Read Online 100 Days of Cake by Shari Goldhagen - Free Book Online Page B

phrases. Then he immediately starts sweeping the floors, like it’s some ultra-important time-sensitive task—like anyone ever comes in or Charlie cares. He barely even looks at me.
    Car keys and purse in hand, JoJo appears at the front door. “Ohhhh, love your hair, CCH!” she says, and I briefly feel Alex’s eyes flicker to the braid Mom did last night.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œOkay, kids. I’m off to meet my man,” she says on her way out, the little bell on the door dinging after her.
    â€œWonder if that’s the guy with the tooth collection?” I joke, but Alex doesn’t hear or, more likely, pretends not to hear.
    The whole bike ride over, I thought about how to apologize, but really I’ve just got to grow some lady balls and do it. Rip off the Band-Aid.
    Following him into the aisle of coral beauties and butterfly fish where he’s cleaning, I start to explain, “I wanted to tell you how so—”
    Before I can get any further, he’s over by the side windows, running his finger along the dusty sill.
    â€œEw, these are gnarly.” Holding up his pointer, he shows me the dark film of greasy schmutz. “I should definitely tackle this today.”
    He starts toward the back room, and I follow, hoping he’ll slow down enough for me to get a word in edgewise. But then he’s got his head buried in the storage cabinets, and he’s humming to himself as he looks for cleaners that no one has used since the place opened.
    I kind of want to leave him to it, but, you know, lady balls, ripped Band-Aids.
    â€œCan you slow down for a sec?” I reach for his arm. There’s that shock of my skin on his that I felt when he touched my hand on Elle’s porch.
    For the first time since I came in, he actually looks at me, and before I say anything, his face goes back to normal.
    â€œAbout last night.” I’m still holding on to his arm, so I let go. “It’s not that I didn’t want to come; it’s just . . .”
    So many ways I could complete this sentence. I went through tons on the bike ride over: “. . . just that I’m pathetic and would have ruined the show for everyone else anyway.” Or “. . . just some days the thought of leaving the house feels pretty much on par with scaling Mount Everest in flippers.” “. . . just that hearing one more conversation about the future makes me want to rip off my arm and jump on it.”
    â€œJust that you were having a kind of cruddy day?” Alex mercifully finishes for me. Shaking his head, he adds, “I’m sorry for making things weird lately.”
    â€œIt’s fine,” I say. “I did totally want to go, and I am sorry.”
    Alex smiles (which makes him look even more like Joseph Gordon-Levitt). “You’ll come to the next one. If you really want to make it up to me, you can pick up the Wang’s today.”
    â€œYou’re on.”
    I’m about to ask him if he wants the house special lo mein, when I notice a new tank by the stacks of extra fake coral. It’s not filled with water but with rocks, and inside are two dozen hermit crabs. With their spiny pink legs and big black eyes on stalks, they are the cutest things that have ever happened in the history of FishTopia.
    â€œOhmygod, where did these come from?” I ask.
    One little guy at the front of the cage has a bright green shell. He lifts up a mini claw at me, like he might be trying to wave.
    Scooping him up in my hand, I pet his shell with the pad of my thumb.
    â€œI’m totally keeping him,” I announce. “We can call him Pickles.”
    â€œI wouldn’t get too attached,” Alex says. “Turns out hermit crabs don’t live in salt water, and they were sent here accidentally. Charlie threw a hissy fit when he saw them this afternoon. The distributor is picking them up