The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston 2)

Sometime around ten o’clock, after the morning rush has faded out and we are nearly sold out of our most popular donuts, I see Stacy enter the bakery. She’s wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, and her blonde ponytail is waving down her back with leftover curls from last night. She looks like a celebrity trying to sneak in a few thousand calories with no one knowing she actually eats food.

“You’re brave, showing your face around here,” I say as she approaches the counter.

“Ugh. I feel like someone tried to kill me but then decided to keep me alive just enough so they could continue torturing my body slowly

and painfully.”

“Really? I feel amazing.”

“You do?!”

I don’t have the luxury of wearing sunglasses to aid my pounding head, so Stacy has a front-row seat to my icy glare. “No! I got two hours of sleep before I had to wake up and open the shop. Gosh, I’m never touching alcohol again. It’s prune juice for this grandma from now on.”

Stacy has the audacity to laugh, because apparently, she’s hoping to get punched today. “It’s your own fault. No one forced those last few Jell-O shots down your throat.”

“No, it’s your fault for planning a bachelorette party on a Sunday night!”

Stacy shrugs a shoulder. “Sunday nights are less busy.”

“Yeah, no kidding. No sensible person wants to show up to work hungover the next day.”

“Don’t be mad at me because you lost your cool around Ryan McHotChef.”

I point a finger at her. “First, that’s a terrible nickname. Second, you’re already on thin ice, ma’am. Keep it up and you’ll need to give your heart to Jesus.”

“I already have, and you sound just like Bonnie.”

“Thank you.”

She chuckles and rounds the donut counter to stand next to me. Brave move. “Okay, time to get your panties out of a wad, because we need to talk.” Something in her voice makes me feel like we are about to break up. And I say so. I’m not encouraged when she sighs and takes off her sunglasses.

“Oh gosh. You are breaking up with me?” My voice is high pitched and panicky.

She gives me a tense smile that does nothing to ease my anxiety. “No way, you’re stuck with me forever.” She pauses, and I can feel the giant but coming. “But…you’ll just be stuck with me from afar from now on.”

What! She really is breaking up with me! Oh gosh, does this mean I have to box up all the stuff she’s given me (I’ve stolen) and return it? She’ll have to pry that green jumper from my cold dead hands, though.

“Stacy, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry. I thought about telling you sooner, but I decided that a long, drawn-out goodbye would be too hard. Ripping off the Band-Aid is better for both of us.”

“I will shake you, woman, if you don’t tell me why the heck you’re ripping Band-Aids off me.”

Stacy’s face crumples as she rushes to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders so forcefully that I make an involuntary oof sound. We’re holding on to each other for dear life when the truth spills out of her. It’s all blubbering nonsense, but since we’ve been friends for so long, I understand every word.

“Logan got a job in California. It’s his dream position at a great hospital, working under the best thoracic surgeon in his field. We talked about it for so long, and he told me he didn’t want to take me from my dream job, but then I realized... I don’t think this bakery ever has been my dream. It’s yours, and I love you so much that I’ve just wanted to help you bring it to life. But now that that’s done, you don’t need me here anymore. So, I told him to take the job. We’re moving after the wedding.”

“After the wedding!” I say, but it comes out like one long whine. “So soon.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, June. I don’t want to leave you, but it’s going to be really good for Logan and me. Doyouhateme?!” Her words are nearly indiscernible at this point.

Mine are no better. “AreyoukiddingofcourseIcouldneverhateyou!!”

I tell her I want the best for her, and we hold on to each other and continue to cry like that for another few minutes. I’m just grateful that no one has come into the shop during this soap opera. Here, try our newest donut: French vanilla with a hint of ‘my best friend is leaving forever’ tears.

Finally, we peel off of each other and wipe our faces with the backs of our hands. Sniffles are our only words for another minute before I ask, “So, what about the shop?” I look around like it’s our child and I’m trying to decide if I want to let Stacy have it every weekend or just on holidays.

When she doesn’t answer right away, I look back up at her. Her face crumples again, but I give her a look that says keep it together, woman. She takes a deep breath, and when her tears are under control again, she says, “I’m going to sell my half. I’ll be useless trying to help run the company from California, and it’ll be nice to put that money toward buying a house.”