Scissor Link, Georgette Kaplan [best 7 inch ereader .TXT] 📗

it was a foreign phrase she was trying to learn.

CHAPTER 5

“The problem with posting your cooking on Instagram,” Wendy said as she swept through the door, “is that I know when you’ve made snickerdoodles. Fork ‘em over, sis.”

Regan sighed and plucked at her apron, as she led Wendy to a towel-covered plate in her kitchen. “You know, it would bother a lot of women that they have the same palate as my second-grader.”

In the kitchen, Wendy hopped up on the counter and graciously took a snickerdoodle from the plate, before Regan equally graciously moved it away from her.

“Are you shitting me? Kids know where it’s at. They eat Reese’s Puffs, we eat Oat Bran. No wonder they think they’re in charge.” Having said her piece, Wendy bit into the snickerdoodle. She moaned approvingly.

Regan leaned against the kitchen island across from her. “So?”

“So what?”

“How’s your workplace romance?” Regan demanded, arms crossed. “C’mon, Mac and Keith are at the movies, this is the perfect time to dish.”

“There’s nothing to dish.” Wendy spoke through an angry bite. “I ‘misinterpreted the relationship.’”

“Oh,” Regan said. She handed Wendy another snickerdoodle. “So, she’s straight?”

Wendy ate with small nibbles. “Married.”

“To a woman?”

“Like it matters,” Wendy growled.

“I’m just saying, you can’t give up that easily.”

“She’s married.”

“But not everyone is,” Regan insisted. “You just have to keep putting yourself out there. I’m really proud of you, trying to get something going there, and maybe it didn’t work this time, but next time—”

“Next time, I get to go to a sexual harassment seminar.” Wendy hopped down from the counter. “Let’s face it, Regan, you don’t have the most unbiased opinion of the dating game.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Regan, you have the perfect husband, okay? He looks like he’s captain of a starship. Crewed by a ragtag bunch of misfits, always trying to stay one step ahead of the oppressive Universal Imperium and their psychic enforcers—”

“Not that this doesn’t sound interesting, but what’s your point?”

Wendy threw her hands out. “There’s not someone like that out there for me! There’s no perfect girl that I’ll get if—” Wendy sardonically pumped her arm. “I just keep at it! You got lucky.”

“And you can’t?”

“Correction,” Wendy said, “you got lucky and you were born with the grace and charm of a Disney princess. I’m a hot mess with the social graces of a Michael Bay movie. So if there is some perfect person out there, they’re gonna have to really be into, like, sarcasm and bad dancing.”

“It’s not like Keith and I are made for each other, you know,” Regan countered. “There are plenty of things we don’t have in common.”

Wendy indulged in the kind of sour face she knew Regan hated. “Name one.”

“He likes his orange juice to have high pulp, and I of course prefer it pulp free…”

Wendy raised her hands to her face. “Oh my God, your marriage is doomed.”

“There’s no call to be snide. And my point is, maybe your person won’t seem right for you, but if you’re willing to work at it…”

Wendy hung her head. “Even my sister, who thinks I’m going to find my one true love on Tinder, says I’m going to have to work at it.”

“What do you expect?”

“I would settle for maybe a quarter of what you have,” Wendy said, bringing up her hand with the thumb and forefinger held an inch apart. “I’m not asking for, like… Okay, I assume you don’t want to know my idea of a fantasy girlfriend.”

“Would it cause me to lose respect for you?”

“You have respect for me?”

“Would this fantasy girlfriend own any particular kind of costume?”

“No, not exactly. See, she would actually work as—”

Regan held up a hand. “I’m good. I’m fine.”

“Right. So I’m not looking for a whole list of Wendy-candy. I would just like someone who would take care of me the same way Keith takes care of you.”

“I take care of him too, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Cookie me.”

Regan tossed her another snickerdoodle.

“Like I said, not going to happen, so I might as well plan on dying alone.” Wendy moved to take a bite, then paused with the snickerdoodle in her face. “Hey, are there any foods you should avoid so that if you die alone and your cats eat you, they won’t get sick? I would hate to poison orphaned cats with my bloated corpse.”

“Is this your subtle way of wanting to be hugged and having someone pet your hair?”

Wendy pouted. “Yeah. Ya mind?”

“No, not at all.” Regan went over to hug Wendy, who cuddled her right back. “Mac’s getting too big to lavish affection on. You’ll do until we get a dog.”

“You’re going to get a dog? Oh my God, can I move in?”

The sick thing is, Wendy thought, Regan would lurve if I put as much effort into my life as I do into my work. She’d just checked the clock and three hours had passed since she started on her e-mail of recommendations for Project Hawkowl Revision A114. No Facebook. No Twitter. Just cross-checking and correlation. If she could just get lesbians to send in notes on their aerodynamics, she would be married by now.

She was about to rectify the ‘not checking Twitter’ thing when Elizabeth Smile cleared her throat. Wendy hadn’t even noticed the secretary in her doorway, and that was saying something. Maybe she was turning straight and that’s why her dating life was going so bad. Now if she could just reverse-engineer the process and find a way to train it on Emily Blunt.

“Lace wants to see you,” Elizabeth said, without preamble, and turned on her heel without explanation. Her skirt was just long enough for the sway of her hips to be in perfect pendulum counterpoint to the fringe of her hem, her stockings hard-pressed to stretch all the way down her endless legs.

Not that Wendy was in any mood to notice, not after hearing those five words. The boss-lady wanted to see her. Her boss-lady? Was she getting fired? Promoted?