Tasty (24 page)

Fuck.
Cal. I open up a crinkly container of Oreos and start stuffing my
face again.

I
know
I’m a hot mess, but I don’t care. My apartment is slowly
filling up with trash, the garbage cans overflowing, flies circling
the trash. Rent’s due soon, but I have no idea how I’m
going to pay it, or make my loan payment to Mr. Honeycutt, either.
Soon I’ll lose the store, my apartment. I’ll have to go
to Arizona. Or maybe I’ll take up residence on the floor of
Luke’s place. I’m sure Ginny won’t mind. Maybe.
Well, she shouldn’t. I’d do the same for her.

On
day five, as Ross cheats on Rachel (on a break, my ass), the knocking
starts. First a polite tap on my door, then savage pounding. I’m
sure if I didn’t let my phone die, it’d be ringing off
the hook. It takes me about ten minutes to manage to peel myself off
the sofa, find a robe to cover up my ratty sweatpants and tank top,
and open the door.

It’s
Ginny, and she’s not alone. She’s flanked on either side
by Evie and Summer, who is grinning like a psychopath.

“Jules
Rockwell,” Summer says, “this is a fucking intervention.”

Then
the three of them shove me back inside.

#

Ginny,
god bless her heart, cleans. She gathers up all the trash, scrubs
down the ice-cream-sticky counters and runs a load of grody spoons in
the dishwasher. She even Febreezes my couch, which smells pretty
nauseating after I’ve parked my sorry ass on it for five days
straight. Evie bustles about in the kitchen, unpacking a load of
organic groceries she brought from the local farmer’s market.

“You
need vegetables, girl,” she says. “All those toxins and
dyes and sugars and artificial flavorings are going to clog up your
pipes and make you even more miserable.”

“I
can’t get any more miserable,” I tell her, and it’s
pretty much true. But she just flashes me a view of her perfect white
teeth.

“I
can’t guarantee this salad will make you happy,” she
says, “but I promise you, you’ll feel more human after
you’ve had some kale to eat.”

I
try to force a smile, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because of
Cal, since everything he did and said to me made me feel so small and
inhuman. But maybe it’s because Summer is standing next to me,
her lip curled.

“What?”
I finally ask, whipping my head around to glare at her. Usually
Summer’s antics are charming, but I don’t have any
patience, not today.

“Jules,
you’re so, so gross,” she says. “Is this what
you’ve been eating?” She gestures to the overflowing bag
of Girl Scout cookie wrappers that Ginny is struggling to lug from my
apartment. “Look, I’m all about health at any size but
that’s just icky. That’s gotta be ten thousand calories a
day and they’re not even quality calories. You own a bakeshop.
Hell, you
live
over a bakeshop. I would have run a cupcake upstairs for you. Or,
like, a pie. You know I make a mean peach pie. If you’re going
to binge, binge right.”

“Thank
you, Summer,” I say dryly. Her answer is just as dry in
response.

“You’re
welcome. Do you need another truth bomb?”

“No.”

“Too
bad. Do you know how bad you smell? Like a fart that’s crawled
inside a queef. When’s the last time you brushed your teeth? Or
showered? Or at least put some baby powder on your pits to soak up
the stank?”

“I
don’t know. Ginny, when did I see you last?”

“Friday,”
Ginny shouts from the stairwell. She’s still struggling with
the garbage bags. One’s busted open in my doorway.

“So
Thursday,” I say. “Thursday is the last time I did any of
that stuff.”

“Gross,”
Summer says again. She opens one of my drawers and rummages through
it until she finds a set of salad tongs. But instead of handing them
over to Evie, she pokes me with them.

“Hey!
What are you doing?” I whine, trying to knock them away. But
she only pokes me again with them, snickering.

“I
want to shove you in the shower, but I don’t want to touch
you.” She gives me one last poke with the salad tongs, but I
snatch them away from her. And, despite myself, I find myself
laughing. Because, yeah, Summer is pretty funny. Even when Cal’s
sent me into a cave of misery and self-abuse.

“Fine,
Summer. I’ll shower.”

“Good,”
she says. “And wash behind your ears, too. Just in case
something’s slithered back there to die.”

“Yes,
ma’am,” I say, and march off toward the bathroom.

