An Extra Pump of Sugar

Chapter 2

"It sounds like you avoided a real piece of trash," Baker said.

"I must be roaming a landfill, then." I draped myself over the host stand. "I reject men forever."

"Join the club, babe."

My fellow hostess disinfected the lobby windows, cursing the family of six who'd allowed their children to climb around the waiting area and slobber all over the glass. Baker wiped away the film of fingerprints, and then she turned to me expectantly.

"...Is there something you'd like to ask, B?"

She glared at me through platinum blonde bangs. "Just get over here, you insufferable giraffe."

Baker was barely five feet tall, so everyone around her was a natural enemy. I'd just learned to accept her name-calling. It seemed to make her feel...bigger.

Pushing away from the host stand, I traded her paper towels and window spray for my stack of unfolded lunch menus. Then I began cleaning the large glass doors and the far corners she'd failed to reach.

Like Baker, I absolutely loathed my job here at The Western Orchard, but hostessing paid well enough for a junior in college. And I got to work shifts with my best friend, which was a perk worth staying for.

Baker stooped down to sip the caramel latte she'd hidden in the radio-charging cabinet of the host stand. Snacks and beverages were forbidden at the front of the house, along with all joy, happiness, and self-respect.

"Soooo," she drawled. "You ready for spring semester, Rivas?"

I shrugged, climbing on top of a lobby bench to access the highest windowpanes. It seemed ridiculous to clean something daily that never saw filth, but our manager insisted. She made us do plenty of pointless activities, though, most of which pertained to exerting power over her female staff.

"Yeah. I finally have some advanced psychology classes lined up. Photography seems like it's going to be fun, too. Apparently, the professor is this awesome French woman who hates everyone and everything ever created."

"So she's me in twenty years."

"Yeah, basically." My smile faltered. "Speaking of which, did you turn in all your paperwork for USAC?"

Baker was studying abroad in the fall—a whole year in Europe.

A whole year away from me.

An ecstatic smile spread over her face, and it cut right through me. "Yeah. I've started planning my weekend traveling. Booking flights and hostels and all that. I can't wait to leave this fucking place." She cringed as soon as the words left her lips, and she rose to her feet. "Except you, of course. That part will suck." She waved the topic away and began refolding menus at a rapid pace. "But you'll come visit, obviously."

"...Obviously," I echoed, but my heart clenched around the empty promise.

Ella Baker and I had met our freshman year of college. We'd both taken a moral philosophy class as an elective, and her bold opinions and witty, argumentative nature had instantly drawn me in—out of horror or admiration, I still wasn't sure. As two greenies stuck in the desert, reliant on in-state tuition and our dysfunctional families, I'd felt connected to her in a way I'd never experienced before.

I'd felt...accepted.

At the end of the fall semester, we'd applied to the same job in hopes of seeing each other on a regular basis, and since then, we'd become inseparable. But now, two and a half years later, my soulmate was leaving me right before our senior year of college, and Carl had a terrible feeling this would be the end of us.