Page 19 of All's Well that Friends Well

“Yep,” he says. “Later.” And he hangs up, without saying goodbye or anything else. I just smile, because I’m used to it.

JULIET

On Monday morning,for the first time in months, Aurora, India, and I all scurry around the kitchen at the same time as we get ready for work.

Usually I sit at the table and watch them, fretting about not having a job. But today I join their ranks as a job-having woman, ready to earn my living instead of mooching off my sisters.

Despite my mixed feelings toward janitorhood, it feels good to do this with them—scoot around each other, pass each other the loaf of bread for toast or sandwiches, mutter littleopes orsorrys when we step on toes.

They make any room in any house feel like home.

It takes a couple minutes to get used to my clothes as I move past them to grab a quick breakfast. My first-day outfit is maybe a little unexpected, considering my duties at work, but it makes me feel powerful and beautiful and put together: a silky white blouse, a pink tweed jacket, and amatching pink tweed pencil skirt. It’s not a subtle pink either, but a bold, saturated color that speaks to my soul. I’ve put my hair in a curled high ponytail, because I don’t want it getting in my face when I scrub things or clean out toilets, and I’ve chosen simple diamond studs for the same reason.

Bydiamond,obviously I meanfakediamond. But they won’t be dangling or getting caught on anything or hitting me in the cheeks.

Every now and then I see India and Aurora shooting me glances as we do our silent morning dance, though; a peek over her shoulder as India packs a quesadilla for lunch, or a furrowed brow as Aurora pops a few pieces of toast in the toaster.

Finally, when I’ve had enough, I slam the fridge shut and throw my hands up in the air.

“It’s fine!” I say, looking back and forth between them. “I’m dressing for the job I want, not the job I have. It’s recommended, you know.” My words echo around the quiet kitchen.

Aurora holds her hands up as though to sayI didn’t say anything, and India nods quickly.

“We were just surprised,” she says. “You’re probably going to get grimy or dirty. But we fully support you in whatever you choose to wear.”

“Thank you,” I say with a sniff. They probably expected me to be in something similar to India’s outfit—her go-to casual jeans and a t-shirt.

I open the fridge once more and resume my hunt for the hardboiled egg I know I stashed in here. When I can’t find it, I glance over my shoulder at my sisters. “Did someone eat my egg?”

Aurora’s expression turns guilty, and she pauses in theact of shoving her toast into a baggie to raise one hand. “I did,” she says meekly—or as meek as Aurora gets, anyway. “Sorry. I’ll make some more tonight!” she adds.

“Boo,” I say with a frown. Then I shrug. “It’s okay. I’ll have yogurt instead.”

“We have some of the key lime flavor, I think,” India pipes up, because she knows that’s my favorite.

She’s right; I grab one of the key limes and eat it in record time, glancing at the clock every five seconds.

I don’t want to be late on my first day. Not that my nerves would let me; my insides have been buzzing all morning, and I slept fitfully last night because they were buzzing then too. That grumpy old man at Luca’s hired me without an interview or a resume, and I don’t want him to think he made a mistake.

“You know,” India says, and I look at her. “I do have to ask. If you’re doing janitorial work—which obviously there’s nothing wrong with”—Aurora nods too, and I sigh—“why haven’t you wanted to come wash dogs with me?”

“Because,” I say. “You said yourself that you’re pretty full on staff. Plus dogs are cute but stinky, especially when they’re wet. And—” I break off, then go on. “I would have, if I needed to. I even thought about it. But I wanted to get a job on my own if I could. That’s all.”

India and Aurora both nod, and I know they understand. They would probably feel the same way, in fact.

“All right,” Aurora says. She hurries out of the kitchen and into the laundry room, where I hear her putting on her high heels. She’s a boss lady, a business goddess who rocks suits and pencil skirts. “I’m heading out,” she calls.

“Do you need me to move my car?” I say, trying to remember.

“No,” she says. “I’m good.”

“See you later!” I say, and India chimes in with the same; a second later, the door to the garage opens and then slams shut, and it’s just India and I.

“I have to go too,” I say, and India nods.

“So do I. Idoneed you to move your car, though,” she says.

I grab my keys and hurry out in my stocking feet, moving my little sedan so I’m not blocking India, and she’s pulling out a few minutes later. I watch her car disappear and then head back in.

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