Sweet Forty-Two(78)

I turned as my hand touched the knob. “You know, Alice didn’t even get one. A happy ending. She just ... woke up, and everything was the boring old goddamned way it had been before.”

I pulled the door open and stepped onto the top stair. The rain had stopped, finally, leaving everything gasping for breath after the onslaught.

“There was no ending,” my mom called after me as I walked into the rain-soaked air.

“What?” I turned around.

“There was no real ending to Alice in Wonderland, Georgia. Go ahead. Read the books, watch the movie again if you don’t believe me.” She gave a challenging smile.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Write one.”

“How?” I grinned, feeling a riddle coming on. I’d learned from the best.

She smiled back the same knowing smile. “By writing it and living it, by living it and writing it. You have to do both, and in both orders at once. Make it. Mix it together. There’s no timer, though, so you’re out of luck there. Just use your nose.”

“Things can get burned that way,” I mused.

She shook her head and as she closed the door, she said, “Not if you breathe deeply.”

Just like that the Hookah-Smoking Caterpillar swirled away into a cloud of smoke and butterflies and I was left with the most challenging and simplest riddle of my life.

Love.

Him.

Love him.





Regan

With any other girl, it would have been maddening, the way Georgia went back to work with me Monday in the bakery like nothing had happened the day before. We hadn’t texted or really seen much of each other, which was normal, but how we’d left things on Sunday was far from normal.

Well, far from normal with anyone else. With Georgia, the out of place, slightly off-kilter way of things was normal. True North on her compass seemed to be somewhere between “N” and a little left of there.

In truth, I’d been so focused on my project for Rae that I didn’t let myself wallow in the “whys” and “what ifs” with Georgia. She was a straight shooter, and I trusted that she’d shoot when she was ready.

“Guess what?” she asked as she lined wicker baskets with cloth napkins.

I pulled two tins of muffins from the oven and put another two in. “What?”

“I set up a website for the bakery and posted information about the baking class, called all of the contacts I’ve made from the local businesses and the farmers’ markets, and today alone I got ten people signed up.” Her smile was contagious as she took the warm muffins and put them in the baskets, closing the cloth napkins around them to keep them warm.

“Really? Georgia, that’s huge!” I crossed over to the large sink and started cleaning up the dishes.

“Uh-huh. I’m going to start the first class this weekend. Just a one-day introduction class. After that, I’ll run another weekend, and the weekend after that I’ll have the grand opening. Is that crazy?” She put her hands on her hips and took a few quick breaths.

“No.” I shut off the water, dried my hands, and walked over to her. “It’s not crazy at all. You’ve got this. What’s the permit status?”

“I have my inspection Wednesday, and everything else will be good to go.” She shrugged, leaving her shoulders by her ears as her face shifted to disappointment. “Shiiiiit,” she sighed.

“What?”

“I ... have this ... f*cking appointment ... thing on Wednesday and it’s like around the time the health inspector is going to be here.” For a second it looked like she was going to cry. Like a child who was about to question the reality of Santa Claus, but didn’t really want to know the answer.

I reached up and touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, G. I can be here for the inspection if that’s okay with them.”

She looked relieved and, in a flash, smacked me. “Don’t call me G.”

“What? I thought your friends could call you that. Did I miss something?”

She scrunched up her nose. “It just ... sounds funny coming from you. And, I don’t kiss my friends ... or people who call me G. Those are one and the same, you see?”

I playfully growled and shook her a little. “The riddles! When do they end?”

“Look around you.” She laughed and spun around the kitchen and into the seating area. “Never! This is the world according to Georgia, brought to you by the Mad Hatter.” She twirled again, one smooth circle with her arms out and chin lifted to the ceiling.

“Can I call you Alice, then?”

Her chin dropped, lips formed a thin line, and she crooked a wicked eyebrow. “Not if you expect me to answer.”

“Why not?”

The air around us shifted. Imperceptible to passers by, for certain, but I was afraid to look down, thinking the floor would suddenly be missing. Georgia’s shoulders and breasts rose and fell quicker as color went from her cheeks to the scooped neckline of her grey t-shirt.

“Because,” she started with nervous breath, “because ... Alice was a lonely girl. With no prince.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah? What, then, are you?”

“Who.”

“What?”

“Who, then, am I, you mean.” Her voice was shaky.