Page 16 of Flirting Lessons

Anyway, come over. sam is away for work and I just ordered an enormous amount of pizza because i’m hungry for everything right now. plus, you haven’t seen our new deck and backyard yet!

Taylor

Hmm. what kind of pizza?

Taylor got into her car and laughed at the outrage that she knew would be on Erica’s face when she saw that text. Sure enough, she responded with a middle finger emoji.

Her relaxed, easy text conversation with Erica made her think about the much less easy conversation she’d had with Avery at dinner. Had she pushed Avery too far to talk about why flirting was hard for her? She’d seemed reluctant, and maybe embarrassed, to talk about that. Taylor wondered if this was all too much for her, if Avery would call all of this off. She really hoped not.

She stopped at a bakery on the way to Erica’s house and picked up a half dozen brownies at end-of-the-day prices. She wasn’t sure what Erica’s pregnancy cravings were, since she’d just found out that Erica was pregnant, but brownies never hurt.

It was weird enough that Erica and Sam had bought an actual house, but their home was on a perfectly manicured street, whereall the houses had rose gardens or succulent gardens or flowering jasmine or all three, and some had actual white picket fences. If you’d driven her and Erica down this street five years ago and said that Erica would live there in a matter of years, they’d both be hysterical with laughter. And yet.

She and Erica had known each other for over ten years; they’d been friends since Erica’s first day on the job at the restaurant in Berkeley where Taylor worked. Up until then, Taylor had been the only Black server; they’d gone out for drinks after that first shift and had been friends ever since. That had been the only time they’d worked together, but their friendship had stayed solid. Taylor bounced around, working at a bunch of different cafés and restaurants as a barista, server, and bartender, while Erica had gotten her aesthetician’s license and worked in a spa during the day and at restaurants at night. About five years ago, they’d both moved up to Napa Valley—Erica because she’d gotten a job at a hotel spa, and Taylor because Erica had floated the idea that she come along since rent was so much cheaper and they were both sick of their roommates. Taylor had shrugged and said, “Why not?”

She’d had no trouble getting jobs up in Napa; there were tons of restaurants and bars, she worked hard and was good at her job, and customers always loved her. She’d gotten her first job at a winery when one of her favorite customers had an opening and asked her if she’d be interested. The job at the winery started as just a lark, one that she did on the side, but slowly—and especially after she moved to Noble, which paid well to start off, and then promoted her—she started cutting back on her hours at her restaurant jobs. Now, she worked at restaurants only occasionally, usually when she got a panicked phone call from one of her old bosses that they were shorthanded and please, please, could she work tonight?

Taylor hadn’t expected to be in Napa for long, but she washappier than she ever thought she’d be, so she’d stayed. Even after she and Erica stopped being roommates, they’d still lived in the same apartment building. And after Erica met Sam, nothing major had changed; Erica and Sam had just moved into a larger apartment in the building.

Then they’d gotten married, and then Erica and Sam had bought this house, and it felt like everything changed. She couldn’t help but feel sometimes like they were the grown-ups and she was the kid, still dating around, with no interest in getting married or even a serious relationship, still in an apartment, still in a service job. She loved her job, that wasn’t it, but was everyone else miles ahead of her as she just trailed behind?

She shook that off and got out of the car. Erica met her at the front door and immediately looked down at the pink bakery box in her hands.

“Is that for me? See, I was going to be all mad at you for not even telling me for sure that you were coming, and then you show up with…” Taylor flipped the box open. “Brownies?Ugh, you’re the worst. Thank God for you, come in.”

She led Taylor straight into the kitchen, where both pizzas were on the counter.

“In answer to your question, one Hawaiian; one pepperoni, mushroom, and hot honey. I was craving that salty-sweet thing, you know, and I couldn’t decide between the two, so I ordered both. I also ordered a salad, since I’m supposed to be eating vegetables for the baby, I guess, but all I’m craving is baked goods and salty things. Though”—she grinned—“I guess that’s what the baby wants, and who am I to disobey a baby’s commands?”

Taylor grabbed flatware out of a drawer.

“How’s our little one doing in there?”

Wow, that was awkward.Our little one?What did that evenmean? Well, they hadn’t found out whether it was a boy or a girl yet, so she couldn’t call it him or her. Not that Taylor believed in enforced gender roles. And she couldn’t call the baby “it”—she’d made that mistake once, and people seemed to getreallyupset when you useditfor a baby.

“Good, at least that’s what the doctor said last week. I can’t believe I’m only halfway through this.” Erica put pizza on her plate, and they walked into the living room.

“They say the baby is the size of a mango now,” Erica said. Taylor almost choked on her slice of pizza.

“A mango? Why are you supposed to imagine your unborn baby as a mango?”

Erica laughed.

“Oh, it’s a whole thing! I guess because people can imagine that size? Every week it’s a different fruit or vegetable. Sort of helpful, very weird.”

Very weirdseemed like a good description of most things having to do with pregnancy and babies, Taylor was discovering. Speaking of. She went to the kitchen, and when she came back, she presented Erica with a plate heaped full of greens.

“Salad time, my friend,” she said. “Sam will kill me if she comes home and all you’ve eaten are pizza and brownies.”

Erica rolled her eyes but obediently took a bite of salad.

“I even got a salad with broccoli in it, see how committed I am to this vegetable thing?” She brandished a piece of broccoli at Taylor, who laughed and started eating her own salad.

“I’m very impressed. And just for that, you can have a brownie for dessert.”

Erica giggled.

“I’m not going to stop at one. But also! That’s not how you’re supposed to do it anymore with kids. The experts say not to forcethem to eat things they don’t like or make food they do like a reward for eating something they don’t. It turns food into a power struggle and can lead to body image issues and other problems with food. I learned about this from a parenting book my friend Sloane gave me.”

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