The Deal Dilemma

Call me captivated, or tragically companionless, but it was hard to leave Crew lying in bed today, knowing if I had stayed home, he’d be mine until the evening rolled around and work demanded his devotion.

Had I not confirmed I’d be at Layla’s girls-only luncheon days ago, I might have canceled, but I’m glad I didn’t—time lost with Crew be damned.

“That was literally the best pasta I’ve ever eaten.”

“Right?” Layla laughs, pushing off the pool’s edge and tugging her glasses down over her eyes. “I told you it was killer.”

“Yeah, it’ll kill our stomachs later!” Toni shouts. “That shit has more cream than ice cream.”

“Worth it!” Remy shouts from the patio, where she’s refilling her tumbler with Willie’s latest creation—mint and cucumber seltzer.

Glancing over, I spot a bag of recycling waiting to be smashed and turn to Layla. “People really loved your beer at the festival.”

“They did, didn’t they?” She smiles proudly.

“They were so intrigued with the flavor burst that followed each drink.”

Her face lights up then. “That was the first time we sold out like that. Willie had to fill a handful of water bottles and put them in the ice chest to make sure he had something for you guys to drink that night because we were selling so fast.”

“I really think you guys are going to have a lot of buyers reach out soon.”

“We hope so.” She glances at the other girls, floating on the opposite side of the pool.

“Have you ever thought about maybe keeping it exclusive and opening up your own small brew house?”

Layla’s head snaps my way.

“It’s just,” I rush, hoping I don’t offend her. “Willie has the space rented already, he’s all set up and making magic there, right? You could stick the barbecue you had this weekend out there and serve any of the recipes I’ve tried of yours, or even go taco truck style. If it worked out, maybe you could upgrade to a small food truck a couple years in, but I don’t think you’d have to do that if you didn’t want to.”

I grip the edge to keep my raft from spinning and continue, “With the college so close and the people coming off the beach in swimsuits, an outdoor spot that’s relaxed, where maybe they can even have their dogs with them would be a huge highlight.”

Layla looks off a moment before bringing her attention back to me.

“I could help if you want. I studied microbiology as a second, so I know all the health code crap, and with science comes so much more. Numbers and finance are my thing.” When she says nothing, I quickly add, “I would do it as a friend. Just for fun, but no pressure, of course. I know it’s a lot to consider.”

Layla studies me a moment. “Did you talk to Crew about this?”

I frown. “No, why?”

“No reason,” she says after a second. Layla tips her head. “You know, you’re a lot different than I expected you to be.”

“Oh.” Her comment catches me off guard, and I’m almost afraid to ask, “How so?”

“In a good way,” she quickly assures, but it somehow makes me feel even worse. “I guess I thought you’d be kind of hoity-toity and judgy. Sort of good-girl complex, you know?”

No, I don’t know.

Why would she think that?

There’s only one answer to that question, Davis.

Crew.

So he spoke of me at some point, probably after I bulldozed back into his life. Maybe in warning, before he brought me to their barbeque, and whatever he said made her—maybe all of them—think I was uppity, that I would lift my nose at… at what exactly?

Layla is smart and kind, a good wife, and from what I’ve seen, a good friend. Her husband works his butt off, trying to make a dream work and loves his family more than himself.

Even if they weren’t, when have I ever looked down on anyone?

How could I look down on anyone?

I’m a glitch of a girl.

Friendless.

Planless.

Manless.

I’ve been a miserable mess, and I didn’t realize it until recently, until spending time with Crew reminded me of what I was missing.

You’d think lowering yourself to a sexual bribe that begs your foster brother to be your gigolo would have clued me in quicker.

Besides all that! It’s not who I am. If anything, I’m the opposite of judgmental and deny the flaws of others. Crew should know this, he’s seen it firsthand, and it isn’t pretty.

Old Crew knew this, and he hated it.

He told me more than once to “open my eyes” to truths around me.

So then why?

What did I do to make him see me so differently?

Is that why he pushes me away time and time again? Why he only lets me in so far? Because he thinks I’m like Jess, a college graduate who views that little fact as the end all be all, meaning Crew is somehow less without a college degree?

Is that why he didn’t tell me he was living at his place of employment? Because he thought I would mock him in my mind?

I would never. Worry, yes, want to help, of course, but for no other reason than I care.

Does my kind of caring come off as condescending?

“I’m so glad I was wrong,” Layla admits, cutting through my thoughts and allowing the water to whirl her away. “It would suck to hate Crew’s girl!”

My pulse jumps.

Crew’s girl.

So, his little first date comment at lunch that day, and the events of the last outing we had together, has his friends thinking he’s all about me, the bratty, bribing baby sister.

Only a spoiled brat would think she could convince a man who didn’t want her to take her, right? Force her way into a life he was trying to create away from her.

Away from me.

I can’t believe I backed him into a corner, where he felt obligated to move in and play “defend Davis” as Memphis would force him to when we were young.

Memphis always did whisper to me how Crew didn’t want to babysit me, but Memphis had a way of getting him to agree. It’s like I said to Crew in the beginning, there always had to be something in it for him, or why bother with “Baby Franco”? I hated when my brother would share the things he’d say about me, yet I’d bait Memphis into sharing them time and time again.

A wave of humiliation settles over me, and I roll off the raft, sinking down into the water.

Crew planned for us girls to come to the bar after our afternoon. He said he’d save us the best seats in the house, and we’d listen to the new band coming to play.

I packed an outfit, and a couple hours from now, we’re supposed to get out and get ready.

Now, not so much. I think I need to be alone, wallow in my worth, or lack of it.

I won’t be going to the bar tonight.

I’m going home and baking a giant cake.

And then I’m going to eat it. Every last piece.