Page 86 of Own Me

“We’ll see.” I lift the wooden block of bars and carry it over to the packaging area.

Violet trails after me and watches as I wrap one in the simple brown paper packaging, binding it with twine. The round embossed label finishes it off.

“That’s simple.”

“It is. Henry helped me wrap bars once, after—” I cut myself off. No need to bring Scott into the day. “When I was running out of time. Here, try one.” I set a bar in front of her.

She watches me wrap another before slowly mimicking me.

“Perfect.”

She sets it aside. “You know, this feels suspiciously like free labor.”

“Orfair trade for my sage advice. Plus, I’m buying you a toothbrush and underwear. I can throw in dinner?”

Her lips twitch. “Weird. But it’s a deal.”

“Afteryou call your grandparents and ask if it’s okay, right?”

“Right.” She digs out her phone again and wanders over to a corner, her voice quiet as she speaks to either Howard or Gayle. In moments, she’s back. “They’re cool with it.”

Unexpected giddiness bubbles inside me but I force it down and pretend this is no big deal. “Good.” I move on to the next soap bar. “So, what’s your business plan going to be for?”

She heaves a sigh, and the stress in that single sound is palpable. “Everyone’s doing trendy things like food trucks and coffee shops and tattoo parlors. The only thing I can think of is this.” She hesitates and then points to the beanie on her head.

I wide smile stretches across my face. “I think that is afantasticbusiness idea, and I’ll tell you why.”

* * *

I roundthe corner to find Violet staring up at the string of egg white dangling from the ceiling. Saturday morning’s sunlight streams in through the panoramic windows, highlighting the pancake powder spilled all over the kitchen.

“How did you manage that?”

“It takes talent, right?” She flashes a sheepish grin. “This is why my mom never left me alone in the kitchen for long.”

“Wait until I tell Raj. He’s gonna get a kick out of this.” I grab a wet cloth and, climbing up onto the counter, I wipe away the egg. “There, you can’t even tell.”

“Ican tell,” she says with mock seriousness.

I giggle as I climb down. My time with Violet has been nothing short of enjoyable. We finished wrapping yesterday’s batch of soaps just before five and hit up a few stores in the area to buy overnight supplies before having dinner at Lux.

The rest of the evening, we spent lounging on the couch in pajamas, a movie playing in the background while she worked on her assignment. Every so often, though, she’d slide in a question about Henry. Some of them were small and innocuous:

Does he play sports?

What does he like to eat?

And yet her inquiries tested my knowledge of the man I’m about to marry:

Yes, golf, and as I’ve just learned, he was very good at basketball.

(Besides me?) Sandwiches from Marcello’s and cheesecake.

Other questions had me fumbling over my answers:

Did Henry like his brother?

Why does he hate his mother so much?

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