Page 67 of Best Served Cold

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You seem a little, well…you’re not going to do the fork-and-ice-cream thing again, are you? I mean…if you want more ice cream, I picked up some extra spoons you can use.”

I hug him spontaneously, which seems to make him nervous, but what a completely Otis thing to do, buying more spoons instead of cleaning the ones we already have. Or buying the actual ice cream, for that matter. At the same time, it shows he cares and was thinking about me. “Thank you, Otis. That’s wonderful. I’ll make sure to use one later.”

He pulls back. “Uh…okay. Do you want to talk about the Briggs Mayers thing? Maybe you should take it too?” He scratches nervously behind his ear. “I haven’t wanted to say anything, but you’re always making things.” He gestures to the room at large, and I can’t deny it’s full of an unusual number ofcraft projects, even for me. Crafting is my nervous tic. “Are you fulfilled? Don’t you want to do that craft business?”

Yes.

“I don’t have the money to do that right now, Otis.” Heat burns behind my eyes. “That wedding dress took out most of my savings, and I lost most of the money I poured into the business in Greensboro.”

“Really?” he asks, looking perplexed. “How much could your dress have possibly cost? Two hundred? Three?”

“Much more,” I say, touched by his naivety.

“Do you want me to try to sell it online for you?”

“You’d do that?”

“I just need to know how much it cost.”

Embarrassed, I look away and mutter, “Eight thousand.”

He drops his dish, and it shatters, spraying syrup and pottery shards everywhere.

“Sorry,” he says. “But did you sayeight thousand?”

“It’s vintage.”

“Is it a car?”

I’d never really bought myself any nice clothes before buying that dress. I’d thought it was wasteful and vain to focus on myself. But Jonah had proposed, and then it had become something I was doing for someone else. I didn’t want him to be embarrassed of me, and he’d made a point of telling me to choose something fancy. So I’d tried it on, fallen in love, and it had felt okay, because it was for him, really.

It wasn’t until I’d gone shopping with Hannah and Briar that I’d actually let myself buy things that were just for me. For no greater reason than that I liked how I looked in them.

My phone chirps with a text, and I’m grateful for the distraction. (And, yes, I may have turned the volume on because I was hoping to hear from a certain someone.)

Picking it up, I see Rob’s name, and my pulse quickens. What is happening to me? When I was with Jonah, I felt a sense of satisfaction, of having done well for myself, and I tipped my diamond ring into every shaft of light just to watch it sparkle. But I never felt like this.

Otis starts to clean up the broken dish. Part of me feels guilty, like I should put down what I’m doing and help him, or take over. But I muffle the feeling as I read Rob’s message.

Dottie turned my face blue. But now it’s only black and blue, so my day’s looking up.

I gasp when I see the two photos he sent through. One of his face looking bright blue, the second of the black and blue radiating out from his nose.

I’m so sorry.

I’m the one who’s sorry, Soph. It’s not even eleven, and you’ve already exceeded your apology quota for the rest of the day. I’m not sure what you’ll do with yourself now.

I suppose I could start thanking you. Or just give in and go to sleep so I can start apologizing again in the morning.

That’s defeatist thinking, Pollyanna.

I spoke with my caseworker, and she said she’d like to meet you at my apartment. She’s on vacation for a week and a half, but she asked if we could meet the Thursday after next. Would that work?

Sure, I can do that.

“Oh, good, you’re smiling,” Otis comments. “Is it Hannah? You always smile when you’re talking to Hannah.”

I hide my phone’s screen with my hand, not sure why I feel the need to conceal the truth, but slightly panicked. Another chirp sounds. “Yeah, it’s Hannah. She’s funny.”

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