Page 32 of The Snowflake Effect

As I devour the fried noodle snacks on the table, Raven tries again. “How are things? How’s work?”

The handful of deep-fried goodness turns to sludge in my mouth. I coax the glue down with a sip of tea. “Which job, exactly? The one where I fold towels and sheets like a big-box store’s employee of the month? Or the one where I’ve conquered the photocopier and have finally remembered how many sugars Cruella likes in her coffee?” I lean back and fiddle with my wooden chopsticks.

Burning the money I spent on my design diploma would’ve been less painful than watching my degree wither as I boil water, working under my least favorite associate, Maeve—a.k.a. Cruella—who treats me like I’m her personal butler.

“It’s not that bad,” Lily says. “Your internship at Concept is a stepping stone, and I love Sass and Style. Most of my apartment’s from there.” The second the words are out, she reverts to chewing on her bright blue nail polish, likely kicking herself for bringing that fiasco up.

I didn’t talk to Lily for a week after she came in and bought up half the place…the day after I told her I work on commission. Like I’m a child. Like I’m not capable of making it on my own.

Now I’m about to get evicted. So much for self-sufficiency.

Swallowing hard, I say, “I appreciate the encouragement, Lil, but it’s tough. You’ve scored a gig designing for Moondog, which I still have no idea how you snagged, and Raven finally got that school transfer she’s been after. Both of you are getting your lives together, and I’m stuck in reverse.”

Raven pffffts me. “This is just a blip. It’s only been a couple months. And if it makes you feel better, that school transfer fell through. Not that it really matters. I don’t think teaching wealthy kids in that area will be any better for me.”

Lily cringes. “Sorry, Rave. That’s too bad.” Then she pats my hand. “Things will turn around. Soon. I know it. What about your apartment? You need to invite me over so I can give you your housewarming gift.”

Yeah. That. “It’s great”—not being able to afford the rent—“I love the space”—that’s decorated à la starving student—“but it’s still a mess. I’ll have you over soon.”

My bullshit meter just blew a fuse.

God, when did I start lying to my friends? My apartment’s great. I’m not strapped for cash. Their success isn’t my failure. Life isn’t a competition. So why am I so afraid to admit the extent to which mine’s stalled? Every time I pick up the phone or open my mouth to confess my money woes, shame thickens in my throat.

Before Lily can grill me further, the waitress returns with our dinner, and I don’t breathe or speak for the next five minutes.

“How do you eat like that and not weigh a thousand pounds?” Raven asks.

I finish off my spring roll and glance down at my hips, happy with my curves since terminating my juice cleanses. “I still run. It’s the only option. Never again will I diet for a guy. Nothing is worth giving up fries and pasta.”

Lily scoops noodles into her mouth and then dabs her lips with her napkin. “Speaking of which, have you been dating?”

I love my friends. I really do. They don’t grill me or ask questions to build themselves up, or as a way to turn the conversation onto them. They want me to succeed. Both women stare at me now, eyes twinkling, as they wait for me to dish about the nonexistent guys in my life. I know they love me, but this game of Twenty Questions isn’t helping tonight.

“Haven’t been dating. Nothing to report. How’s Kevin?” I ask Lily—deflect, deflect. “How come he hasn’t proposed yet?”

She picks at the label on her Diet Sprite. “Things are fine.”

“That’s girl-speak for things are crap,” I say. “What’s going on?”

Raven pauses, forkful of noodles midair. “Please tell me you guys broke up.”

I glare at her. “A little tact wouldn’t kill you.” Then to Lily, “Ignore her. What’s up?”

I take another few bites of lo mein while Lily shrugs and sighs and peels her label.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Things are just…fine. Good, I guess. Yeah, they’re good.” She nods as if convincing herself. Her gaze flicks up, that twinkle still sparkling. “What about Kolton? Do you still think about him?”

Always. “Rarely.” Did it just get warmer in here?

“Even”—she lowers her voice—“the sex?”

Twenty-four/seven. “Nope.” I stretch the neckline of my top as heat crawls up my chest.

“But he’s so hot.”

That model hair, those full lips, his dark eyes that flared with hunger. “Barely remember what he looks like.” Yep, the temperature has spiked to steamy.

Raven leans on her elbows, displaying the inked birds spiraling up her skin. “You’re so full of shit.”