How The Cookie Crumbles

By Melanie Ting

She's champagne and cupcakes. He's beer and burgers.

Frankie Taylor has a perfectly organized life—including a checklist for her ideal man. When her dream boyfriend dumps her, she impulsively flees across the country. She lands in a small town where her only romantic prospect is unshaven, unsophisticated, and definitely unappealing.

Jake Cookson likes living large. After the grind of playing hockey eight months of the year, he wants to party in the off-season. And he's more than willing to have a summer fling with the curvy brunette who's new in town. To his surprise, she's unimpressed by his NHL fame, money, and athletic prowess.

Can Frankie throw away her plans for the future and appreciate what's in front of her now? And can Jake even pronounce the word relationship?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Ting
• Release date: Aug 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9780994783066

Book preview

Introduction

She’s champagne and cupcakes. He’s beer and burgers.

Frankie Taylor has a perfectly organized life—including a checklist for her ideal man. When her dream boyfriend dumps her, she impulsively flees across the country. She lands in a small town where her only romantic prospect is unshaven, unsophisticated, and definitely unappealing.

Jake Cookson likes living large. After the grind of playing hockey eight months of the year, he wants to party in the off-season. And he’s more than willing to have a summer fling with the curvy brunette who’s new in town. To his surprise, she’s unimpressed by his NHL fame, money, and athletic prowess.

Can Frankie throw away her plans for the future and appreciate what’s in front of her now? And can Jake even pronounce the word relationship?

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PART ONE: THE OFF-SEASON

1

Dumping Doughnuts

I took a big bite of my doughnut. It was moist, super sweet, and yummy. I savoured the taste and tried to ignore my mental calorie calculator. This lovely day was the reward for all my hard work on exams. I was sitting on a park bench in Panorama Park with my boyfriend, Matt, eating Honey’s doughnuts and basking in the late April sunshine. The air was fresh, and the calm Pacific Ocean stretched out before us, framed by the mountains. Deep Cove was beautiful all year, but on warm spring days it was extra special. I had grown up here, and no matter what part of Vancouver I lived in now, this felt like home.

I sighed happily, These doughnuts are soooo delicious. Did you know they cook them in boiling honey?

Nope.

Matt seemed to be in a bad mood today, or maybe he was preoccupied.

He got up to throw out his empty coffee cup, and I got to check out his butt. Matt was totally gorgeous, with cropped blond hair, blue eyes, killer cheekbones and a ripped body. His nose was a little crooked from a rugby misadventure, but that just made him look cooler. We met last summer at Earl’s Restaurant, where I was a waitress and he was a pizza cook. When we chatted at work, we discovered we were both students at the University of British Columbia. We kind of bonded since most of the other people there were not going to school anymore. I was pretty excited when he finally asked me out, and we had been dating steadily for almost a year. We had an amazing relationship, and even though I thought I had been in love before, now I knew what the real deal was like. It was no exaggeration to say that Matt was my soul mate; we had so much in common, from our constant to-do lists to our fantasy of travelling Europe someday.

I contemplated my doughnut; it was completely misshapen, more like a lump then a doughnut. I had been craving one all during exams. Now that Matt and I were both finished, I had convinced him to drive us out to the Cove to eat doughnuts, go for a little walk and then have dinner with my family. I tore off another piece of warm, sticky doughnut and popped it into my mouth: so delicious, like molecules of sweetness exploding in my mouth! I let out a happy moan.

Matt shook his head. You get off on the weirdest things.

With a perfect arc, he tossed his doughnut, half-eaten, into a nearby trash can. What a waste, but at least the crows and seagulls would be happy. He leaned back, sighed, and looked out at the water. I peered closely at him, and realized he had been kind of nervous and edgy all day. That wasn’t really normal for him; Matt was all energy and positivity. He was a big believer in affirmations and goal setting, and encouraged me to do the same. I was already on the completely anal side of organized, but Matt figured that I needed to focus my energy on long-range goals. He wanted me to be preparing for a good-paying job when I graduated next year, instead of reading art books or planning dinner parties. He was graduating in May and he already had his accounting job lined up at KPMG, starting in September.

Then a happy idea hit me like a truck. Matt was always making plans for the future. Now that he had his career path set, he wanted to get his personal life in order. Could it be that he was going to propose? Oh my goodness!

