“Wine and chocolate,” I blurt out. I’d ordered it from a local shop and had it sent to her apartment. She’d fallen for the long-haired bike messenger who’d delivered it to her door, and that was the end of the on-and-off jerk for good.
“Wine and chocolate?” Jacob repeats.
“Go online to the Goat and Grape’s website and have some wine and chocolate delivered. It will cheer her up.”
Jacob looks skeptical, but he pulls out his phone.
“Trust me.”
While Jacob spends a few minutes typing in his phone, another realization from my Very Bad Year works its way into my consciousness. Jacob said his studio butted up against Paige’s apartment. But the room that shared a wall with Paige was the second bedroom. It was the guest room where I’d stayed. Jacob had his studio equipment in his own bedroom. Did he move it out of the guest room so I could have that space?
When I’d arrived to stay with Jacob, there was furniture in the guest room—a bed, side table, dresser. He even had a couple of succulents on the windowsill, and I remember the screen prints on the walls were from a Brooklyn artist that I admire. Had Jacob furnished that room for me?
I shrug off this ridiculous train of thought. Jacob obviously moved his studio out of the guest room because of the noise from Paige’s. He didn’t rearrange his entire apartment so his best friend’s sister could spend months sitting on his couch eating Nutella from the jar and watching eighties sitcoms.
“Done.” Jacob looks up from his phone. “You really think this will help her to feel better?”
I nod, remembering Paige and Brandon making out in the hallway. “I’m sure of it.”
Chapter 14
Smile, Sadie!” Kasumi flops down on the bed next to me, phone in her outstretched hand, and presses her cheek to mine. I look up from my copy of Baker’s Monthly magazine, flash a smile at the camera, and then go back to flipping pages.
I’m used to Kasumi Instagramming her every move, and mine along with it.
“Look,” she says, cuddling up next to me. “Your almond raspberry torte with the edible flowers has over twenty thousand likes.”
“Really?” I lean over to look. “Wow, that’s amazing.” Kasumi took a gorgeous photo of my cake, and it honestly looks more professional than anything in this magazine I’m reading. I can’t believe she managed that with an iPhone in Xavier’s ugly kitchen, especially given the horrible fluorescent lighting. “You’re really good at this.”
“Why thank you.” Kasumi grins. “When you open your bakery, I’ll do your social media.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford you.” I take the phone and scroll back through her Instagram feed. Of course I follow her, and I’ve seen these photos before. There are dozens of images of my cakes and tarts, all expertly photographed and edited to look like she’d spent days on styling and lighting. And then scattered among my baked goods are other food shots—dishes she and the other sous chefs made at Xavier’s, but also casual photos of ingredients, too. A toppling pile of carrots, deliciously fresh and vibrant, showcased on a simple white plate. Three perfectly fat cherries lined up across a metal prep table.
Plus, there are dozens of pictures of Kasumi and her friends looking youthful and vibrant, but still natural at the same time. A group of Xavier’s kitchen staff makes faces at the camera. One of the prep cooks scatters fresh herbs on a plate. Looking at these photos, I realize that Kasumi is a talented chef, but she’s never really been passionate about cooking. Even back in culinary school, she was always more interested in styling and presentation.
“You should do social media professionally,” I tell her, handing back the phone.
“That would be amazing,” Kasumi says, her voice wistful.
I sit up. “Seriously, Kasumi. Why don’t you?” In just the minute I was watching, my cake racked up another hundred likes. “You’re easily as good at this as your friend, what’s his name… Devon?” Devon, the social media influencer who hosted the carnival-themed New Year’s party. But I can’t mention that, of course. Because that party won’t happen for about seven more months. “You’re basically doing it professionally anyway,” I point out. “You’re just not getting paid for it. And you’re handing Xavier all that free promotion.”
She bites her lip. “I do think about it sometimes. I just can’t imagine putting up with Xavier’s bullshit forever, you know?” She hops off the bed and crosses the room to open the fridge. “Or the sexism of restaurant work in general.”
Sometimes, I can still feel Rob’s hand sliding up my thigh. I shudder at the memory and push it out of my head. “I know what you mean.”
“Do you?” There’s something in the tone of her voice, an edge to it, that has me sitting up straighter. “It seems like it doesn’t bother you that much.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Kasumi pops the top on a can of seltzer. “Nothing… it’s just…” She sinks back down on the bed. “You didn’t used to put up with all the bullying. But lately, it seems like you’re okay going along with it. We’ve all kind of noticed.”
I toss my magazine on the bed next to me. “Who is ‘we’？ The servers? Because I didn’t ask to be sent out on the floor with them, you know.”
“But you didn’t push back, either.”
I slide off the bed and pace across the room. “You know it’s not that easy to push back. All I’ve ever wanted to do is be a pastry chef. I need this job. If I lose this job, I could be blackballed by the whole industry.” I turn to her with my hands on my hips. “Xavier might be a dick, but he’s a dick with a lot of influence.”
Kasumi shakes her head. “That would never happen.”
It did happen! I want to scream. It did happen, and I lost everything! But I can’t. Because it didn’t happen in Kasumi’s reality, in my current reality. It happened in my Very Bad Year. The year I’m doing everything I possibly can to keep from repeating. “You have no idea what could happen.”
Kasumi sighs. “I don’t want to fight with you about this. You’re my best friend. I’m just worried. You don’t seem quite like you anymore.”
“I’m still me.” I drop my arms from their defensive position. “Maybe I’m just the me who’s grown up a little. The me who realized you can’t cause a scene every time you don’t like something. You have to pick your battles.”
Kasumi gazes across the room, her brows knit together. After a beat, she seems to shake it off, jumping to her feet.
“You know what? I’m sorry I brought it up.” She heads for my walk-in closet. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to wear to Sonya’s thirtieth birthday party. Her boyfriend rented out the entire rooftop deck at the Hotel Budapest. It’s going to be epic.”
Kasumi flings the closet door open and then reels backward. “Holy shit.”
“What?” I hurry to her side. “Is it a cockroach? I hate cockroaches.”