Brooklyn Girls (17 page)

“Maybe just relax and try to enjoy it,” I say. “Life is meant to be fun, otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Spoken like a true hedonist,” she says, rolling her eyes. Ouch. I’ve been working really hard lately, damnit.

“Well, you don’t have to be a banker,” I point out. “There are other careers in the world.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll quit. Go back to college, do an MBA, or travel or something,” she says.

“What?” I’m stunned. The idea of Julia leaving Rookhaven just feels wrong.

And Coco looks like a kid who’s just discovered Santa doesn’t exist.

“You’d leave me again? It was bad enough when you went to college—”

“No! Of course not!” says Julia quickly. “And it’s great, really, I mean, it’s amazing, totally my dream job.” She smiles brightly at us. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. I just need to get through the first year and it’ll be so much easier. And the money is great, and the bonus should sweeten it, right?”

She takes a long swig of her beer without looking at us.

“I think we all just have to do our best,” I say. “We’re all in the same boat. We’re all starting out.”

“Let’s all have another shot,” says Julia, slamming her empty bottle down on the table. “And I have skank-face’s food.”

Ten minutes later, we’re halfway through the wares from Let Them Eat Cake. The salads aren’t very good—one chicken, one tuna, uninspiring vegetables and brown curling lettuce—but the cakes are exceptional.

“
Merde,
these are good.” I despair, chewing another bite of a blondie.

“Wowsers. These are not low-fat or low-sugar,” says Coco, eating an oatmeal cookie. “Trust me. I can tell. My heart only beats this fast when I eat a lot of sugar.”

“I know, I can actually taste the butter and cream.” Julia is simultaneously enjoying a key lime pie and a red velvet cupcake.

“How can we find out?” I throw my utterly delicious peanut butter blondie down in disgust, and then pick it up and have another bite.

“Wasn’t there some kind of fat and carb experiment in chem class?” says Julia excitedly. “With like, a Bunsen burner, and—oh.”

We all sit back, dejected. We’re never going to get our hands on a Bunsen burner.

Another round of tequila it is.

“I thought you didn’t do shots,” I say to Julia. “I thought they were the reason the housewarming party got so out of control.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of being in control.” Lick, sip, suck. “Madeleine is on three dates tonight,” Julia adds.

“What?” say Coco and I in unison.

“She decided it’s time to get a boyfriend, so she’s been Internet dating. She’s got them lined up for super-efficient forty-five-minute drink-dates after work tonight, one-two-three, like dominos.” Julia pauses. “Shit, don’t tell her I told you. I think it might be a secret.”

“Sheesh, she is organized,” I say. “Why doesn’t she just do what we did at college: get drunk in a bar and see what happens?”

“She never did that,” Julia reminds me. “She dated Sebastian, and that was it.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sebastian. Math major. I don’t think I ever even heard him say anything.

I get another round in, and Julia goes to the bathroom. Coco is still staring obsessively at her phone, so I gaze out the window, wondering where Aidan is, and why I have a crush so strong that I’m thinking about him this much, days later.…

And that’s when I get a text from Angie.

Just ran into Eddie at Brinkley’s. What are the fucking odds?

I blink a few times. Did I read that right? Eddie? Maybe it’s an autocorrect mistake.

I reply:
Eddie? My Eddie?

Angie replies:
Mr. Flight Risk himself.

I reply:
Are you sure?

Angie replies:
Ladybitch, we all went skiing together, remember? I know your ex when I see him.

CHAPTER 13

“I’m having a cigarette,” I mutter to Coco, and run outside the bar.

I lean against the wall, trying to breathe and think at the same time. It shouldn’t be hard, but it is. Eddie’s here? He’s in New York? Walking the same streets at me? Part of me wants to text back “did he ask about me? How did he look? What was he wearing? Was he with a girl? What was she wearing?” and about a million other questions.

But I also don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything that would make him part of my present rather than my past. Wait, maybe I do.… No, no, I don’t, I don’t want anything to do with him. He broke my heart. I trusted him and loved him and it was the stupidest thing I ever did.

A second later, another text arrives. Thank God Angie can read my mind.

No chitchat. We just said hi. He was on his way in, I was on my way out … He looks just the same as ever. Wasn’t with a girl.

It seems almost strange he exists, ridiculous that for the past four years he’s been walking around eating breakfast and studying and living a life, when I’ve been effectively mourning him. Is that weird?