Of all the guys I had ever dated, Matt was the best. I had a little checklist for Mr. Right, and Matt hit every box on the list:

1. Handsome

This was not negotiable. Call me shallow, but I was a Contemporary Art History major and so I was into aesthetics. A guy had to be good-looking and have a hot body. I felt shallow about this requirement, but really how can you have sex with someone who you’re not attracted to? My mom had told me a million times that It’s what’s inside that counts. But if you had a choice, why not go for the hot guy?

Matt was really cute, like girls-turning-in-the-street-to-have-a-second-look cute. And I was proud to be with a guy like that. He was friendly but not flirty, so I never worried about him fooling around. Except maybe when some skank was throwing herself at him at a party; but Matt himself never gave me cause to worry.

2. University Education + Career Plan

My mom was a college instructor and my dad was a lawyer, so a university education was the minimum at our house. I was planning on doing my Masters too, the only question was whether I would work for a year first. Anyway, maybe it was snobby but education was important to me, and I would never consider marrying a guy who hadn’t been to university. Plus I was ambitious and I wanted the guy I was with to be driven, just like Matt.

Matt had explained the whole process of becoming a partner in a chartered accounting firm to me, and why he wanted to go with a big firm. He basically had the next ten years of his life plotted out, and I really admired him for that. The work itself didn’t sound too appealing to me, but then Matt didn’t covet my dream of museum curation.

3. Competent

This was a weird one. I was attracted to guys who were good at whatever they did. Matt was a really good club rugby player and his marks at business school were top quartile, so he was ambitious, athletic, and smart. My high school boyfriend, Adam, had been a fantastic musician. I got a crush on him during his five-minute Neil Young guitar solo at the school talent show. Of course the fact that he was tall, blondish, and pretty damn cute didn’t hurt either. Being competent and confident was definitely hot.

But Adam was nothing next to Matt—Matt was the real deal. So if Matt was my dream man, and I was his dream girl… well then, maybe it was all coming together.

Uh, Frankie, there’s something we need to talk about. Matt cleared his throat.

Yes, Matt? I straightened up a little and smiled happily at him. I was extra glad that I wore a new dress today, this subtle blue and turquoise plaid number with a wide skirt and cap sleeves. I mean, this was a day I had dreamt of forever.

Um, you know, the past year…. He looked at the ground. Well, I’ve had a great time with you. He paused for a long time, and couldn’t seem to get the words out.

I tried to encourage him. Me too, sweetie. I love you.

You’re a great girl. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. He looked up at me, finally meeting my eyes and looking as nervous as I had ever seen him. It’s just… well, I think we need to take a break.

I felt like Matt had punched me in the stomach. A break? I gasped.

Yeah, it’s my last summer before real life starts. I already have my job lined up in September, and then I’ll be working really hard. I feel like I need to go a little crazy right now and, I don’t know, have some fun.

We don’t have any fun? My voice sounded choked and wimpy. All this was totally news to me; I thought everything was great.

Of course we’ve had fun, Frankie. But I don’t know, it’s getting kind of routine between us, like we’re old married people. This summer, I’m going to be doing a road trip with the guys, and I want to be free to, you know, do whatever I want.

I don’t understand, just the other night, you were talking about the future and… everything, I stammered. Matt was in love with me, he had said so numerous times, but I couldn’t bring myself to remind him of that. Because clearly he wasn’t in love with me anymore!

Ah Frankie, I’m really sorry. Matt paused, and to his credit he did look really upset. I mean, there’s never a good time for something like this. He reached over and held my hand. Who knows, maybe we’ll end up getting back together someday.

I wanted to cling to the promise in his words, but even in my shell-shocked state I could tell that Matt didn’t really mean that. He was already looking forward to a future where he was free to have all that excitement and adventure. Free from boring me.

I was too stunned to say anything else. It was all I could do to hold myself together and not have some humiliating public breakdown. I kept blinking to stop the tears from coming out. I knew that once I started crying, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I vaguely heard Matt offering to drive me back to my apartment near U.B.C., but I said I’d walk to my parents’ place. I slumped on the bench for a long time after he left, staring blankly at the water. I kept turning our relationship over in my mind and trying to figure out what went wrong. Had anyone in the world ever thought her boyfriend was going to propose and instead he broke up with her? How clueless I was. My whole world was coming apart, and I absolutely hated being out of control.

When I looked down in my hand, I saw that I still had half a doughnut there. It seemed extra cruel that Matt had broken up with me just as I was enjoying the treat I had been looking forward to. Really, that was one of his problems. He never truly enjoyed eating; food was only fuel to him. I threw my doughnut towards the same garbage can that Matt had used, but naturally I missed. As I sadly contemplated what a loser I was if I couldn’t even hit a stupid garbage can, a random dog ran over and gobbled it up. Hopefully he wouldn’t throw up later, and hopefully I wouldn’t either.

