Page 3 of Friends Don't Kiss

“Maybe the blouse but with black pants,” I say.

She shakes her head. “You’d look like a server.” Turning to the pile of clothes, she asks, “Do you want to give them a big fat Eff You or do you want to try and blend in?”

Both.

Since the events that got me banned from the family, I’ve come a long way. I moved out of my car and into a legit apartment. I made friends that feel more like family than the one I was born into. And I’ve become a pastry chef—at least, in my mind I am.

But today isn’t about me. It’s about making Grams happy. Removing any point of friction between us would be the first step. “Blend in,” I concede.

“Okay, so traditional, bordering on uppity,” Willow says as she extracts a plaid skirt I didn’t even remember owning, and pairs it with a black sweater that might be cashmere.

Ditching my yoga pants, I slip into the skirt. “How d’you figure that?”

She shrugs. “The stuff you had when you got here wasn’t exactly homeless gear. You had designer jeans and brand-name handbags.”

I look at her in surprise as I zip up the skirt, which hangs a little loose on my hips. I always viewed myself as the broke, messed-up black sheep. Did Willow see me as a bougie runaway?

“You were cool though,” she says, handing me the sweater.

She totally saw me as a bougie runaway. Which, to be fair, I kind of was.

“Tuck it in, she instructs. Her eyes widen as I do. “Oh wow—that looks great on you.”

I turn to examine my reflection in the mirror. “I look like a sixth-grader entering boarding school.”

“No you don’t.” Willow says, tossing a pair of fishnet stockings in my direction. “Where are your booties? The ones with the mile-high spike heels and the gold buckle?”

Once I’m all decked to Willow’s instructions and standing six inches taller, I bite my lip. I look like a K-drama heroine. “I think that’ll work. Thanks!”

Willow gives an exaggerated sigh. “You look hot, Boss. You forgot the feeling. Tits out!”

“What tits?” I smirk.

She pinches my left boob. “Shoulders back, chin high, ass out. You remember how to walk in those?”

I nod. “Like riding a bike.” I lean over to give her a hug. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“That’s me.” She smirks. “Now go kick ass and have fun with your grams.”

“I will,” I lie.

After the door shuts on her, I turn to the mess on my bed and smile. Then, as I start hanging and folding my clothes, I belt out Bejeweled at full volume.

The last step is to style my short blonde hair in its usual spiky, edgy look, which has the distinct advantage of adding another half inch or so to my height.Perfect.Just to be on the safe side, I give it one more spritz of hairspray.

Good.

I go back to the kitchen, take the cake out of the fridge, and check my list.

Cake.

Petits fours.

Candles.

Shit. Candles. Where did I put them? There’s a strike through the word, so I must have packed them, but now I can’t remember where. And just because I checked them off the list doesn’t mean I actually did what I was supposed to do with them.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

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