Page 3 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

“I had to pick up fabric for the devil and drop it off to her,” Jia said, exhaling, as she rested her chin on her fist.

“Why don’t you just quit? You have enough experience at this point,” I insisted, worrying about the last of her energy.

“If there’s any chance she can get me into the Met Gala next year, then all of the work I’d done would be worth it,” she said with a matched urgency and concern.

Before I could reply, Josh, our waiter, arrived at our table with a look of scorn. Rightfully so. I had been sitting at this table for thirty minutes without ordering anything other than water. But there were about ten other open tables and no one waiting at the door to be seated, so I didn’t feelthatbad.

It was fine though; I leave him a really nice tip every time and I’ll bring him flowers in a few days.

This was our love-hate relationship. Jia, Gabe, and I used the table at the restaurant once in a while for scoping out dates in case we needed a reason to get out of an awkward situation (and to avoid being kidnapped), annoying Josh a little, in which I then brought him flowers that he swooned over.

He mentioned wanting peonies before seating me.

“Ladies, you need to order something if you’re going to use

the table—”

“Two waters,” we responded in unison. “And a basket of fries, please, Josh,” Jia added in. Josh rolled his eyes, walking away with the order.

“What’s happened so far?” she asked with curiosity, bringing the menu just below her eyes.

“Gabe has laughed twice, checked his phone once—”

“Good, good.”

“—and finished four glasses of wine,” I finished, pressing my lips into a solemn line.

She smacked her palm against her forehead in disappointment, “And he did a look?”

“The look,yes.”

“Yeah, it’s over, let’s wrap this up,” Jia said, putting the menu down and getting up from her seat. As quickly as she got up, she was turning back around, pointing a finger at me with a threatening glare. “Don’t forget the fries.”

Here we go, the funniest part of the night.

Jia made her way to Gabe’s table with her hands in fists at her sides, mustering up her performance.

“How dare you,”Jia shouted with seething anger as she slammed her hands onto the table in between Gabe and his date. “I tell you I’m pregnant and you decide to go on adate!?”

Gabe clutched his chest, choking on his shrimp at her abrupt appearance. The blonde guy across from Gabe was washed with horror, his cheeks turning pink and his eyelashes practically reaching his eyebrows.

Gabe pressed a hand against his throat, now clear of shrimp, with feigned earnestness, “Darling—”

“I thought you were gay!” Gabe’s date interjected with horror.

I have to say,thatwould not have been my first concern when hearing the word pregnant…

Gabe’s head tilted with audacity of his date’s concern, obviously mirroring my exact thought.

Jia grabbed Gabe’s collar. “This is the last time I let you out of my sight,” Jia raged, trying to get Gabe out of this—apparently—horrible date, pulling him out of his seat.

As if on cue, Josh placed the basket of fries on my table while Jia and Gabe rushed out of the restaurant. I swiftly picked up the basket, leaving cash on the table behind me, with an apology wave to Josh.

Scrambling out of the restaurant, I found Jia and Gabe outside waiting for me, laughing. “Pregnant?”Gabe asked, practically wheezing with laughter. “We agreed on you being mygirlfriend, not my baby mama!”

My own laugher spilled out at Gabe’s comment. “If you ask me, that was an award-winning performance, Jia.”

She bowed at the waist and said, “I would like to thank my mom and Daniella for their support, and Gabe for his horrible taste in men.”