Luckily when I got home, there was the usual chaos and nobody noticed that I was now alone. At 21, I was the oldest, and my younger brothers were 17 and 15. My parents and my grandmother completed our busy, noisy, household, which was full of talkers and not many listeners. I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and looked in the mirror. Despite how wretched I felt inside, I looked pretty much the same as I did an hour ago: dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and pale skin. My carefully mascaraed lashes, brown eye shadow, and glossy plum lip tint were still intact as well. These days, I’d be considered pretty, but there was a time when I wasn’t. No let me correct that: there was a time when people described me as having such a pretty face. So obviously the rest of me wasn’t that pretty. Now I had a body that you would describe as curvy, a word I really preferred to fat.

I definitely looked sadder now, but maybe nobody would notice.

My mother was already in the kitchen cooking dinner. I could smell tomato sauce and hmmm, chicken with rosemary roasting. I reached into the cookbook cupboard and pulled out the recipe box.

What are you doing, Frances? my mom asked curiously.

I thought I’d make something for dessert. Maybe some brownies?

I was going to serve ice cream, but that would be nice, dear. She gave me a suspicious look. Isn’t Matt staying for dinner?

Um, no, he had to go. I grabbed an apron and started pulling out the flour, sugar and cocoa. Oh Mom, not Frye’s cocoa, didn’t I tell you to get the Dutch processed cocoa? It’s way better.

Well, unfortunately they don’t have it at the Superstore, and I don’t have time to search for it everywhere. Mom was a great cook, but she wasn’t into anything too gourmet or too trendy.

I started measuring and sifting and creaming. Whenever things bothered me, I liked to bake. There was something comforting about the way that measuring precisely and following directions in a recipe meant things always turned out perfectly. Baking was so unlike life.

I wasn’t the most spontaneous person in the world, but Matt had basically told me that I was boring. And it wasn’t like we had stayed home every night; we went out to parties, clubs, and friend’s places. I loved to entertain, but Matt enjoyed that too. He used to tease me about being a domestic goddess, but he never complained about all the creature comforts that went with that. Plus, I thought that our sex life was great. Just seeing him undressed was a total turn-on for me; he had this amazing muscle definition and an actual six-pack. And Matt was experienced, so sex was way better than with Adam back in high school. Adam was clueless when it came to female anatomy. He should have been paying attention in Health instead of writing song lyrics in his notebook. But whatever, my sex life was over now.

I sighed quietly to myself so my mom couldn’t hear anything.

I finished mixing the brownies, poured them into the greased and floured pan and popped them into the hot oven. Then I started creaming more butter for the icing. My older brother, Glen, walked in and stared at me.

Did you break up with Matt?

Glen! My mom admonished him. Don’t pry, I’m sure Frances will tell us when she’s ready.

I burst into tears. Why does everyone know what’s going on with me? Am I so boring and predictable?

My mom came over and hugged me awkwardly, since I was still waving a buttery wooden spoon around. Glen made it a group hug. Sorry, Franny, he said. It’s just when you start randomly baking, you’re usually upset about something and Matt had left, so I figured—

I went back to the washroom and washed my face with cold water. Now I definitely looked worse. I tried to repair my mascara, and I borrowed some of my mom’s makeup to cover the splotches on my skin. That wasn’t working since she was about three shades darker than me, so I finally gave up. It was my family after all, they had seen me look way worse.

Dinner went okay. Apparently Mom had warned everyone to be tactful, so they shut up about dating, random baking, and chartered accountants. We chowed down on pasta with a spicy tomato sauce, rosemary chicken, garlic sautéed greens, and a green salad with figs. 

Just before dessert, my grandmother couldn’t hold back any longer. You’re well rid of him. That one never passed a mirror he didn’t like.

A complete silence descended. Everyone was watching to see if I was going to get hysterical again. But after a delicious family dinner, I felt calmer and I merely smiled.

You may be right, Granny. I told her, and then I went to the kitchen to cut the brownies. I had iced them with melted Belgian chocolate chips, and they looked scrumptious.

2

Anthropologist on Planet Hockey

Dinner was delicious, but I had kept my portions small—even my brownie was half the size of everyone else’s. I had to be strict with myself since I used to carry about 25 extras pounds on a 5’ 2" frame. That was enough to stop me from doing a lot of the things I wanted to do. Like wear skinny jeans or the stylish fashions I loved. And date someone I wanted to date, instead of… nobody.

