Never the Bride by Rene Gutteridge Page B

next.
    “Can I really do this?” I whisper.
    Malia looks directly at me. “Jessie, the way you’ve stepped up all your life, how you’ve done what you had to do, like taking care of your sister—it amazes me. But she’s old enough to take care of herself now. You can take a risk. You can do this. You
can
do this.”
    I take a deep, liberating breath, then bite my lip. Is this even sensible? I mean, quit the reliable job that has paid the bills for so long? Quit the familiar job that I’ve just spent ten years at?
    That wretched exclamation mark morphs into a question mark.
    “I can do this. I can, can’t I?”
    Malia pounds the counter. “You can, baby. You can.”
    “I can! Okay. Okay. Yeah. This feels right.”
    Malia rings up the last of my candy and the card. “Why don’t you write some ideas down on paper, your vision, your practical needs, all that. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” She puts my stuff in a bag but holds up the card. “May I take a peek?”
    “Sure.” I smile.
    She opens the card and reads. “‘You’re absolutely divine.’”
    I shrug. “Just seemed to fit at the moment.”
    I don’t know why it surprises me anymore, but it always does when I find Brooklyn sound asleep in the middle of the day. I have a strange internal clock that won’t allow me to sleep past eight, and that’s on the weekend. Plus, I have no idea how someone can wear a mask while sleeping. I get annoyed when my hair brushes against my face.
    I walk into her room, already a pigsty, kicking clothes and high-heeled shoes to the side. I throw open the curtains. Bright beaming light warms my skin and makes me blink. Brooklyn doesn’t even stir. I clap my hands. She manages to groan.
    “Hey! Get up! It’s the afternoon, for crying out loud.”
    She rolls over. “I’ve got my alarm set for five. Leave me alone.”
    “Five? That’s when you should be getting off work.
Work
” I throw back her comforter, and she curls her knees to her chest. Bouncing on the end of the bed, I say, “If you are moving back in, you need a job.”
    “I have a job.”
    “Volunteering at the community theater doesn’t count.”
    “Jessie, later. Please.” She tries to pull the covers back over her, but I won’t let her. “My lower eyelids get puffy when I don’t sleep. Plus I get moody. I’m liable to start crying at any moment, so just let me sleep.”
    I wish she could see my unmoved expression. “You have always been my favorite drama queen. Now get up.” I pull her arm and manage to get her into a sitting position. I tear off her sleeping mask. “You no longer have a boyfriend to pay your bills.”
    “Yes, Jessie, I realize that, which is why I’m drowning my sorrows in a day’s worth of sleep. Or trying to.” She almost tips over again, but I catch her and get her to her feet. Then I let out a gasp. “Hey, you better make it to the bathroom and get some cream on that thing.”
    That pops her eyes open. She has no idea what “that thing” is, but by the look on her face, if it requires cream it’s enough to get her out of bed. I smile. I am so stinkin’ clever it kills me.
    I go downstairs and start some battery acid / coffee for her. I keep it around for Brooklyn, who can’t manage to tackle a day, or the end of a day, without it. I hate the smell of it brewing, though. It’s so bitter and skunk-like. Like a good beverage gone bad.
    Ten minutes later she plunks down the stairs and spills onto the kitchen table, managing her behind into a chair. “I feel like I’m dying.”
    I bring her a cup, doctored with sugar-free sugar and cream-free cream.
    “Straw.”
    I hand her one, but only her white sparkling teeth manage to thank me.
    I sit down, put my elbows on the table, and get ready to watch her expression. “Here’s the deal. I’m starting my own business.”
    She barely looks up from the coffee she’s hovering over. “Is this a Mary Kay sort of deal?” she asks between sips. “Because if so,