#

I
take longer in the shower than I should with an apartment full of
friends waiting to pull me out of my funk. But I can’t help it.
Every few minutes, mid-lather, and mid-rinse, and mid-shampoo, I stop
to sob my eyes out. It’s so unfair. I’m going to lose my
business. And I’ve already lost my heart. Cal was supposed to
be
mine
.
What we had together was supposed to be real. He was supposed to
respect me, damn it, like a real adult. He wasn’t supposed to
treat me like some kid who he hired to wash dishes in his kitchen,
heaping on bad advice and paternalistic bullshit. Merge our stores,
my ass. Just when I’ve stopped crying, I start getting angry.
And then I get scared of my anger, and start crying again. It goes on
and on, until the hot water runs out and Summer bursts through the
door.

“Are
you clean yet?” she hollers, throwing a towel over the shower
door. I turn off the water and sniffle into the terry cloth. Then I
dry myself up and step out of there. Her back turned, she hands me a
clean outfit and waits while I change.

“I
got dumped once,” she says. It’s a rare moment of
emotional honesty from her, and I’m surprised to hear it.

“What
happened?”

“It
was freshman year of college. This douche from my biochem class took
me on three dates, then said he could never be serious with someone
who thought she was funnier than him.”

“What’d
you do?”

“I
mooned him.”

“Damn,
Summer. Mature.”

“Whatever.
It was war. Maybe I shouldn’t have waged it in the middle of
class. My TA still gave me a 4.0, though.”

I
smile gently at her. Somehow, Summer always makes me feel better. As
soon as I’m dressed and dry, I throw my arms over her
shoulders.

“Thank
you,” I tell her. For once, she doesn’t shrug me off.

“I’ll
let you hug me just this once. But it’s only because you’re
traumatized.”

“Shut
up. You love it.”

“Ugh,”
is all she says.

We
walk out into my kitchen together. Ginny and Evie are there, with
four perfect bowls of salad freshly dressed and waiting to be eaten.
Despite my work-week-long binge, my stomach growls at the sight of
all that kale and shaved parmesan and pine nuts. I sit down and dive
in.

Man,
Evie was right. I feel like I’ve been starved for real, actual
nutrients. It’s not until I’ve practically licked the
bowl clean that I notice they’re all staring at me.

“What?”
I ask. Evie and Ginny share a Look.

“Nobody
eats free,” Evie says. “We’ve pieced together some
of the story. Ginny told us about the pop-up thing. But we want to
hear the rest. What happened on that date? You looked like Cal had
stabbed your puppy or something. After you stormed off, he came back
and drank an entire hundred dollar bottle of wine himself.”

“Callum
McKenzie doesn’t drink,” Ginny protests. When we all look
at her, she blushes. “What? I read
TMZ
.”

I
shake my head. Cal doesn’t drink, not usually. But with the way
our fight went, I can’t entirely blame him. Hell, I’ve
been engaging in some unhealthy habits, myself.

“Turns
out that not only is Mecca Cakes opening permanently, but he wants to
merge stores. By, you know, buying out Rock N Roll Cakes. He spent
all of last week in meetings about it and didn’t even tell me.”

“Wait,
he wants to buy you out?” Evie asks, wincing. “What kind
of white knight bullshit is that?”

Ginny
is giving her head a fretful shake. “I can’t imagine how
I’d feel if Luke told me what to do with my business.”

“I
know, right?” agrees Evie. “It makes me glad that Finn
knows fuck-all about the restaurant business.”

“Wait,
you guys,” Summer cuts in. “You’re missing a very
important component of all of this, which is, if Cal buys Jules out,
I’m out of a job.”

“Don’t
worry,” I assure her. “I said no.”

Summer
visibly exhales. “Good. I’ve read about how he treats his
employees. No way I want to go work for him.”

“Tell
me about it,” I agree. “Ginny, I did exactly what you
told me to do. I tried to talk to him rationally about my feelings.
He just didn’t get it. Not at all. It was like talking to a
wall. And I haven’t heard a word from him since.”

“No
one has,” Evie says faintly. “Mecca Cakes has been closed
all week.”

“
What
?”
I spit, letting my fork clatter down into my bowl. “All this
drama about their expansion, and they’ve been closed?”

“No
one knows what’s going on,” Ginny says. “Not even
Perez.”

