Page 11 of The Enemy: Extended Edition

“After the wedding!” I say, but it comes out like one long whine. “So soon.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, June. I don’t want to leave you, but it’s going to be really good for Logan and me. Doyouhateme?!” Her words are nearly indiscernible at this point.

Mine are no better. “AreyoukiddingofcourseIcouldneverhateyou!”

I tell her I want the best for her, and we continue to hold on to each other and cry for another few minutes. I’m just grateful that no one has come into the shop during this soap opera. Here, try our newest donut: french vanilla with a hint of “my best friend is leaving forever” tears.

Finally, we peel off each other and wipe our faces with the backs of our hands. Sniffles are our only words for another minute before I ask, “So, what about the shop?” I look around like it’s our child and I’m trying to decide if I want to let Stacy have it every weekend or just on holidays.

When she doesn’t answer right away, I look back up at her. Her face crumples again, but I give her a look that says Keep it together, woman. She takes a deep breath, and when her tears are under control again, she says, “I’m going to sell my half. I’ll be useless trying to help run the company from California, and it’ll be nice to put that money toward buying a house.”

It’s official. This day sucks. First, I wake up swaddled in Mr. Darcy’s suit jacket with the sinking realization that I’ll have to see him all week, and now this? I want to go back to bed so I can wake up again and realize it was all some terrible boozy nightmare.

“But who are you going to sell it to? No one will be as good a partner as you are.”

“Actually . . . I was thinking you should buy me out.”

“Me?” My eyebrows hit the ceiling.

“Yes—you. No one loves this shop as much as you. You should be full owner.”

“Full owner?” The words settle on my tongue like battery acid. Every decision would fall to me alone. Every failure. Every missed opportunity. Me. All me. Alone. “Nah, too much of a headache. I don’t want to bury myself in the upkeep of this place.” I try to sound nonchalant and even pick at my fingernail while I say it so Stacy isn’t tipped off to the panic welling inside me.

“What are you talking about? You’re practically running it yourself already. You’re the idea woman; I just smile and nod and stand here as eye candy for the clients.”

Not true. I mean, yes, the eye candy part is true, but the rest is false. Whether she knows it or not, Stacy is my rock. She’s the one who keeps me from making terrible decisions, doing too much too soon, and quitting when things get hard.

Because, here’s the thing, I’ve already tried to run a company on my own, and I failed. When Ben and I were still engaged, he helped me start a little flower truck business. It was cute, and I thought it was my dream job. I had visions of hipsters everywhere, lining up in their floppy sun hats and crushed denim jeans to purchase one of my bouquets.

It thrived for about three months. And then Ben cheated on me, and I canceled our wedding, and the entire business fell on my shoulders, and I let it go down the toilet. But no one knows Ben cheated on me. No one knows I found the text evidence of his affair in his phone. And no one will find out, either.

Why should I backtrack now? My life is good. Secure. I’ve even been thriving in the dating scene thanks to my only-one-date rule. Basically—it ensures I keep things fun and light and don’t get too attached to anyone again. If someone asks me out, I go and have an incredible time. But that’s it. No second dates.

And luckily, my family never makes me feel bad for being the only one still single and not having anyone to pose with for Christmas photos. Instead, the conversation goes something like this: We’ll get a family shot of Jake and Evie and the kids, and then June, darlin’, we’ll take your photo over there next to the Christmas tree in your cute sweater. Smile extrabig!

My Christmas cards from the past five years look like I’ve given up on the human race completely and married that Christmas tree, but oh well. Douglas Fir makes a wonderful spouse.

But anyway, I just didn’t have a desire to keep my flower truck going. And sure, maybe the depression played a big part, but what if that wasn’t the reason? There are more situations in my life that point to my “give up when things get tough” personality. I dropped out of college three credits shy of graduating to go to cosmetology school, and then I dropped out of cosmetology school to spend a summer in London “finding myself,” but then I had to come home because I ran out of money and clean underwear.

This donut shop is the longest success I’ve ever had, and I know it’s all because of Stacy. If I didn’t have her . . . well, I don’t know what would have happened by now. I’m happy in my single life, but owning a business is the one area of my life where I refuse to go it alone again.

Over the next ten minutes, I try convincing Stacy of all the reasons I don’t want to buy her share of the company without actually telling her the real truth. That I’m a liar. Not as tough as I look. That I still feel a little broken from Ben. That I don’t know how to trust myself anymore.

Finally, Stacy relents, and we agree that we’ll put out feelers for any interested parties and interview potential candidates. Then she flattens my already deflated heart to a pancake when she admits that she already has two meetings with potential buyers lined up for Wednesday who she found through friends of a friend. WEDNESDAY! As in, two days from now!

That’s not nearly enough time for me to sabotage Logan’s new annoying job in California while simultaneously finding him an equally prestigious position here that will pay even better than the other. I mean, who even wants to live in California anyway? Blue skies? Psh, hate them! Seventy-degree temperatures year-round? Gross! The potential of seeing a famous actor around any corner? Boooorriinngg.

It’s no use, though; Stacy is set on it. And after listening to her talk about the house they’ve been looking at online, and how they will live closer to Logan’s parents and start trying to have a family since they will have help nearby, and the school systems, and the restaurants, and the ocean, and the other obnoxiously wonderful things that I can’t even argue with, I relent and give her my blessing in the form of another bear hug.

She’s really leaving. I’m about to lose my best friend. I feel like another piece of me is breaking off.

“Okayyyy,” she says in a mopey tone as she’s slowly making her way back to the door.

I tell her to hold on so I can turn on sad music over the speaker. And because she’s the best friend a girl could ever have, she complies without question. I turn on that terribly sad song “I Will Remember You,” and once it’s blaring over the speaker, I nod for Stacy to leave.

She gives a pitiful smile. I give her the same one in return. A lone tear streaks down both of our faces as she turns around and walks out the door. It’s the end of an era. I might never see her again.

Just before the door closes, she stops it and peeks her head back inside. “Oh! Don’t forget about the dress fitting at four!”

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