Page 31 of The Snowflake Effect

As I rearrange the vases on the table the way Angela likes, I catalogue the timeline of my impending doom: fourteen days’ notice, two to four weeks until a court date, then eleven days to pay up or move out. If I’m lucky, I still have seven and a half weeks to come up with the money.

This is temporary, I remind myself.

I just need to turn these evening and weekend shifts at Sass and Style into more cash by working harder for commission, and before I know it, my nine-to-five internship at Concept will be a paid designer gig. I’ll scrape together enough cash before then to keep my head above water. Hopefully.

Angela puts down her pen and rubs her eyes. Her medium-brown skin is always glowing, her dyed red hair stylish. She leans on the checkout counter and gives me her signature smile. “You don’t have to stay, Shay. I’ll cash out tonight. When you’re done tidying, you can go.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, wanting to make up for today’s shoddy performance.

If Angela wasn’t such an understanding boss, she would’ve given me hell for being late this morning and zoning out with the customers. I’d blame my tardiness on the eviction notice, but, really, it’s all Kolton’s fault. If I hadn’t dreamed about him (again) and woken up flushed and flustered, I wouldn’t have closed my eyes while my hand journeyed downtown.

I wouldn’t have brought myself to orgasm. Twice.

Yep, it’s the Asshole’s fault.

Yawning, Angela arches over the back of her chair. “You’re sweet, love. Really. But you deserve to get out. I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Go. And get some rest. You look exhausted.”

I force a weak smile.

Purse over my shoulder, I push out the front door and lock it behind me. A block away, I lean my back on a brick building as the weight of the day settles on my shoulders. Streetcars grind by and pedestrians march, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere.

Lives moving forward. Constant motion.

Mine seems to be traveling in reverse.

I steel myself for my night ahead with Lily and Raven. If I let it slip that my meager paycheck at Sass and Style isn’t enough to cover my rent, Raven will yell at me for not telling them sooner, and Lily will have me staying with her and Kevin before I can blink. Or she’ll offer me money. The last thing I want is to be someone’s charity case.

I inhale deeply and—cinnamon. Man, that smells good.

Wafts of spice and coffee curl out the café door to my left, and my belly gurgles. These days, I’m not one to skip meals, but dinner out means something has got to give. At least it was my turn to choose tonight’s restaurant. Kwong’s chicken lo mein won’t bleed my wallet dry, and their portions are huge.

As another person leaves the café, I glance through the door. In the length of time it takes for the door to close, I’ve mentally rearranged the décor, covering the walls with vintage metal utensils and kitchen gadgets. I hang old cheese graters from the ceiling as funky light fixtures.

Too bad the most design work I do these days consists of choosing my outfit.

I kick off the wall and hurry with the throng of commuters bustling along the sidewalk. Six blocks later, I push into a tiny eatery half filled with people bent over slurping noodles.

Raven smiles, and Lily stops biting her nails to wave me over. Lily is all styled out in a loose cream top and layered knit vest, tone on tone, three necklaces hanging to her waist.

Familiar necklaces.

I slip into the seat opposite them and nod at Lily’s leather and beaded jewelry. “Aren’t those from that high school trip to Tobermory?”

She runs her fingers down their length. “Yeah. I took some old pieces apart and mixed them up. Just fooling around.”

“It’s cool, but if you don’t toss some of these relics, your apartment will end up on an episode of Hoarders.” These days, her pack rat tendencies straddle a worrying line. Her craft room alone is on the verge of exploding.

She sticks her nail back into her mouth.

Raven pours some green tea for me. Next to the whitewashed walls, oddly decorated with kitschy cat drawings, her charcoal eyes and black wardrobe are more striking than usual. “How are things?” she asks.

I signal the waitress. “Can we order first?” If the sounds from my belly persist, people will wonder if there’s a troll below our table.

We rattle off our orders, and Raven’s about to engage me when I call the waitress back to add a side of spring rolls.