How to Eat a Cupcake by Meg Donohue Read Free Book Online

and just keep walking until I was out of this funk. And here I was, being dragged back into the thick of it by Annie Quintana.
    It was selfish of her, really. And ungrateful. I hated feeling like I needed her, but there I was practically begging her to take my money and my expertise so that she could finally embark on her dream career—or at least, I assumed it was her dream career. And she’d said no all because of some silly misunderstanding that had taken place a decade ago! I quickly flipped through the series of events that had corroded our friendship. By the time we’d each left for college, I remembered, we were barely speaking. And then Lucia had died; after that, complete silence.
    Oh! I thought with a start. Is Annie’s anger somehow related to her mother’s death? In the fall, after I had left for Stanford and Annie for Cal—or, no, I suppose that wasn’t right, Annie’s acceptance to Cal was still suspended at that point and she was living in the carriage house, waitressing, and taking classes at City College—my mother had walked into the kitchen one morning and found Lucia collapsed on the floor. She’d called an ambulance straightaway, ridden with her to the hospital, tracked down the very best doctors, and later paid for all of her medical bills. Still, despite my mother’s best efforts, Lucia slipped into a coma before either Annie or I reached the hospital. She died several days later without ever waking. Her death had gutted me—I’d taken weeks off school and then slogged through finals in a stunned haze. Really, Annie should have counted herself lucky she wasn’t at Cal yet and could deal with her grief at home, in private.
    At the funeral, Annie and I had mostly kept our distance from one another but I do remember sharing a tearful hug at some point during the service. And then, nothing. A few weeks later, she left for Cal and basically fell off the face of the planet. Does she blame our family for Lucia’s death? My mother in particular was hurt by Annie’s chilly behavior over the last ten years. After all, Annie had lived with our family for most of her life—she was like a second daughter to my mother. A niece, at the very least.
    My phone rang in my lap, startling me out of these thoughts, and I picked it up without checking the caller ID, hoping against odds that it was Annie calling with a change of heart.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œCrap. I must have dialed the wrong number. You’re no saint.”
    It was Jake Logan, with an old joke. In spite of my mood, I laughed. “That’s Ms. Julia, to you,” I said airily. “What on earth do you want?” Jake and I hadn’t spoken much on the phone since our mutual breakup during our freshman year in college, but we’d seen each other at various parties thrown by the Devon Prep crowd over the years and had maintained an easy, drama-free friendship.
    â€œAh, yes. It is you, isn’t it?” he said. I could practically hear his mischievous smile through the phone. “Good! I just woke up and was afraid I dialed the wrong number.”
    â€œYou just woke up? It’s ten o’clock!”
    â€œPlease, no judgment. I’m calling with a very attractive offer. It appears the sun is out, which as you know is simply inappropriate for a June day in San Francisco.”
    â€œTrue,” I said, matching his mock-businesslike tone. “Do go on.”
    â€œTo spite this defiant sun, in defense of our poor burned-up fog, and in celebration of the return of San Francisco’s prodigal daughter—that’s you, Saintie!—I propose we sit inside all day and drink. Balboa Café, for old time’s sake. You in?”
    I squinted out at the bay, considering. A drink at ten in the morning with an ex-boyfriend was not exactly my style. And yet. Wes was halfway around the world. Annie clearly wasn’t speaking to me. When I spent time alone