Must Love Sandwiches (4 page)

Emma choked on her pudding. Daisy’s cheeks burned. The world had turned upside down and she was in some kind of alternate reality. Marshall liked her. She didn’t need Emma to tell her that.

“Wow, I wonder what happened. Nobody is parked in their usual spot.” Emma looked at Daisy and then surveyed the line-up of food trucks. Brad was usually parked near the corner they were standing at, but the blue truck was nowhere in sight.

“I’ll ask Marshall what’s going on. If you want to start walking around the block to find Brad’s truck, I’ll catch up with you.” Daisy waved and jogged toward a truck painted with fluffy pink and orange clouds. Usually Vegan Valhalla was parked on the other side of the block.

Which way to go? She and Daisy didn’t have much time to spend on a break. More orders were rolling in as stores tried to keep up with summer tourist purchases. One boutique had a baby area in the back of the store. She had mentioned to the owner that Daisy sometimes made one-of-a-kind baby blankets. One glimpse of the luxurious sample blanket was all it took. The woman placed an order for a dozen blankets from Daisy. Now both of them were putting in long hours to fill the demands, but they still needed to eat. She turned to the left. The sidewalk was jammed with people studying menus and waiting for orders. The winding path that cut through the interior of the park to the opposite side would be the quickest way to get around.

Cheerful, pink petunias bloomed along the edge of the path, but she didn’t have time to enjoy them. She picked up her pace. A little power walk never hurt anybody. A film of sweat coated her forehead when she reached the far side of the park. She wiped it off with the end of the gauzy cotton scarf that was looped around her neck. It was pretty as a fashion accessory, but way too warm for the sunny day coupled with a mad dash. Luckily, The Sandwich Emporium was parked in the shade of an ancient oak tree to the left of the end of the path.

The line was even longer than usual. Emma checked her cell phone. Not enough time to wait for a sandwich. She’d just get some soup and iced tea. The chilled gazpacho and mango green tea would help cool her from the inside out. She really needed to pay more attention to the weather and the rest of the world. Laser focusing on fairy door production helped keep the panic of being alone every evening at bay. She and Daisy spent countless hours together, but sometimes her companionship just didn’t help. Best friends weren’t the same as boyfriends.

She was still waiting to place her order when Daisy materialized out of the throng of people. She held up a plastic bag and said, “I got some salad, but they didn’t have any desserts left. Marshall said the trucks all decided to move to different spots to see if they’d get any more customers. Looks like their plan worked. The lines are a lot longer than usual.”

“That’s good for the food trucks, not so good for me. I really need to get back to work.”

Two women dressed in neon-colored exercise bras and skin-tight yoga pants moved to the side. It was finally Emma’s turn to order. Brad leaned farther out the order window. “What can I get for you, Emma?”

She adjusted her scarf. It suddenly felt like a snake trying to strangle her. “I’ll just take some gazpacho and a large mango . . .”

“Do you have any cookies or something sweet?” Daisy interrupted. “Sorry, but I have a raging sweet tooth right now and Marshall sold all of his desserts already.”

Brad shook his head. “We just do soup, sandwiches and iced tea. You could put some sugar in the tea.”

“Sorry, but that isn’t going to work, dude. Sweet tea just isn’t the same as a chocolate chip cookie.”

“What about making sandwich cookies?” Emma blurted out the idea the moment it popped into her head. That wasn’t a normal occurrence. She just wasn’t the spontaneous type. The paint fumes accumulating in the studio must have been getting to her. “Ice cream sandwich cookies would fit into your theme.”

“Oh man, I am out of here. I can’t listen to this.” Daisy shook her head and turned away. “I’m heading back home and maybe, if I get lucky, I’ll find that push cart that sells ice cream along the way.”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Emma called. She turned back to the order window. Brad had her order already.

He took her money and said, “I like the idea of offering desserts, especially the sandwich cookies, but since we don’t have a freezer, ice cream won’t work.”

