Lauren winced as she swallowed. “Jeez. Ugh. Who puts that much rose in anything? It’s all you can taste. I feel like I just ate a funeral wreath.”
“We paid forty bucks for these, we’re freaking drinking them,” Sylvie said when she feared Lauren was going to return her drink to the bar. She didn’t want to leave the place with the ethereal, secret garden vibe. Not so soon.
Forever the good sport, Lauren eyed the boozy perfume in her glass and nodded. “We can learn from things we don’t like even more than from things we do.”
“When did you become this person? This Gandhi version of Lauren Machado. Is this what Southern California does to people?”
With a chuckle, Lauren tilted her head. She pointed to a corner of the crowded bar where a couple was leaving. Right behind an enormous glass jar of pastel pink liquid full of raspberries and herbs.
“Maybe it was all those years without humidity,” Lauren joked as she took the spot crammed next to a large, sweaty man, leaving Sylvie with the better location at the end and closer to a fan. “Never having a bad hair day can do a lot for your mood.”
“For real.” Sylvie took another sip of the horrid concoction, trying to get it into her throat without letting it run over her tongue. “What changed? You have this like . . . inner calm. Except for when you’re trying to break my neck during softball, anyway. It’s weird,” she added for good measure.
Lauren rocked on her heels, the ponytail poking out of the back of her cap falling off her tanned shoulder. “I don’t know. Isn’t part of growing up mellowing out?”
Sylvie quirked a brow. Not in my experience, but she took another sip while holding her breath instead of saying so.
“I guess I wanted to make different choices,” Lauren confessed. “I was so stressed out for so long. Trying to live up to all these expectations was like running on a hamster wheel, you know? One day, I just kind of stepped back and looked around. Took stock of what I was doing and why. I realized that I could never be my mom, or my grandpa, or my great-grandpa. I could only be me. Once I accepted that . . . I don’t know, a lot of that tension just melted away.”
“I envy you.” Sylvie’s admission bubbled out of her mouth without consent.
“Me?” Lauren laughed. “Why? You’ve got your shit pretty under control.”
In one fell swoop, Sylvie tipped the contents of her glass into her mouth and choked down the remainder of her drink. “I’m excellent at faking it, aren’t it? But I haven’t even managed to convince my parents to fully retire. I can’t get them to see I’m ready, and they’re going to make me share the business with my brother which means that we’re going to end up losing it all in some smoky backroom poker game, or more likely, a bet on who can beat Call of Duty.” The words came out in an unintelligible rush.
Lauren tipped her head to one side. “Does one beat Call of Duty?”
“What the hell do I know?” She snapped, dizzy from the gin and baring her soul.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. That’s some real pressure you’re putting on yourself, Syl. You really think there’s a world in which they’d let your brother near the croqueta empire? Not for nothing, but the guy can’t even remember the highly relaxed rules at our softball games.”
“You’re telling me! He’s an idiot! He’s never worked for anything a day in his life.”
Lauren’s nostrils flared. “But what? He’s their kid and therefore entitled to generations of hard work?”
“And male. Don’t forget male. Because apparently that not only makes him immune from having to prove himself and assumed competent for every task, it also coats him in porcelain. The poor baby can never be called out for anything. So strong and so delicate.”
“That is easily the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. You’ve been working your butt off in the bakeries since we were in middle school. That can’t be right. There’s no way your parents are going to do that, and if they do, don’t rescue his ass. Tell them that he can have the entire business and you’re out. I bet they’ll change their minds in two seconds. That business is not going to run without you. You can even threaten them with coming over to the dark side.”
Sylvie’s stomach soared, pushing her heart into her throat. Finally, someone understood her frustration. She grinned devilishly as she imagined her parents’ faces if she told them Junior could take over the business by himself. That it was all or nothing. Her mom’s shock might even break through her fillers and botox.
“Come on.” Lauren gulped the rest of her drink. When she set the empty glass on the bar, she shook her body like a duck getting out of a lake. “Gah. That’s really terrible.” She wiggled again as if she could shed the flavor. “Do you want to watch Chef Letz’s demo?” She looked at her smartphone. “It’s starting in a couple of minutes.” She returned her gaze to Sylvie. “Or do you want to get back to your godmother?”
The only thing Sylvie knew in that moment was that she wasn’t ready to let Lauren go. “She’s been slinging pastries since before I was born, right? I’m sure she can handle another hour.”
Lauren’s dimples made her stomach flutter. The sensation was as terrifying as it was addictive.