So in the spring of Grade 10, I decided that it was time that I lost the weight. And I dealt with that problem like I approached everything else in my life: I got organized. I set some goals and made some rules for myself and then followed them. Hey, it worked for getting good marks at school, so why not? Basically I ate less and exercised more. I wasn’t really one for doing a lot of exercise, but I had always played soccer, and I started walking and going to the gym. My dad was a former gym rat, so he helped me create a weightlifting program. It was tough and it took a while, but I finally lost those 25 pounds and now I looked great. I realized that I would never be thin—I was curvy with boobs and hips. However, now I wasn’t getting called Fat Franny by my skinny brothers or anyone else, and I could finally wear what I wanted. Unfortunately skinny jeans still didn’t look right on me, and anything in the leggings/jeggings family was out. But you can’t have everything, and now I got to indulge my passion for fashion, on my own terms. What that meant was dresses and heels. I could sew, so I made pretty dresses with fitted waists and flippy skirts in a rainbow of colours. My wardrobe used to consist of too much slimming black, so I avoided it now. And I had always loved shoes and hated being short, so I already had a full selection of lovely high heels.

If only dating after losing weight could have been as easy as whipping up a new wardrobe. It took me a full year of social adjustment before I got into a relationship with Adam. Initially I had some trust issues. After I lost the weight, I was excited to go back to high school in the fall. I was Frankie Taylor: New and Improved, Now with 30% less fat. But all the guys seem to see was Frankie Taylor, now hot with big breasts. Ugh. If guys that used to be mean or ignored me asked me out, I found that kind of phony. Because—hello boys, elephants do have good memories. And besides, I did have my super-picky boyfriend checklist. I had lots of guy friends, and guy friends who wanted to be more than that, but I was looking for the complete package. That might be why although I had gone on zillions of first dates, I had had only two serious relationships my whole life. It made me sad to think how perfect Matt had been, but in the back of my mind I wondered if his good looks had led me to overlook some of his lesser qualities. Unfortunately in my current state of upset, all I could think of were his good qualities.

When I started at U.B.C., I had left home and moved into residence right away. The commute from North Van to U.B.C. was a brutal one even if you had a car—which I did not—and besides I wanted to be independent. I loved my family and I didn’t want to move far away, but a little distance was perfect. Now going into my fourth year, I shared an apartment with two friends, but I was still close enough to come home occasionally for dinner and a bit of spoiling. My mom, feeling extra sorry for me because of the breakup, had already handed me a twenty and told me to get myself a treat. I planned to go straight to Shoppers Drug Mart and blow it on a bag of chips, a fashion magazine, and some red lipstick. And now, having been fed and coddled, it was time to go back to my apartment.

Um, can someone give me a ride home?

There was a dead silence. Then the excuses began.

I have to mark exams, said my mother, which was true even though it was a Saturday night. My grandmother didn’t drive anymore, which was something all of Vancouver should be thanking us for.

My dad, Glen, and Allan all looked at me, aghast.

Frankie, hello? In five minutes it’s game two of the playoffs, Canucks vs. Kings! Nobody wants to drive you home during the game, afterwards, sure. Why don’t you watch the game with us anyway?

So I ended up in the family room, watching the game with the boys. Maybe it was better that I wasn’t alone, wallowing in self-pity. If Matt were still here, it’s probably what we would have done anyway. I had just forgotten about the playoffs, which was apparently a huge sin. I know the basics of the game and who the cute Canucks are, but I am not really a hockey fan. Unlike my roommate and good friend, Bianca Leung, who is a complete hockey fanatic. In fact, she was one of the fortunate 16,000 to actually be at the game tonight.

My indifference to hockey began when I had to drive my younger brothers to their games. Mom had insisted that I stay and cheer on their feeble efforts. Glen was not bad, but Allan was too much of a dreamer. He had once scored when a puck hit him on the helmet and went into the net. And then he expected me to compliment him on the way home! I said, Way to stand in the right spot and have a hard head. Then he started whining and told Mom on me when we got home. Little brothers. These days, I avoided hockey whenever I could, which wasn’t easy in Vancouver.

One ridiculous thing that happened when guys watched hockey was that they stopped speaking English. And it didn’t help that Glen’s best friend, Mitchell, was here too. Testosterone overdrive. I felt like an anthropologist observing a primitive tribe.

Oh baby, sweet deke!

