Page 146 of A Taste of Vanilla

“What are they saying?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says too quickly.

“Marley.”

She looks down, and with a sigh, she begins reading. “I kind of agree. The Legacy Latte thing felt childish. Like, take the critique and improve instead of making a meme.”

I nod. “Another.”

Her jaw tightens. “No.”

“Another, Marley.”

She exhales. “Someone said, ‘I miss when Bitter Bloom was more elegant. The drinks are fun, but sometimes it feels like everything is begging to be posted.’”

I sit quietly with it for a moment, the words “begging” and “noise” gathering in my mind like flies.

“I need a minute,” I say quietly, getting up.

I walk through the kitchen and out the back, opening the door to my apartment a little too harshly. When I reach the top of the stairs, I press my back against the closest wall and sink down to the ground.

I sit, dry-eyed and shaking, staring at my mattress on the floor. The bee pillow, the sketchbook on the floor, and the window to the fire escape where Sir Nubsworth is nowhere to be seen.

The review isn’t wrong. Everything is chaos.

And honestly, sometimes I do want attention. That’s what marketing is, right? Trying to get attention?

I want people to look. I want them to come in and feel at home and alive.

I want them to taste something I made and feel better thanbefore. To order a latte because the name made them laugh. I want someone to take a photo of the cookie because it made their bad day better.

I want to be seen, just as so many other people do.

I hate that it feels embarrassing. I hate that someone was able to make me feel small because of it.

But it’s happened before.

Grant never had to scream at me. That’s what a lot of people fail to understand. He was never cruel in obvious ways.

He only had to smile when I got excited and say, “That’s adorable.”

He only had to suggest that maybe I should tone down the menu for the engagement brunch because his mother’s friends were more traditional.

He only had to say that my fantasy map cookies were cute, like cute was a box he could put me in to shut me away from his world.

He only had to love the smaller version of me more politely than the whole one.

His family was always the same.

A knock sounds at the door, and I wipe under my eyes.

“I’m fine, Marley.”

“It’s Warren.”

I freeze.

“I said I need a minute,” I call down.