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For Shane and Joe, and the people who leave us too soon.
What had she done? What madness had her Minion tits bewitched her into? There was no boyfriend, no date. Not unless she ran back into the kitchen and made one out of snickerdoodle dough.
“What? You don’t find safety a turn-on?”
“That they appreciate Richard Linklater films. It’s a fantastic name for a bakery, by the way—Glazed and Confused. Did you come up with it?”
Mira. MIRA!! That man is gorgeous! Like Johnny Knoxville and Timothy Olyphant had a sexy baby. And he noticed my mani. Who does that? If you don’t fuck him, I will.
Oh fuck me sideways 😍🥵
“What’s your poison?” Johnny Knoxville lookalikes. “Vodka cran?”
“Do you still have them? Can I see one?” “God no,” she said with a laugh. “Nobody ever did or ever will see them, because I burned them all like any self-respecting emo chick. But no matter how many balls of clay I tortured or how many overdramatically sad ashes I collected in my wish jar—” “You had a wish jar?” “Still do,”
He hummed, and never had the application of a beloved topical counterirritant felt so pornographic, like they’d unlocked some secret level of old people foreplay.
“Sure. Aquarians are passionate, thoughtful, ambitious.” Just then, she noticed the tiniest freckle under his left eye. “And perfect matches for Geminis.” “You’re a Gemini?” Tapping the fingers of his right hand to the languid beat of the song, he said, “Tragically.”
After several more rounds of their game, after he asked her to name the most frivolous thing she’d buy for herself if money wasn’t an option—a Maine Coon cat—and
“Who ever said we couldn’t do ridiculous things anymore just because we’re old?” “Young people.”
“The answer is yes, by the way.” “Yes, what?” Solemnly, he said, “I do like ponies.”
“Look,” Cole said, “you’re almost there. Just think about baseball or paying your taxes or—” “Leprechauns.” “That’s…a little niche,”
Fake date, real feels. Fake date, real feels. She’d reread Cole’s text so many times last night the words had left an afterimage on her retinas, an echo between her ears.
We all want someone in our lives who makes the hard things easier, the bad things less painful, the loneliness less pronounced. We want that person who becomes a light for us when the world goes dark.
More often than not, things didn’t work out. It didn’t mean that she no longer worked.
He didn’t want to keep doing all the things he’d been doing in his life that kept him busy but weren’t making him happy. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to go back to Seattle.
“Yeah. I’ll have to mail it back to him.” Or keep it forever until they bury me in it.
“it can be hard to move forward into your future while you’re surrounded by your past.”
Facts
“Not just some people, Cole. All people. All people think Volvos aren’t sexy.”
It was the kind of outfit meant for curling up on the couch with a mug of hot tea and a movie. It was the kind of outfit meant for cuddling.
“She’s just a friend. She’s a baker. A baker friend. I mean, she’s a friend who also bakes. She owns a bakery. She made the wedding cake. That’s why she was there. For the cake.”
“Did you honestly just call her a baker friend who also bakes?”
A complete stranger gifting me frozen meat? Far less often than you’d think.
John Cusack in that movie finally convinced me I was bi.
I have a bakery to run. He’s got strangers giving him frozen beef.” “I’m sorry, what?”
Like she might finally be able to scream out into the cool evening air, I AM NOT FUCKING FINE!
I’m trying to keep my head above water, but I’m kicking so hard under the surface right now my legs are giving out. I can’t breathe.
“Can I straddle you?” Only one corner of his mouth was visible, but when it curled, she felt his full grin all the same. “Mira, I could be at death’s door, and the answer to that question would still be a resounding yes.”
“What is it with boomers?” Cole asked. “They’d all rather sleep in a bed made of live snakes than open up about anything.”
Only sex? She wanted them to only have meaningless, emotionless, robot sex? The fuck we will. He’d told her he understood, but that didn’t mean he agreed with her. Because he didn’t. At all. He was already a proud resident of Emotionland. He’d popped a tent after Madigan’s wedding, built a house when she’d sent him tarts, and dug out a football field–sized bunker when she’d led him into her bedroom. And now? Fuck it. He was running for mayor.
“Anyone?” he asked while Murphy whined up at him. “Bueller?” Looking horrified, Thom turned to him and asked, “Was that a Ferris Bueller joke? In this year of our lord?”
Actually go to that job, like, consistently. I wasn’t very good at that stuff before, and when I think of the responsibilities waiting for me out there, the stress involved in just existing as a sober, functioning member of society, I’m freaking terrified. What if, even after all the tools I’ve learned here and all the strategies Madigan’s taught me, it’s still too much?”
“What if I just suck at real life?”
“You deserve to be loved. Head over heels, no compromises, no second-guessing loved. And anyone who offers less than that is not worth giving your heart to.”
“I gave her my heart.” He cleared the thickness from his throat, staring at the pretty pink box on his passenger seat. “And she gave me a cupcake.”
“No, I think you should make a beautiful cake. But sometimes it’s the things that don’t line up perfectly or fall right into place that move us the most. Sometimes it’s the mess that makes life beautiful.”
“Because if life was easy, we’d all be insufferable assholes.”
“Cole told me he wanted to move to Red Falls. He told me he loved me. He put his whole entire heart in my hands”—she swayed on her feet—“and I shoved him out the door with a fucking cupcake as a parting gift!”
“Look, it’s not that complicated. I told her I loved her, she gave me a goodbye cupcake, and that’s that. It’s a tale as old as time.”