Ohhh ho! Burr’s got danglelitis!

Did ya see that filthy t-drag?

What a dirty gino!

That’s some sick sauce.

Nooooo, Luuuuu! Stay between the effing pipes!

Man, the Canuck’s PK is sucking big time.

Fricking Kings score again! At least Cookson gets the apple, I’ve got him in my pool.

I had no idea what they were talking about, so I just watched the game and resumed knitting this sweater I had started last Christmas and forgotten about. One thing was for sure: the Canucks needed to stop taking penalties, because every time they did, the Kings scored. The final score was 3-2 for the Kings in overtime, with the Kings scoring on yet another power play. All the boys were unhappy. After the Canucks had won the first game, everyone was ready to jump on the Stanley Cup bandwagon. Now everyone seemed ready to jump off the Second Narrows Bridge, but hopefully not before they drove me home. Being a Canucks fan meant living on an emotional seesaw.

Mitchell offered to drive me home, since he was leaving anyway. My mom had packed me a little container of leftovers, since she’s always worried that nobody will eat properly once they leave her house. She was the one who taught me cooking, so you’d think she remember that I was a great cook. But maybe it was a good idea to have a healthy meal around, since I didn’t want to resort to eating junk because I was unhappy. I kissed her and thanked her.

Hey Mitchell, you know that I live on the west side, near U.B.C., right? I thought that he lived about five minutes away from here, but his parents had split recently so I wasn’t quite sure.

He bobbed his head up and down. Mitchell was kind of on the quiet side, which was probably why he got along so well with my loudmouth brother. We drove along in silence across the Second Narrows Bridge. Since it was only Game Two, there were no jumpers yet.

I might be going to U.B.C. next year, Mitchell informed me.

Might? Glen had decided on Waterloo a couple of months ago.

Well, I will. For sure. What do you study there?

Art history.

Oh.

Yeah, that answer usually brought the conversation to a screeching halt, and Mitchell wasn’t even a talker in the first place.

Maybe I’ll see you there? He looked over nervously and swallowed. 

Oh man, I recognized that look. Was I trapped in a little Honda Fit with my brother’s friend who had a crush on me? Damn. This was my punishment for being too lazy to take the bus. I could remember this guy from when he showed up at our place with too-short sweatpants and bedhead to play endless rounds of Call of Duty. The fact that he was now 6’ 3" and used hair product was not going to wipe those memories away. Plus, get real: I wasn’t into little boys.

Maybe. It’s a pretty big campus though. What are you taking?

I’m at the business school.

Great, just like Matt. As if I needed a reminder of my ex when I was trying to keep him out of my brain. The memory of him was like a horrible sea monster waiting to drag me under. It was all I could do not to tear up again. One of the benefits of a boyfriend was that I didn’t need to deal with the attention of random guys. Just the magic words, Sorry, I have a boyfriend, and it was like a cloak of unavailability was tossed over me. But if I were to start crying, then Mitchell would try to be all nice and comforting, and I totally did not want that to happen. So I took a deep breath and changed the subject to one I knew he could discuss.

Do you think the Canucks will win the series? I asked, and off he went. I didn’t even have to listen, which was a major relief.

Unfortunately, not listening meant I couldn’t keep the conversation going, so after a long ride with painful silences, we finally arrived at my apartment. I thanked Mitchell and scooted out of the car before he got the courage to say anything that would make our relationship eternally awkward.

Then I marched upstairs where I could finally be blessedly alone and miserable. I had two roomies, Bianca and Lauren, but this was Saturday night, so they’d be out on dates. Because that was what girls with boyfriends did. Sniff.

3

Postgame Interview

Jake Cookson

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Jake! Jake! How does it feel to steal one in the Canuck’s own barn?

Feels good, real good. It felt pretty fucking amazing after all the predictions that we were going to get swept in this series. And the Canucks were pretty much the most arrogant team in the league, so beating them was that much sweeter. It was our first playoffs in five years, but we were coming together pretty good. My D-partner, Josh Malinowksi, glared at me, and I remembered I was supposed to be all humble. I’d gotten in trouble before for saying the wrong shit. But y’know, it’s only one game. We’re happy to get the split and now we get to play in front of our own fans.

What changes have you made to the power play that’s making it so successful?

Uh, I’m actually getting my shot on net, I replied. The reporters laughed so I grinned back at them. I had a rep for saying funny shit, but usually I just said whatever I was thinking.

