“No.” She looks at me, wide-eyed. “It’s half of Madison Avenue taking up residence in your closet.” She waves her hand at the heap of high-end shopping bags piled on the floor.
“Oh, yeah. That.” I haven’t exactly gotten around to putting away the clothes Alex bought me. When I came home the night he gave them to me, I chucked the bags in my closet and have been ignoring them ever since.
Kasumi is gaping at me. “Are you a Kardashian? Do you have a secret shopping addiction? What’s happening here?” She grabs a handful of bags and drags them out into the room.
“Alex bought them.” I clear my throat. “He, uh, he wanted me to have some nice things to wear to his work events.”
Kasumi’s mouth forms into a silent ohhhh. She surveys the high-end labels scattered all over my floor. “Well, that’s very… sweet.”
“Yeah, it is sweet, right?” Why do I sound like I’m trying to convince myself? “It’s just…” I trail off.
The truth is these clothes aren’t me. Other than a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress I pulled out for one of Alex’s after-work happy hours, I can’t really see myself wearing any of this stuff. The Louboutins may be gorgeous, but there is a very good chance I will fall over in them. And where am I going to carry a Prada bag? The Food Bazaar? Yoga class? Even to an event like Sonya’s birthday party, I’m much more comfortable in a dress from a Williamsburg boutique and a quirky pair of earrings I bought at the Brooklyn Flea.
“It’s just that you might have wanted to pick out your own clothes?” Kasumi fills in the blank.
“Well,” I say, trying for upbeat. “These are the latest styles.”
“You have your own style.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Alex used to like it.”
I feel a flush creep up my cheeks. Kasumi is only saying exactly what I was thinking a minute ago. But I find myself going on the defensive again. “All the Wall Street women dress like this, so Alex wants me to feel like I fit in when we hang out with them.”
Kasumi is giving me that look again. The one like she’s about to say something that I’m not going to like. Luckily, Gio chooses this moment to hop off the bed and delicately weave his way through the designer bags on my floor. He sniffs around, finally choosing Armani. The thick paper crinkles as he settles on top, tucking his front paws beneath him.
Kasumi holds up her phone and starts circling Gio, snapping photos. “This one is going on Instagram for sure.”
When the photo shoot is over, we gather the shopping bags and line them up neatly on the closet floor where I know I’ll probably go on ignoring them for a while.
“So,” Kasumi says, flipping through my clothes on the hangers. “What are you going to wear to Sonya’s party?” She pulls out my favorite pink slip dress and holds it up in front of her. “How about this one?”
Suddenly, I have a flashback to Kasumi standing in the exact same position with a sparkly gold minidress in her hands. Or maybe it’s actually a flash-forward, since technically that New Year’s Eve carnival party is seven months away. But either way, I’m reminded of what a good friend she’s been to me, and suddenly, my throat is burning. I throw my arms around her, hoping she doesn’t notice my eyes growing wet. “I love you, Kasumi,” I say against her hair.
“I love you, too, silly,” she says in return. “Now, let’s pick out which photo of Gio we’re going to post on Instagram. I have the perfect label for it.” She pulls back from our hug and gives me a wink. “I’ll call it ‘Haute Cat-ure.’”
Chapter 15
June
I’m arranging a tray of candied pear and walnut muffins in Higher Grounds’ display case when Jacob walks in. Hearing the bell on the door, Mrs. Kaminski turns in her chair to get a look at him, and then she shakes her head. “You again.”
Zoe smiles. “Be nice, Mrs. Kaminski.”
“It’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Kaminski.” Jacob’s Victorian-era manners apparently extend to grumpy old ladies, because he’s unfailingly polite to Mrs. Kaminski, even when she snipes at him.
“You only come in when that girl is here,” she accuses.
“Which girl?” Jacob gazes around the half-full café.
“Sadie the Cat Lady.” Mrs. Kaminski humphs. I’d think she’s jealous, except there’s nothing about me and Jacob to be jealous of.
Jacob’s cheeks turn a little pink, and he lifts his gaze to mine. I swear my insides begin to caramelize.
Nothing to be jealous of at all.
He clears his throat. “If I don’t come in on the day she bakes, everything will be gone.”
Which is true, of course, and a totally reasonable explanation. Much more reasonable than thinking he comes in here to see me. That would not be reasonable at all, and therefore I am not thinking it. At all.
I hand Jacob a muffin and put another in front of Mrs. Kaminski, because he always buys her one.
“Thank you,” she says primly, folding a napkin on her lap.
Jacob takes the seat next to Mrs. Kaminski, and I grind the espresso for his café Americano. Technically, I’m not a barista here, but Zoe’s hands are full, and I know how to make all these drinks from when I worked here during my Very Bad Year. This time around, Zoe was super-impressed when I made a pot of coffee because it usually takes people two weeks to learn how to do it up to her standards. I obviously don’t mention that in an alternate universe, it actually took me three weeks.
“How’s the video game music coming?” I ask, setting Jacob’s drink in front of him.
“Just finished earlier this week. Owen came over last night with a bottle of whiskey to celebrate.” He winces and runs a hand through his hair. The couple of days of stubble on his jaw and purple circles under his eyes scream hangover.
“Do you need another one of these?” I gesture at his coffee.
He smiles. “No, I’m good.”
“Well, if Owen is as hungover as you are when he comes over later today, I’ll be sure to turn the lights on really bright and talk loudly. Maybe I’ll find an excuse to use the blender.”
“He deserves it.” Jacob nods. “He’s a bad influence.”
“Who’s Owen?” Mrs. Kaminski demands.
“My brother,” I say at the same time Jacob says, “my oldest friend.”
“Is he as good-looking as you are?” she asks Jacob.
“Uh…” He rubs his jaw. “I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer that.”
She turns to me. “Is he as good-looking as Jacob?”
I am not about to comment on how good-looking Jacob is, either. But luckily, we’re comparing him to my brother, so I have an easy way out. “No, Owen’s an ugly troll,” I say, and Jacob laughs.
“Well, bring him in here, and I’ll be the judge.”
For a moment, I’m really tempted by this. I’d love to hear Mrs. Kaminski tell my brother he’d be handsome if only he’d take off that stupid hat. But Owen has started calling me Sadie the Cat Lady thanks to Jacob spilling the beans, and I don’t need Mrs. Kaminski giving my brother any more ammunition.