The Do-Over(24)
Author: Suzanne Park
On the far end of the counter, she had already started bagging and tagging her baked treats in cellophane. Looking at the vast number of baked goods around me and the rate at which she was packaging them, it was evident that Beth was no novice in monetarily beneficial baking.
I took a big bite. Mmmm, creamy, delicious goodness, like a cherry cheesecake and a cream pie had a tasty baby. My favorite pie is key lime, mainly because I love graham cracker crusts, and this dessert had that too. Basically, this was the perfect dessert.
As if she could read my mind, Beth said, “It’s easy to make too. You don’t need to bake anything so I can make it anytime. I knew you’d love it!”
I did. And because I loved it, I devoured the entire bowl.
She sealed the glass dish with a lid and placed the cherry yum yum on the bottom shelf of the fridge. I eyed the location for future reference. “It should last three or four days. My boyfriend comes this weekend and he can finish off what you don’t eat.”
“Thanks for making that for us. It was so good.”
“Mia said the same thing. That makes me so happy!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Wait, Mia had some? She’s here again?”
As if on cue, Mia walked in, yawning with her arms stretched above her head. She was wearing a crop top with the words I’M A FUCKING POLLYANNA across her chest. She grabbed a pecan bar and chewed away, not providing any explanation as to why she was here during the school week.
I cleared my throat, hoping I wouldn’t have to verbalize my “why the hell are you here on a weekday, BFF?” confusion.
Mia held up her last pecan bar morsel, like she was toasting the room. “These are fucking amazing.” She popped it in her mouth and rubbed her hands together, signaling that she’d finished it off. “Anyway, to answer your telepathic question, I came here to ask you to write some essays about job hunting and career limitations that I could pitch to magazines and newspapers. My fashion and tech start-up founder clients don’t like writing as much as you do, but these print and online opinion pieces help build their credibility. I think you should try it. Even if your book isn’t ready, and won’t be for a while, we can continue to establish you as a subject matter expert to those who might not have discovered your books yet.”
The egg timer dinged and Beth took brownies out of the oven. While setting down the baking pan, she said, “Confession . . . I finally googled you. Well, I looked you up before when I found out I was getting a new roomie, but at the time it didn’t really sink in that I would be sharing an apartment with a critically acclaimed nonfiction author. But I looked up your book and to Mia’s point, no one in my generation has heard of you. No offense.”
Mia poured herself a glass of water from the Brita that had miraculously reappeared. “And that’s exactly the right point. The O’Haras might have their audience figured out, but you have room to expand your readership into this younger market—the people who are just starting out rather than seasoned professionals. You can provide guidance for the younger folks early in their careers so they’re prepared for what’s ahead.”
I nodded. “Makes sense. But my ESP is telling me that’s not the only reason you’re here. You could have easily messaged that to me or hopped on a video call.”
She waved an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie at me. “Okay, fine. I missed you, okay? We’ve basically been joined at the hip in New York for a whole decade and you leaving me was like sending a kid off to college or something.” She nibbled her treat. “And this one here”—she nodded her head toward Beth—“you always have good eats. And I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I am driving a long way to hang out with you and currently freeloading, but in exchange I offered Beth a lite version of my PR services, and she agreed. I’m designing flyers and getting a QR code set up for her foodie enterprise.”
Mia was hard-edged and gave off cranky-pants vibes twenty-four/seven, but she was like a wild porcupine: a misunderstood creature, because it was actually possible to pet one, as long as there is mutual trust, gentleness . . . and food. Mia had a heart of gold, and the stomach of a college heavyweight wrestler. And now she was helping Beth build her business too, even though she had a lot on her plate.
“Well, I guess I should actually finish up homework that’s due tomorrow. Then I can see about those things you want me to write.”
While Mia and I chatted, Beth put aluminum foil on all the baked goodies and let out a long breath when she was done. Then her face perked up. “Oh! I forgot to tell you, the Wi-Fi is better and cheaper now. I banded together with other students who live in this building and we all chipped in for Verizon Fios. So now we are on a crazy-fast fiberoptic network with way better reliability. I put the password on a sticky note on your bedroom door. We also share Google Home and Nest camera networking too.” There was a Google Home device already in my room when I arrived but I hadn’t asked it to do anything. I never tried to talk to it. I didn’t even know if it worked. Back in New York, I used to ask mine what time it was, what the weather was like, and sometimes to play music from my playlists. It would be good to have that set up again.
Mia refilled the water pitcher. “I hope it’s okay that I brought my overnight duffel. And a sleeping bag. And my pillow.”
I laughed. “Mi casa es su casa is the apartment motto, according to Beth.”
Mia’s lips upturned into a wide grin. “I’ll be quiet while you both do homework, I have some work to do tonight for a client’s launch next month.”
We took a few cookies and headed back to my bedroom. The handwritten Wi-Fi password on the Post-it was almost thirty characters long, and a mix of uppercase, lowercase, and numerals. And zeros that looked like O’s. And ones that looked like I’s. It took a few tries, but I finally connected to the network. I handed Mia the sticky note but she shook her head.
“I already entered it earlier today when I arrived. I’m connected already.”
Mi casa es Mia’s casa.
For a couple of hours, all you could hear was our typing. After being on my own for a couple of years, it was almost like being back in an office setting, sitting in the same area with a coworker. A coworker who happened to be my best friend. And an office that happened to have an internet connection with screaming-fast speeds and a really amazing free bakery down the hall.
I finished answering discussion guide questions for my influencer class, then printed it out to check for typos. This assignment wasn’t graded, but it would be used for a class discussion. As the printer clicked and hummed, a barely audible panting grew louder in our room. Mia looked at me. I shrugged. We both abandoned what we were working on to investigate: she opened the window to check outside, and I stood on my bed, thinking the sound might be coming from our neighbors upstairs through the air vents.