Accidentally Engaged(9)
*
Tuesday night, after an evening spent tinkering with a new bread recipe, Reena found herself with too much fougasse and a craving for nonfinance conversation. A quick text to Marley told her Shayne would be over soon, and they would love to help with the abundance-of-bread problem and talk about anything except numbers.
She checked the time—six fifteen. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to avoid seeing Nadim in the hallway. She was not in the mood for awkward conversation. Forgoing shoes and socks, she packed the crusty breads into a canvas bag, grabbed her purse, and pulled the door open when her phone rang. Struggling with her heavy door and the overladen bag of bread resulted in her dropping the bag as she answered the phone.
“Hello?” she said while retrieving the bag. Thankfully, all the fougasse remained safely enclosed in the canvas.
“Reena, why do you sound out of breath?” her sister asked, sounding annoyed and clipped. Not out of the ordinary. Saira usually sounded annoyed and clipped.
“Just about to head out. What’s up?”
“I need you to show me how you make that eggplant dip you always do. I think it might be good for the cookbook pitch.”
“Okay, um…” She leaned against her door. Figures. She considered her smoked eggplant dish—loosely based on an East African eggplant curry—to be one of her signature dishes. It had won awards. It would have been in her own cookbook. She couldn’t let it end up in Saira’s.
“I’m at home tomorrow night. We can do it then,” Saira continued.
“I’m busy,” Reena said. “I’m…”—damn it, she couldn’t think of an excuse—“going out.”
“Really? Where?”
“I have a date.”
Saira exhaled with exaggeration. “What about Friday? I’m working until six—”
“Can’t. I’m helping Marley with—” She sneezed. Good. Must be finally developing an allergy to her sister demands.
“Seriously, Reena. I don’t even know why I asked. I would have thought that you would be more supportive about this project, but—”
Reena’s text tone rang on her phone. She said a silent thank-you to herself for the drawn-out bagpipe jig she had chosen as a text notification, as it muted her sister for the rest of that statement.
“Gotcha, Saira. Anyway, I’ll call you next week and we’ll set something up.” Reena disconnected the call before Saira could finish. Bullet dodged. She had no intention of helping her sister with this cookbook project. She leaned her head back against the door of her apartment, closing her eyes.
This shouldn’t bother Reena so much anymore—Saira’s betrayal was months ago, and it wasn’t intentional. Or mostly not intentional, at least. It all started when Saira had written a viral diatribe outlining everything wrong with the hero worship of food stars online, claiming their artery-clogging recipes were contributing to the decline of all of society. Saira didn’t know the fallout from that post would lead to sponsors pulling out from many food blogs, including Reena’s. Reena lost her cookbook deal when the publisher felt the market was shifting toward more health-conscious cooking. Reena’s indulgent brand wasn’t in demand anymore. Story of her life.
But it was fine. Saira could have a cookbook now, and Reena could just avoid the cooking section of the bookstore when it came out. Problem solved.
*
Reena sneezed again as she pushed herself off her door to head upstairs. Damn her cubicle mate, Theresa. She’d been sneezing for two days and apparently passed her germs on.
When Reena knocked on Marley’s door there was no answer. She knocked again. Still nothing. What the heck? Marley’s last text was fifteen minutes ago, and she had told Reena to come right over. She checked her phone and noticed that the message that had come while talking to Saira had been from Marley. A group text to both her and Shayne.
Marley: Something came up and I have to run. Will call you guys later.
Reena texted Shayne as she walked back downstairs.
Reena: What’s going on with Marley?
Shayne: No idea. She’s been a bit flaky for a few weeks but won’t talk about it.
Reena: Weird. I’ll call her later.
Reena reached her door when she realized she had no keys.
Crap. She forgot to grab them when she left the apartment. Her overprotective father had of course insisted on doors that locked automatically for his precious girl. Reena locked herself out pretty often, so she left several spare keys among friends and family. One with Amira, who now lived an hour and a half away. One with Marley, who, while normally convenient, right now was MIA. And the last at her parents’ house. Where Saira lived. Who Reena just pissed off over eggplant.
She called Marley anyway. No answer.
Reena groaned as she slid down against the wall, landing with her butt on the cold floor near Nadim’s door. Her bag sat next to her, a golden brown fougasse peeking out the top.
At least she had bread if she got hungry. Or hangry. Scratch that, she was already hangry. She’d missed dinner.
Closing her eyes, Reena contemplated the merits of either walking forty minutes to her parents’ house or climbing up the fire escape and breaking Marley’s window. And probably breaking a leg, too.
“Funny, I don’t remember ordering a woman. And I’m surprised they leave deliveries by the door here even when no one’s home. Anyone could have walked by and taken her.”