I put a cigarette in my mouth and light it with shaky hands. Why is my heart pounding like this? How can just
hearing
about Eddie still have this effect on me?

Another text from Angie.

Dude, are you there? Should I not have told you? Do you want to meet me?

Shit, I better reply. I need to make her think I’m fine. Act natural.

Yes, no, of course, thanks for telling me, small world! Talk tomorrow!

Yeah. Real natural.

I stub out my cigarette and head back inside. Julia is ordering more shots. Yes. Drinking. Drinking is good.

“More shots!” I shout. “And whiskey!”

It’s a good thing that Julia and Coco don’t know anything about Eddie, because I don’t want to explain why, years later, hearing he’s now living in New York has spun me into a quasi-meltdown.

Instead, I want to talk about why love sucks ass.

“There is no point,” I say, slamming down my third whiskey sour. “No point in any of it. Either you’ll reject him or he’ll reject you.”

“Any of what?” says Julia, hiccupping slightly. “And who is rejecting who?”

“Men, love, the men thing,” I say. “Better to be single and just have, y’know, buck fuddies. I mean fuck buddies.”

Julia laughs so hard at “buck fuddies” that she nearly falls off her chair.

“Yes there is! Soul mates!” says Coco, devastated I’d even consider saying otherwise.

I shake my head. “Soul mates don’t exist. Love is just hormones and good timing.”

I look around. The bar is full of beautiful Brooklynites starting their evenings, and I’m hungry.

“Starving,” I say, a full sentence suddenly seeming like a lot of effort. “Need food.”

Julia punches the air. “Yesh! Where?”

“Bartolo’s!” I say, instantly cheered at the thought. Yay! Lovely Bartolo’s, with lovely pretty Jonah. Thank hell we’re just friends. I’m never going to have any boyfriends again. And I’m going to stop thinking about stupid Eddie, and for that matter, stupid Aidan, and I’m going to stop crushing on him immediately, too. Love sucks. Yeah.

We roll out of the bar onto Court Street. Everything is a bit fuzzy and warm, and I keep tripping over my own feet.

Holding hands with Jules and Coco, I skip into Bartolo’s, straight up to the bar, where Jonah, lovely beekeeping Jonah, is opening a bottle of wine. I am delighted to see him.

“Jonah!”
I say, landing with a skippy thud. “How the sweet hell are you, my little cowboy? Your hair looks nice. Be honest: is it highlighted?”

“Dude, have you been drinking?” says Jonah, laughing. I introduce the girls. Coco high-fives him and Julia leans over to give him a kiss on both cheeks, and I realize, they’re hammered. Am I hammered?

“We are just
so hungry,
” I say in a library whisper, seeing a tray of cheesy lasagne go past. “So, is skank-face still working any shifts? I mean Bianca?”

“No, she quit,” says Jonah, looking confused by the “skank-face” comment. “Hey, guess what? I’m starting my own business! I’m gonna be a bee-babysitter! So many people are into the urban bee thing now, you know? But they don’t always have the time or know-how to look after their bees. So I’m gonna be, like, the bee dude.”

“The Bee Whisperer,” I say.

“Yeah! Bee Whisperer! Great name! You are good at this stuff, can you give me some advice on the whole start-up thing?”

“Of course!” I say, though really, isn’t it just common sense? Find customers, give them what they want, make money. “Anytime!” Suddenly I get the hiccups, and I quickly press my fingers in my ears and start swallowing (it works, I swear). Julia notices and laughs uncontrollably.

“Hey, why don’t I take you guys out to the kitchen? Vinnie and Ricky will look after you.”

“This is so
Goodfellas,
” says Julia.

“Can we get something nonalcoholic to drink?” says Coco. “I don’t feel very well.”

“You just need food,” I say. “My boys! Vincent! Richard!”

Vinnie and Ricky are surprisingly delighted to see us, but perhaps they get drunk people storming the kitchen every night of the week. We sit at a tiny table in the corner, and little taster plates start arriving: courgette fries, eggplant rollatini, garlic knots, buffalo mozzarella salad, chicken romano, spaghetti carbonara, baked ziti, linguine in white clam sauce, tiny pizzas of every variety.… Every bite is delicious, and we stuff and scarf with drunken delight.

“I am going to learn how to cook like this, I swear it,” says Coco.

