“When is it okay?” Amie rested her glass on the arm of her chair.
“When is what okay?”
“When is it okay to be happy without anyone’s permission, without judgment? And I mean anyone. Your parents, Craig’s parents, your children, your friends, the people who go to your church, me? Were we really put on this earth to please other people? Are kindness and love defined as doing whatever it takes to make someone else happy?” Amie finished with a slow exhale followed by silence.
Truth?
She didn’t know the answers. I was her sounding board, and she was mine. We drank wine and contemplated life’s greatest mysteries. That was our thing.
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “I don’t know where that balance exists—the one between loving yourself and loving others. Maybe it doesn’t exist. It feels like balance is this brief moment … a breath … a second in the middle while we teeter between the two. And sometimes it’s just so …”
“Exhausting.”
I nodded slowly.
“Angel Brayhill flagged me down at the grocery store after work. She said she heard you were so inspiring at that last meeting.”
I rolled my eyes. “It was a slip of the tongue. Ten months of silence fermenting in my conscience.”
“Well, clearly a lot of widowed and divorced women in this town feel imprisoned … silenced too.”
“Angel’s on her third marriage. I’m not sure she’s been silenced.”
Amie laughed. “Well, today’s revelation was news to me.”
My nose wrinkled. “Do I want to know?”
“No. But I’m not keeping this image to myself.”
“Don’t.” I shook my head. Angel always managed to find the worst men. A magnet for the worst of the worst. “Please don’t tell—”
“And I quote …”
“No!” I grimaced, shaking my head.
“I simply asked how she and Merlin were doing, and her response was, ‘It’s hard to love a man who puts your bank account into the negative, buying foot porn on the internet.’ And then she threw your name in there with an ‘Elsie would understand.’”
I coughed on a laugh. “What? That’s so wrong. No. I don’t understand. Saturday shaboink is not the same as spending your last dime on foot porn.”
We laughed.
And laughed some more.
“I needed that.” I finished giggling and took another sip of my wine.
“Me too. You know what else we need?”
“Chocolate?”
Amie grinned. “Well, duh … always that. But I’m thinking more along the lines of a cooking class this Friday.”
“You want me to support my competition?”
“No. I want us to spy on the enemy.”
My lips corkscrewed for a few seconds. “It’s not a terrible idea.”That Friday, Amie helped me close up shop so we wouldn’t be more than a few seconds late to the class.
“Good evening. Welcome. Are you here for the class?” A young, black woman with cute, curly hair greeted us.
“Hi. Yes. We are.” I returned a warm smile.
“Did you purchase the class here or online?”
“Oh … uh … Kael invited me and a friend.” I jerked my head toward Amie.
“You have a free voucher. Cool.” She tapped the screen of her phone. “What’s the name on the reservation?”
“The reservation?” I cringed.
“Yes. The coupons for the free classes have a number or online website to book your class. No reservation?”
Maintaining my cringe-worthy level of embarrassment, I shook my head. “I didn’t even read the card. I’m sorry. We’ll come back another night when we have reservations.” I glanced past her to the glass wall between the store and the room on the other side, a test kitchen type area. Ten or so people (all women) were seated around the island, all wearing aprons. Kael animatedly talked and busied his hands with holding up different bottles.
“I’m sorry. Do you want to go ahead and schedule while you’re here? We just don’t have any more space for tonight’s class.”
Kael peered in my direction, and I whipped my body around, putting my back to him and my front to Amie. “I’m sorry. I really should learn how to read.” I facepalmed my forehead.
She chuckled. “It’s fine. Let’s go ahead and try next week.”
The young woman pressed her lips together. “Mmm … sorry, we are actually booked out for the next four weeks. I can put you on the waiting list, but I’ll also go ahead and get you reserved for early December.”
“Sure. Thanks.” I felt stupid, especially since my competitor (the enemy) saw me … on the wrong night … no reservations.
Classic Elsie.
I was the classic middle-aged woman, making the classic mistake of not reading the fine print, probably because I was too busy defending the classic (outdated) food at my store.
“Hey, did we mess up and overbook?” Kael asked, poking his head out the glass sliding door.
I plastered a mature grin on my face and turned.
“Got it handled, boss,” his employee murmured as she glanced up at me. “What’s the name you want on the reservation? I’ll need a number to either call or text confirmation and to let you know if we get a cancellation.”