“It’s
been awesome,” Summer assures me. “You know we’ve
had actual customers the past few days? Sure would be nice to have
some help in
your
bakeshop.”

“Hush,
Summer,” I tell her. She sticks out her tongue.

“Well,”
Evie tells me. She gets up to gather the plates. “I can’t
say I don’t blame you for any of this. If I found out that the
guy who has been fucking me actually wanted to fuck over my business,
I’d be a hot mess too.”

“Yeah,”
agrees Ginny, handing Evie her bowl. “But we’re worried
about you, still. I’m worried about you, Jules. It’s not
like you to wallow.”

Fuck,
if only Ginny saw me five years ago. This is nothing compared to the
great Miami Wallowing of Aught Ten. But I appreciate the sentiment,
still. Ginny’s used to me being strong. The past few days, I’ve
been anything but.

I
reach out and put my hand on her hand, and give it a squeeze. “I’ll
be
fine
,
Ginny,” I promise. I see hope flicker in my best friend’s
eyes, and, for a moment, I believe it.

#

After
Ginny and Evie and Summer all leave, I’m tempted to put on
Netflix again, but I know I can’t let myself fall down the hole
of Ross and Rachel drama. So instead, I take out my laptop. It’s
been days since I checked my email. It’s bills, bills, and more
bills, mostly. But while I click through the junk mail, I see a name
pop up in my chat list.

Cupcakecasanova.

Damn.
I blocked Cal’s other screen name, first thing, but it’s
been so long since we talked under our other, more amorous identities
that I hadn’t even bothered. I wonder for a moment what he’s
doing here. Probably sending dirty messages for some other bakeshop
slut. I hover my cursor over his name, contemplating blocking him.

He
IMs me before I get the chance.

[email protected]:

Juliette.

Fuck. Damn. Shit. I close my eyes, composing a thousand responses in my
head. The chat sound dings again.

[email protected]:

Juliette, we need to talk.

I
want to answer him. Really, I do, with every fiber of my being. I
want all of this business drama to go away. I want all the lie and
betrayal to vanish. I want to tell him what color panties I’m
wearing, and exactly the way I’d like to be touched. I want it
to just be the two of us. Without Mecca Cakes. Without this stupid
merger.

But
I can’t turn back time, and Cal can’t, either. It’s
over between us, and I need to be strong if I ever want to move on. I
can’t let a chef destroy my future, not again. Once was one
time too many.

I close the laptop, pick up my remote, and turn on
Friends
again.

A
week goes by. I pick myself up, dust myself off, and put myself
together again. It’s easier than I thought it would be,
actually. Now that Mecca Cakes is closed, business has really started
to pick up. From Sage Tunlaw to Wes Lansing, our regulars all have
returned. Mrs. O’Gilligan even starts coming by again for her
nightly Pink Surprise.

“You
have to understand, dear,” she tells me one night, as I slide
the cupcake into a box and tie it off with our signature ribbon,
“Callum McKenzie has an incredible draw. He’s so
charismatic. But I should have known that a man like that never
sticks around long.”

It’s
almost like she knows something transpired between Cal and me, like
she can read all those months of passion and pain on the very
features of my face. It hurts to remember him, but it’s a
bittersweet sort of pain. Because Mrs. O’Gilligan is right. Cal
sparkled and shone the way most people don’t. That’s why
they put him on television, why he got his own franchise of stores,
while I only get my corner bakeshop, bank loans and all. He’s
gifted in a way that I’m not. Of course he would have wanted me
to go to work for him. People like Cal are leaders, and I’m—

“You’re
such a gifted baker, Jules.” Mrs. O’Gilligan has stopped
in the doorway to look back at me. Her features are wrinkled,
weathered, but she’s smiling warmly as she talks. It’s a
young woman’s smile. “Places like Cal’s come and go
all the time. They’re—what do the kids call it? Trendy?
But you’re a Key West institution.”

I
let the corners of my mouth lift. It’s good to be back, to have
life, at long last, return to normal.

And
yet, as much as I hate to admit it, I still miss him. I think I
always will. Cal represented not just love to me. He represented hope
that I could be loved again, truly and freely. I don’t know if
I’ll open my heart to anyone else, not anymore. I’ll have
my business, but I’ll be alone.