to them in a trance or some shit.”

At that, Dr. B. outright laughs and shakes his head, but it's less warm than usual—more like the Joker.

“Seriously, Molly, why are you wasting time worrying about this stunted wannabe? The guy is a douche bag,” he says, like he's the one who's pissed at Alex, or like he's actually talking about something else entirely.

It's weird already that I stop complaining long enough to look at him.

He's still dreamy Dr. B., but to be honest, he looks kind of rough—puffy purple pockets under his eyes, and he didn't do the best job of shaving this morning. There are little patches of dark stubble all over his face. Plus, his clothes are kind of wrinkly, like he may have slept in them.

“I'm sorry, that was unprofessional. I shouldn't have said that.” Dr. B. shakes his head. “In fact, I probably should have canceled our session today. I'm sorry.”

“Why?” Suddenly I'm panicked; maybe there
are
things I can say that will make him not like me. “Have I been too ranty. I'm so—”

“No, of course not.” He waves away my concerns.
“You're always a pleasure. I'm just dealing with a personal issue and not in the best head space right now.”

“Oh.” So shrinks have personal problems too. Who knew?

“Obviously, no charge for this session.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“Discussing that with you would probably be inappropriate.”

His eyes droop, and he rubs his forehead and looks so freaking vulnerable. It just, I don't know,
does
something to me, and suddenly I couldn't care less about Alex and V or pretty much anyone else. More than anything else, I want to lean down and kiss him, but that would
definitely
be inappropriate.

“You listen to my problems all the time,” I say.

“That's my job—”

“Well, you said we're off the clock.” I try to sound reassuring like he does when he wants me to open up more. “So you can talk to me now, right?”

He sighs. “Let's just say my fiancée might not be my fiancée anymore.”

My heart is beating really loudly all of a sudden. “Oh no. What happened with you guys?”

He shakes his head again. “She was supposed to come up this weekend, but she said she couldn't get away, so I volunteered to go down there, and then she dropped the ‘I need some time alone to think' bomb.”

“Ouch.”

“That's your professional opinion, Dr. Byrne?” Dr. B. smirks.

“I mean, it just sounds harsh. Is that where you left it?”

“She's calling me back when she's done thinking.”

“So you're supposed to wait around for her to decide if she wants to be with you?”

“I guess,” he says.

“That seems pretty unfair.”

“I don't think it's most people's idea of fun, no.” He looks at his big hands, then up at me. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you any of this.”

Then it hits me! “You should come to the FishTopia event tomorrow night!”

Sure, it might take away some of the sting of having Alex there with V if I have a sexy, older
man
man by my side, but honestly I ask because Dr. B. just looks so sad.

I reach into my backpack, pull out one of the flyers, and hand it to him. “It's a little cornball, but it should be fun.”

Dr. B. looks at the paper.

“Cute fish,” he says.

“There'll be beer and wine and stuff,” I add quickly. “I could make sure that we get that pinot noir you liked at dinner.”

“I don't know.” Something between a laugh and a sigh comes out of Dr. B.'s nose. “Don't you think I'm a little old for a battle of the bands?”

Frustrating much? We listen to music here all the time, and Dr. B. is always stoked to share some bootleg or live
recording he thinks I'll like. Why would it be strange for him to come see a show?

“What? You'd rather sit around waiting for her to call? You're the one always telling me to get out there.”

“Molly, there are lines between patients and—”

“Don't be that way.” On
Golden Girls
, Blanche knows how to work personal space and charm any man in the greater Miami area. Hoping all those reruns have taught me something, I try to channel her energy and use my best Southern belle voice. For good measure I pat his arm lightly like Blanche would.

That is probably
very
inappropriate, but I don't care. The thought of Dr. B. wallowing around his apartment waiting for the strawberry-blond news lady to call is too much. The thought of having to watch V and Alex make out at the fund-raiser is equally appalling. Dr. B. coming is a complete win-win.

“We'll have a great time. I promise.”

Dr. B. looks at my hand on his arm and then up at me, baffled. If we were on a sitcom, this would be the moment when I'd ask “Too much?” and everyone in the studio audience would laugh. I put my hand back in my lap.