“You could put frosting or jam between the cookies.” Where were these ideas coming from? She hardly ever craved sugar, so she was never big on eating sweets. Daisy, on the other hand, could eat her weight in brownies over a 24-hour period. “Those fillings wouldn’t melt.”

“Brilliant! I’ll talk to Whale and Geek about doing some kind of dessert.”

Whale and Geek were the nicknames of the two other men that worked in The Sandwich Emporium. She often heard them calling each other the odd monikers as she waited for them to fill her order. Did Brad have a nickname, too? Chick Magnet would be appropriate, judging from the number of women that frequented the truck.

He continued, “If you have any other ideas let me know, please. I would love to hear them. We’re always looking for new things to sell.”

Emma plucked at the elastic bands that looped around her shoulders, holding the fairy wings in place on her back. She had spent hours painting elaborate swirls on the fabric that covered the moth wing-shaped wire armature. Then she glued on hanks of faceted beads and vials of glitter. In the sunlight the embellishments reflected hundreds of tiny, dancing rainbows. Daisy liked to tease her about dressing up for Halloween all year around, but the wings and flouncy skirts attracted attention. Often people would buy something if they made it through the door and into the gallery. Normally she would sit at the checkout counter near the window, to attract potential customers, but she had lasted only a few minutes in the area. The afternoon sunshine poured through the plate glass windows, making her feel like a butterfly cornered by a 10-year old with a magnifying glass.

Outside, the sidewalk was crowded with people heading back to their cubicles after enjoying lunch at the park or one of the neighborhood cafes. On dreary days the colorful artwork in the gallery drew people in, but nobody wanted to come inside when the weather was gorgeous. After the oppressing heat of summer set in, people would return, looking for an air conditioned retreat. For now, all of the potential customers seemed content to hurry by while they basked in the sun’s rays.

Emma found a feather duster under the counter. She wandered around the gallery, flicking dust off ceramic vases and oil paintings, many of the items made by her friends. Most of the artists in the colony knew each other. Friendships developed and romances blossomed as the residents of the former extended-stay hotel passed in the hallways or congregated in the lounges. She had met Max during one of the frequent movie nights held in what used to be the restaurant, now the main lounge on the first floor. The movie had been a gory blood fest, the kind of film that produced terrifying nightmares for a month afterward. So she watched Max more than the widescreen TV. In the dim light his dark brown eyes appeared to be black. His gray t-shirt and faded jeans clung to his lean body. He looked like a dangerous, fallen angel. She pretended the dark stains on his hands were the sooty residue from conjuring flames from his fingertips, instead of India ink transferred from his drawings. Their relationship began that night. It flared and sparked like the flames she had imagined, until he broke up with her. Max told her he needed to focus completely on his art and didn’t want to be distracted by a relationship.

Emma stopped in front of a constellation of drawings and paintings arranged on a wall. A few of Max’s drawings were mixed in among the portraits of flowers and abstract paintings. There didn’t seem to be any more of his pieces than the last time she had taken a turn as the gallery’s cashier. It didn’t look like he’d picked up production since he broke up with her. The bell on the front door jingled as Emma studied the drawing of a female zombie and wondered if Max had used her as a model.

“Daisy said you were working. I thought you might like some lunch.”

Emma spun around. The tip of one of her wings brushed a box of notecards sitting on a shelf beside her. The package burst open when it hit the floor. Cards scattered everywhere. Brad stood near the front door, holding up a brown paper bag. The aromas of bacon and yeasty, warm bread were already wafting across the room. Emma’s stomach rumbled as she tried to resist the urge to snatch the bag out of his hand and rip it open to see what delights were inside. “Thank you. Whatever you have smells a million times better than the vending machine granola bar I was planning to eat for lunch.”

The sunlight produced a soft aura around him as she walked toward the front of the gallery. Another man-angel. Definitely not what she wanted or needed. His sandwiches had made it to her most wanted list, though.

