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If Molly had been standing in front of Chrome, she’d have slapped that chuckle right out of him, no matter how long she’d have to ice her hand afterward. She worked in the restaurant business and had no shortage of the frozen stuff. She’d cheerfully take the hit, regardless of his stupidly stony jaw, so long as her point was made.
“Take the help, woman. Shit, I thought I was stubborn.”
“Oh, you are,” Drea crooned. “Now, shoo. Let me talk to my friend. Molly, you still there?”
“Yeah, technically.” She sank down onto a stool beneath one of the counters, but her stupid feet still insisted on tapping out a stupid nervous rhythm against the stupid ceramic nonslip floor painted the stupidest shade of red.
Not red. Terracotta, the designer had clarified when Molly had to choose between the cheap red porcelain tile or the cheap red ceramic tile. Apparently, there was a difference between burnt orange and terracotta, and neither of them involved the word red. And Brass was supposed to walk into this kitchen in fewer minutes than it took her to scarf down her bagel from earlier, expecting her to . . . what? Show him how to wash out a pot? How to make sure he bent at the knees when hauling garbage into the dumpster out back?
How the hell was she even supposed to introduce him to this place without sounding like a desperate, naïve, and inappropriately minted business owner who knew more about fennel and radish pairings than finances?
Aaand here’s the soap we use, which we keep right next to the sink. Imagine that. Our sinks also have hot and cold water faucets. Isn’t that amazing? But don’t leave the water running too long, because I’m so far in debt right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if the town shuts off the water just as the breakfast rush comes in. So, welcome! Glad you’re here! Lunch is on the house. Oh, and by the way, can I pay you in cash? Because Benny’s the only W-2 employee I can afford to pay and still spare thirty dollars a week in groceries for myself. Speaking of which, did you know that if you crush up ramen into small pieces before you cook it in the broth, you can sometimes get fuller faster?
“Drea, I can’t do this.” God, she hated the defeat in her voice, hated that her best friend had to hear her spiral out of control. Again.
“Of course you can. You’re, quite literally, the badassiest of badasses out there. But sometimes, even badasses need to take stock of their circumstances and accept help to keep their awesomeness alive. And if Brass is offering, what’s the harm?”
The harm is that I don’t want him to see the mess underneath. Not him.
“I’m not always this badass at work, though.” It was as much of an admission as she’d ever let herself say out loud, and only because it was Drea. “I can . . . struggle, at times.”
“Well, yeah, you’re human. Der. We have no choice but to experience other basic elements of our natural-born condition as well, like gushing over cute baby animals and being stuck in the rain without an umbrella. All par for the human course.”
“Stop trying to make me smile,” Molly relented.
“Only if you stop coming up with reasons to refuse perfectly good help when you need it and it’s offered to you. Help, I’ll add, that comes in the form of someone you know.”
“I’ve met him twice.”
“And that’s two more times than anyone else who would have responded to your ad.”
Molly slouched as far forward as her stool would allow and looked at her phone again. Ten minutes. “I don’t like your logic.”
“You don’t have to like it for it to be correct.”
“Now you sound like a scientist arguing with a flat-earther.”
“Well, someone’s got to.” The word obviously floated, unspoken, around the periphery of Drea’s retort. As if Molly’s present and looming situations were both in need of chastisement from an adult wary of using their grown-up voice to make the point.
Was she truly no better than a child prone to impulsive decisions and emotionally charged tantrums?
Molly refused to acknowledge the empty restaurant kitchen she sat in, the one with her name on the deed, or the egregious hour at which she’d maliciously called her best friend.
She was one unwelcome revelation away from sticking her tongue out at the phone, as she’d been in this exact same position with Drea more times than she could count, except with the roles reversed. When her best friend had struggled to keep a job for reasons employers deemed flighty, but Molly always knew to be more altruistic in nature, she’d been there for Drea with a to-go mug full of hot java and a pile of freshly pressed work clothes, encouraging her to attack the day anyway. It wasn’t that Molly needed to be needed; it was just that care came easy to her. Far more easily than accepting the same help. It was one thing to shine the spotlight on others, sweep up the dirt around them, and fill in the neglected spaces with what was missing.
It was quite another thing to have that light glaring on her, illuminating holes far larger than any she’d managed to patch for those she loved. Holes that, if one looked too closely at, would reveal decrepit parts of herself she’d managed to successfully wall off and keep from doing irreparable damage.
The irony of all that could go crawl into the grease traps and choke on a petrified cheddar cheese biscuit.
“I should go,” Molly said, scraping circles into the spilled salt with her toes. “Made a bit of a mess. Benny’ll call the health department himself if he doesn’t find his kitchen the way he left it.”
“Mmm, but his lemon ricotta pancakes are amazing. Kind of worth the violation, in my opinion.”
“You would say that.”
“I’d say a lot of things for the right amount of carbs and sugar.”
Molly nodded, finding little fault in the statement. “Fair.”
