Page 2 of When Glitter Meets Gold

I gulp as I stick my hand in my pocket, holding onto the drawing. Then, I close my eyes.

The rest is a blur because of how quickly things go from lusting for my first kiss…to catastrophic.

Three things are clear, however.

First, the sensation of a scrawny finger prodding my chest, sending me toppling backwards. Second, the slap of water as my body makes contact with the swamp. And third, the towering figure of the oldest sibling, Jack Baker, laughing as he watches me become a human magnet to a plague of biting fire ants…

I snap out of the nightmare.

Amber is still chuckling.

“You’re distracting me from what’s important.” I shiver, then spin on my chair to face the intern. “Raj, Nectarines.”

Amber gives me a sympathetic look. “Let’s leave the teenager alone, shall we? Besides, this is SB. Everyone has a little something in their desk.”

SB is short for Street Bandit, an app where street food vendors can link meals on the brink of expiration at discounted prices. It gained overnight fame when the creators, Justin Spence and Reza Parvin, went viral after posting their near mugging experience at a burrito stall on Bleeker Street. They were able to keep their wallets when they offered to buy their mugger dinner. When the man accepted, they decided it was a wholesome moment, one that would drive them to tackle food waste as well as helpout people struggling to eat. So, they set up the app and named it Street Bandit in honor of their mugger. Now, it exists in practically every city in America. Which means our office is a place of constant food sampling. Which makes Amber’s point valid, everyone does indeed have a little something in their desks.

I swivel to face my friend. She is queen of the co-ord outfit, master of the sleek high ponytail. Not a blond strand is out of place, even at five p.m. on a Friday.

Looking at my friend is like staring into a lamp prescribed for seasonal affective disorder. Her glowing porcelain skin and bright eyes radiate light and fresh energy. Amber and I are appearance opposites because my mom’s Greek genes were stronger than my dad’s white American ones. I came into the world twenty-five years ago with deep brown hair, dark brown eyes, and sallow skin that freckles and tans at the first sign of sunshine. Whereas Amber once burned her upper boobs and forehead on the top deck of the Staten Island ferry because she forgot to wear high factor,in spring.

Glowing appearance aside, I notice something that threatens to cast a dark cloud over that radiance of hers. My eyes wander to the yellow Post-it fixed to the top of a pile of menus tucked tightly under her arm. “Deliver to marketing girl.” I recite from the handwriting on the Post-it as I hold out both hands to accept the menus. “Oh, new vendor? I’ll upload them right now, give them here.” I beckon again with my hands, but Amber doesn’t move.

She steps back, holding the menus to her chest. “Why don’t I put them inthispile right here?” She places the stack in a wire basket under my desk. “The non-urgent pile.”

I frown. “Why non-urgent? Is there something wrong with them?”

She pushes the basket away as I attempt to reach for it. “No, they’re just normal menus, but it’s Friday, and everyone’s packing up. Maybe you should too?” Then her face lights up and she starts talking like she’s on super speed. “Ooh, why don’t we go to that cocktail place where they give you free drinks if you can do the splits? Remember that night?”

I feel my nose wrinkle as I grin. “I wish I didn’t, but yes, I remember.”

“You climbed onto the bar, ripped your sequin dress, fell into the hottest bartender…” Amber says while sucking in breaths of laughter.

“And learned doing the splits, is not in my DNA,” I say as I recall that particular night a few years ago. Right around the time I met my now ex… “Anyway, I can’t do tonight. But you go.”

I try to grab the menus from the basket, but Amber shoves it out of reach.

“You’re in here till late every night,” she says firmly, the laughter suddenly gone. “You never go out anymore, not to dinner, lunch, you don’t even want to go see a movie together. And don’t even get me started on the gorgeous outfits in your closet that never see the light of day…” She leans in. “Or a random dude’s bedroom floor. Honestly, it’s sinful behavior. I mean when was the last time you got your puss waxed?”

I fold my arms. “I go out. I just have to be in the mood. And hey, just because I’m not dating right now doesn’t mean I don’t get my…pusswaxed.”

“You’re never in the mood.” She sighs. “It’s time to get back out there. Your vagina is never going to be this young again. Sara…it’s been a year.” She gives me that knowing look, the one that gives me sympathy but also dares me to pretend I don’t know what she means.

I know exactly what she means.

It’s been a year since my breakup. But much longer since I stopped going out, seeing my friends, and feeling like I have any idea who I am outside of work. That’s not dramatic, that’s the truth. And maybe I should be getting back out there, trying new things, dating new people, but when you feel like a walking trainwreck on the inside, you question your ability to do the things that were once so normal.

“I know.” I slump back into the recess of my chair. “I’m getting better,” I say, mostly to get her off my back. “It’s just, I have to stay tonight because I need Walter to take me seriously before I apply for this…this…”

“Promotion?” Amber finishes.

“Shh!” I silence her by overcompensating with excessive commotion—opening and slamming a drawer, clearing my throat violently, tossing a pen into the small bucket of trash beneath my desk, then rummaging incessantly to retrieve it. “Don’t say it out loud, I don’t want anyone to know yet.”

Amber lowers her voice. “Walter takes you seriously. The odds are in your favor.”

I snort. Walter Schneider is my boss. A man who’s referred to me as Kirby so many times I’m inclined to believe he doesn’t actually know that it’s my last name and not my first.

“He makes thisfacewhen I wear pink, the one where he looks like he’s confused and disappointed at the same time. He said my perfume smelled like a sorority dressing room. He does not take me seriously.” I frown, recalling the time he waved his hand in front of his nose because my fragrance was giving him a headache. “Which is why I need to focuson work. The late nights will show I’m committed.” I flash her a weak smile. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I’m okay. I promise I’ll get back out there eventually.”

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