“So good,” I say through a mouthful of spinach and ricotta pizza. “So, so good.” The moment I began eating, I sobered up. Funny how that happens sometimes. I still can’t believe Angie saw Eddie. I wonder where he’s living, or what he’s doing.… No, no, think about something else.

“Woman cannot live on salad alone,” says Julia. “Stick that in your truck and smoke it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. And I never said you could live on salad. SkinnyWheels is about balance. Remember? Balance.”

“Yeah, yeah, balance, you keep telling me. Can I have more of these garlic thingies?”

I turn to Vinnie and Ricky, who are hard at work chopping, grilling, and serving. “I’ve started a food truck business, guys.”

“Yeah? What kind of food truck?”

“Salads with loads of protein and low-sugar, low-fat desserts…”

Ricky and Vinnie look over at me uncomprehendingly. They have probably never used the words “low-carb, low-sugar, low-fat” in their lives.

“Anyway, you know sk—I mean, Bianca? She totally copied my idea! She’s selling salads and low-fat desserts all over Manhattan in some big shiny Darth Vader truck!”

Vinnie and Ricky exchange a look.

“You can’t trust that Bianca,” says Vinnie. “She messed up orders and always blamed the kitchen.”

“Skank-face!” Julia hiccups.

Ricky comes over to me. “So you’re making all the salads, every day, all by yourself? And doing all the baking? That’s a lot of work, Pia!”

“Coco helped with the baking,” I say. Coco grins proudly. “It’s hard work. I have total respect for real chefs like you.” I flutter my eyelashes at them and Vinnie throws a piece of pepperoni at me.

Ricky points to a cardboard box in the corner. “Take a look. We were about to throw out a big food processor and an old deli meat cutter. You can use it to cut vegetables real thin.”

“Ooh, wow, really?” I could double my dessert batches, and make paper-thin carrots and radishes and celery, oh my. “You sure you don’t want them?”

“Just take them,” says Vinnie. “And, Pia, if you’re buying your meat and veggies at the market, you’re getting ripped off.”

“Yeah, totally,” agrees Ricky. “Let us order for you. We pay, like, half price what normal people do. Just text us what you want by four o’clock every night and pick it up in the morning.”

“That would be amazing!” I say. I quickly tap their numbers into my cell. “Would Angelo mind?”

They both shrug. “He shouldn’t have fired you. We’re not talking to him.”

Oooh. Power play at Bartolo’s.

Julia is leaning back, head against the wall in a food coma. “Wow, that was, like, the most intense food experience of my life.”

“Oh, my God!” Coco squeaks, nearly falling off her chair. “He
texted
me! Eric! He wants to meet up! I have to go! I need to go to…” She looks at her phone, one eye squinted closed. “He’s at a house party at Windsor Court on Thirty-first and Third.”

“Oh, that’s Murray Hill,” I say. “Want me to come with you?”

“No, no, I can handle this by myself. I’ll get the train,” she says. “I’m a grown-up.…” She burps like a trucker, then covers her mouth in giggly shock.

“Pia, guess who!” says Jonah, coming from the hallway.

Holy shit, it’s Bianca, half-shaved punk-hipster-hybrid Bianca, sauntering into the kitchen at Bartolo’s like she owns it. I’m so stunned, I can’t speak.

“Hey, guys,” she says casually, as Jonah, looking absurdly delighted with himself—is he really
that
clueless?—heads back out to the bar.

“I saw your truck today,” I finally stammer.

“Thanks,” she says, picking up a piece of pizza from the tasting plate and sniffing it.

Suddenly, I’m bursting with anger. “How dare you steal my idea? And how
dare
you stand here like you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about after your little drive-by this afternoon? You’re nothing but a— a— a copycat!”

“A copycat?” she echoes, laughing. “What is this, grade school? What exactly do you think I did, princess?”

“Have a fight with a chainsaw?” says Jules under her breath.

“Don’t play cute! You know just what you did!” I probably look and sound a lot like my mom right now. “You totally took my idea—”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, Pia. Low-fat? Low-sugar? It’s what the people want!”

“Screw you!” From now on, I hate anyone who uses the term “the people.”

“Your desserts are full of fat and sugar.” Coco’s voice is quivering with the stress of confrontation. “I can
prove
it.”

Bianca rolls her eyes. “I’d like to see you try, sunshine. Vinnie, Ricky, I need your help. Can you add my daily food needs to the restaurant’s order so I don’t have to pay the markup?”