Page 2 of Late Bloomer
“Belated birthday present,” Laney says with a bored smile.
“Aw, thanks.” I grin at her as I take a seat at the rickety card table we use to eat. My birthday was five weeks ago and Laney (and everyone else who wasn’t my sisters or parents) had forgotten… which wasn’t a big deal at all and didn’t hurt my feelings one bit.
“Course.” Laney perches herself back in her spot by the window and lights another joint. “So, I have a tiny favor to ask,” she says as I slide my finger under the envelope’s seal.
Laney always has a tiny favor to ask.
“What’s up?” I pull out the ripped piece of notebook paper from the envelope. It readshappy birthdayin pencil.
“I know I’m the absoluteworstto ask so last-minute but, like, I’m scheduled for a double today but it turns out the band playing at McNally’s tonight canceled and they asked us to play and it’s like, one of those things you don’t want to say noto because you never know when there might be someone important in the audience, you know what I mean?” Laney says, taking a drag, then fixing her features into a puppy-dog look. “So, would you cover my shift?”
My shoulders curl, a heavy blanket of exhaustion wrapping around me as I stare at the two creased scratch-off lottery tickets that Laney had stuffed into the envelope.
Laney is the lead singer in a band with Miles. It never really feels all that great to cover a shift for her to go hang out with my ex. I’d never admit it—mainly because I prefer to avoid conflict by bottling my feelings up so tightly I’m at risk of exploding like a Coke stuffed with Mentos—but it kind of eats me to pieces that Laney still hangs out with him. Especially since they only know each other through me.
And while I’m probably being paranoid, I have this awful, nagging sense that Laney and Miles aren’t just platonic bandmates either. It’s the oh-so-subtle potential clues of finding Laney’s thong in Miles’s car or her lipstick in his bathroom while he and I had been dating.
But those things weren’t hard proof, and Laney and Miles had laughed hysterically any time I had broached the subject.
“You’d be helping mesooooomuch,” she says, giving me her most saccharine smile.
“Okay,” I say, forcing a smile back. “I could use the extra money anyway.” I wish that were the main motivation, but my dominant personality trait is pleasing others. I have about as much backbone as a cooked spaghetti noodle.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Laney squeals, putting down her joint to give me a hug. “You’re the best friendever.”
This, at least, is true. I barrel through life like an overeager St. Bernard ready to rescue literally anyone by doing anything. Four a.m. ride to the airport? I’ll bring you coffee. Help moving? I won’t bat an eye if you take a three-hour break to scroll on your phone while I do the heavy lifting. Left your wallet at home by accident? Of course I’ll grab the check, and seriously, it’s fine, don’t worry about Venmoing me back. It’s all good.
Unfortunately, most of the people in my life have no shortage of things they need help with.
It could be worse. At least tonight I’ll be behind the counter scooping ice cream instead of standing on the corner in the extremely large and mildly degrading costume. When the previous cone maestro had quit, my boss had asked me to step in. Just for the afternoon. The afternoon had turned into three months of me in that suit.
“Are you gonna see if you won anything?” Laney asks, tapping her chipped nail on the scratch-offs.
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks for these, by the way,” I say, reaching in my locker and rummaging around for a coin. “So, uh, thoughtful.”
“Oh my God, don’t even mention it,” Laney says in a tone that makes the tickets seem much more extravagant than they are.
I take a seat and start scratching.
“I have this super-hot look for tonight,” Laney says. She’s apro at unprompted monologuing. “It’s this mesh crop top that I’m going to pair with my checkered skirt.”
“Cute,” I say, scratching away the last corner of the first ticket and pushing it aside. No matches.
“I know! I showed it to Miles last night, and that boy’s jaw was on thefloor.”
What a totally innocuous and not at all inappropriate thing for Laney to say about my ex!
“That’s great.” I keep my eyes fixed on the two adjacent squares filled with flowers and $500,000 I just uncovered on the other scratch-off.
“Mm-hmm. We’ve actually been throwing around the idea of touring a little bit this summer. Hit Durham. Asheville. Knoxville. Maybe even go for bigger cities like Atlanta.”
“Oh wow,” I say, my heart cracking a little. Miles and I had talked about doing a road trip this summer.
But I’m not going to think about that. Nope. Not going to let that hurt linger.
Not thinking about it would be a hell of a lot easier if I had anything else to preoccupy my brain with. But without some shiny stimulus, my thoughts stick on the hurt like an insect to fly paper, glued to the torture until it gives up in exhaustion, rotting away.
I stare at the freshly scratched square with a frowning rain cloud.