“I try to make food that’s better than the average vending machine offering.”

“Judging from the line of people that’s always at your truck, you’ve succeeded.” Emma tugged at a strand of her hair. A nervous habit she hated, but couldn’t stop doing. Her scalp burned as a clump of aqua blue, synthetic hair landed at her feet. She had pulled on one of the hair extensions she used when she dressed up like a fairy, instead of her real hair, and dislodged the tiny clip that held it in place. With her toe she nudged the shock of hair under a nearby display case. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed.

“What do I owe you?” she asked as she moved behind the checkout counter and crouched down to find her purse.

Brad met her at the counter. He set the bag next to the cash register. She grabbed her purse and stood up. Her stomach flipped again when he smiled at her. The man was better than an aerobics class at the gym. Her heart raced like she had been doing circuit training for an hour.

“How about you go on a date with me as payment?”

She slid onto the wooden stool near the register. Her legs had turned into jelly. It didn’t matter how dreamy he was, she had made a pact with herself and she was going to keep it. She blurted out an answer before her resolve evaporated. “I’m taking a break from dating right now. I just went through a bad break-up.”

He backed up a step and held his arms up in surrender. “No problem. I understand. It takes some time to recover from something like that.” He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “If you change your mind, I put my business card in the bag. The number is for my cell phone.”

Emma dug through the pens, notebooks and lip balm tubes in her purse until a crumpled, five dollar bill surfaced in the mess. “Since your payment method won’t work, will five dollars do for now? I left my wallet in my studio, but I can get the rest of it to you tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The string of bells on the front door jingled again as a customer walked in. Brad glanced at the newcomer in a fancy business suit and then walked backward toward the door. “It’s on the house.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the new customer make a beeline toward the rack filled with Daisy’s scarves as she watched Brad disappear into the crowd outside. The man snatched up an intricate, white lace one and hurried toward Emma. “I forgot my anniversary. Do you think my wife would like this?” he asked as he pulled his wallet out from his back pocket.

“I’m sure she will. It’s a lovely scarf.” Emma folded the soft, knitted fabric into a square and wrapped it in tissue paper. She chose an iridescent blue gift bag from the stash the gallery kept under the counter for packaging gifts. “Is this gift bag okay?”

“Yes, yes it’s fine. Just hurry up. Here.” He shoved his credit card at her. As she ran it through the register he said, “I’m sorry for being so rude. I’m running late and I can’t believe I forgot it was our anniversary.”

“I’m sure your wife will love this.” She presented him with the ribbon-adorned bag, the receipt and his credit card. At least he had remembered before it was too late. The gift really was lovely. She would be happy to receive something like that as a present. “Have a nice day.”

Her cell phone began ringing when the door banged shut behind the impatient customer. She fished it out of her purse and answered, “Hello.”

The voice that answered back was unmistakable, low and raspy from years of smoking and drinking. It was her mother. “Hi, Emma. I haven’t heard from you in awhile and wanted to see how you’re doing.”
What a line of crap.
Her mother didn’t care about other people, even her own daughter. She wanted to talk about herself.

Emma’s throat constricted. “I’m fine, but I’m working in the gallery right now. I don’t really have time to talk.”

“Oh, well, I can call again some other time. I just wanted to tell you about Darrell. He’s my new man and I think he might be the one.”

She was lucky her mother didn’t have a phone that could video chat or she’d see her rolling her eyes. Every man that stayed with her mother for more than a week was in the running to be “The One.” The woman didn’t have many standards, but she had some kind of ephemeral ranking system for her boyfriends. Was Darrell special because he bought her an expensive drink, with a little paper umbrella, or did he compliment her mother’s choice in hoochie clothing? “That’s nice, mom. Why is he so special?” Finding out what criteria her mother had used to determine a guy’s worth was like gawking at a traffic accident. She didn’t want to do it, but some sick part of her couldn’t resist.