“I’m done, I’m done,” she declares, “but we have to eat first.”
I perk up at the mention of food. We skipped lunch and it’s now dinnertime so my body is begging for sustenance.nbsp;
“And, since you’ve been so good today, I’m taking you to the Cheesecake Factory.”
“Mmm, cheesecake,” I hum in delight.nbsp;
Thankfully, the Cheesecake Factory is attached to the mall so we don’t have to go far. Plus, sitting down and eating will give my arms and legs a break. After a small wait we’re seated—we have to pile all the bags on one side of the booth and sit side by side.
&nbs
p; I grab the menu, which feels like it’s about a hundred pages long. I don’t know why they give so many choices for indecisive people like me. It’s like they’re asking us to sit here for an hour before we finally give up, go eenie meenie minnie mo, and pick something random off the menu.
Maybe that is what they want.
When the waiter stops by we both ask for a water and he drops off some bread—which I immediately devour. Meredith might want some but I don’t care. If I don’t get food in me now she’s going to have to explain why I’m dead to my parents and I don’t think after what I’ve been through that shopped till she dropped would be a good enough excuse.nbsp;
Meredith reaches for a piece of bread and I swat her hand away.
“Mine,” I growl.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “You sure turn into a she-beast when you’re hungry. I’m the one with red hair, shouldn’t that be me?”
“Mine,” I say again, guarding the bread.
She sighs and our waiter drops off our drinks, taking our order while he’s there.
As he walks away, Meredith says, “Don’t judge me, but I sure do love those tight white pants they wear. Is it a requirement for the people who work here to have buns of steel?”
I snort and pieces of bread go flying out of my mouth.
“Ick,” she clucks her tongue. “That was gross.”
“Then don’t make me laugh when food is in my mouth,” I retort, wiping my mouth on a napkin. “It’s not like I enjoy spitting my food everywhere.”
I grab for another piece of bread and slather it with butter.
Oh, butter, how I love thee.
Meredith chats about some of the different clothes she picked out for me and how I need to style them—I’m only half listening, but she doesn’t seem to notice as I interject the necessary “hmm” and “I see” as needed.
“Here you ladies go,” our waiter says, setting down our plates of food.
I inhale the smell of my salmon and my mouth waters at the sight of the mashed potatoes and asparagus. You’d think after all the bread I gorged myself on I’d be stuffed, but I’m still hungry—I’ll definitely be taking my cheesecake home for later.
“So,” Meredith begins, twirling her pasta around her fork, “admit it, you’ve had fun today.”
“I have—but you seriously didn’t need to buy me anything, you’re flat out nuts.”
She shrugs. “Actually, I’m flat out awesome.” She sticks her tongue out at me.
“That too,” I agree.
“I think I’ve decided that’s what I’m passionate about—styling,” she clarifies. “I love shopping for people and putting things together you might not otherwise think to put together.”
“Well, you’re pretty great at that,” I praise, and she smiles.
“You’re really not starting college in the fall?” she asks.