Page 4 of Charming my Best Friend

“About me not being too skinny at all. The problem is that I’m too high fashion for those other jobs.”

I pursed my lips, unsure of what to say.

“My look is totally wasted on high street catalogs. I’m runway through and through.”

“I see.”

“So next time I have a meltdown about not getting some crappy billboard, just remind me that I’m better than that, yeah?”

“That I can do.”

“If everything goes well, this could really open a lot of doors for me. Like I’ll never have to beg for another job again.” She opened the fridge and pulled out a Diet Coke. “Cause people will be begging me to work for them.”

“I’m so happy you’re in such a good place,” I said, thinking it would be much easier for me to leave her this way.

“And I have even more good news,” she said, popping the tab on her drink.

I sighed. “I don’t know if I can handle any more.”

She laughed. “I know, right?”

“What is it?”

“Have a seat first, and then I’ll tell you,” she said, gesturing across the room.

I took another glug of my beer and headed over to the table.

She followed with a pizza box in one hand and a take away salad container in the other.

“So?” I asked, lifting the lid on the pizza box. “The suspense is killing me.”

“Well, you know that email your Mom sent today?”

“No, I haven’t seen it yet.”

“No worries. It was basically just to let us know that your sister went ahead and put her registry together.”

I cocked my head at her.

“You know, like when the bride tells people what she wants for her wedding presents.”

“Oh, right.”

“So I jumped right on it and got her the very best thing before anyone else could.”

“You did?”

“Yep.” She glanced at the greasy pizza on my plate before turning her attention back to her salad and opening the lid. “So now it’s one less thing for you to worry about.”

“Dare I ask what the very best thing was?”

“Tiffany’s flatware, of course.”

“Flatware?”

“You know, like, forks and knives and stuff.” She took the sealed packets of dressing off the top of her salad and threw them into the pizza box.

I decided not to mention the irony that Chelsea would buy eating implements of all things for my sister. “And how much did you spend on the forks and knives and stuff?” I asked, taking a bite of my pizza.

---