Can I get some video, Jake? This blonde reporter from an L.A. station squeezed in between me and Mally on the bench. Her name was Amy-something, and she didn’t know dick about hockey but she was pretty easy on the eyes. She was wearing a tight skirt and a tighter blouse. She turned to her cameraman, Okay, Michael, are you ready? And then she smiled brilliantly at me. I’m here with the King’s star defenceman, Jake Cookson. Jake, your team squeaked into the playoffs, and you lost Game One, but now you’ve managed to beat the Canucks at home in Vancouver. What do you think the keys to tonight’s game were?

Well, we got our power play goin’, which was huge for us tonight. Other than that, uh, we just try to follow our game plan. Nothing for the other team in that, was there?

So, you got two assists tonight and were chosen as one of the game stars. Congratulations! It’s only your first playoffs, Jake, but how do you think you’ve matured as a player this year?

I heard Mally snort, but I ignored him. I dunno. I always compete hard every game, but I think I’m improving in our end. She opened up her blue eyes wide and gave me a blank look, so I explained, Y’know, the defensive part of my game is getting better.

She asked a few more questions, and I think I answered them pretty good. I was ready to shower and leave for the plane ride home.

Just one more question, Jake. Amy leaned forward and I could see down the front of her blouse. She had nice tits, and I could smell her perfume even in the dressing room. She smiled warmly at me. Any predictions for the series?

I smiled back at her. Uh, sure, I think we’ll take it in six. She thanked me, then they packed up and left.

This close, Mally said, holding up two fingers. This close to you getting through an interview without saying something stupid. You never, fucking never, predict a win. Now the Canucks’ll be pissed and Coach is gonna be really pissed. He shook his head in disgust. It’s like I’m your babysitter.

I had come into the league straight from juniors, and I got partnered with Mally because he was a more experienced D-man. Hell, everyone was more experienced than me then. Mally helped me a ton on the ice, and he tried to help off the ice too. Even now that I was 22, I was still one of the younger guys on the team, but we were all pretty young. Only two guys were over 30.

Move your ass, Cookie, someone yelled. I had spent so long with the reporters I was the last one ready to go. It was too bad we were leaving Vancouver tonight; this city had some really smokin’ chicks. Last night at the Roxy had been great. Must be all that mountain air or something.

I talked to Mally about them on the plane. Vancouver has the hottest women, I said. I mean, L.A. is great, but Vancouver chicks are more…. I didn’t know exactly what the word was.

You mean, you didn’t even get a good night’s sleep before a playoff game? Mally stared at me in shock.

What? I played fine. That no-sex-before-a-game shit was old school.

He sighed. Yeah, I guess you’re right. You did have a great game. If getting some before a big game is what relaxes you, then fine. Maybe you should get a girlfriend or something, so you can get drained regularly.

A girlfriend? Not this boy. I’m too young to get tied down.

4

Earl’s for Girls

The next night when I showed up for my evening shift at Earl’s, I knew that Matt wasn’t working, so things wouldn’t be too awful. To be completely honest I hated my job, but the money was excellent. Waitressing there was sexist and depressing. Like most of the expensive chains in the city, Earl’s had a rep for having attractive waitresses. Thus the popular phrase around Vancouver: Earl’s for girls. And guess what, if you advertise cute waitresses, you end up with the kind of clientele who want to be served by cute waitresses. Or should I say, serviced.

It was hypocritical of me to take big tips from guys who were trying to impress me and then protest about sexism, but there was a professional line here. I knew my role and a little flirting was fine—I smiled and laughed at their lame jokes and come-ons—but some guys never understood the limits.

To hear the sexist remarks as I walked away from the table like, Oh, I’d like to tap that ass, or to have orders placed by guys who treated my breasts like the speakers at a drive-through was a frigging pain in the aforementioned ass. As I knew from my third year Gender Relations course, it was a part of the male patriarchal system designed to keep women subjugated and powerless. However it was hard to be a proper feminist in the short skirts and fitted blouses we all wore. Since I was trying to earn enough money to pay for my university expenses, I had to grin and bear it. When I complained to Matt, he only laughed and told me I was lucky that guys wanted to hit on me since it meant I was hot.

As soon as I got to work, I knew something was up. Cinnamon, who was one of my better friends there, pulled me aside once I walked in the door.

Oh my God, Frankie, I am so sorry to hear that you and Matt broke up! You guys were like the perfect couple.

It’s okay, but wow, it doesn’t take long for bad news to spread. How did you hear about this anyway? It only happened yesterday afternoon, and neither Matt nor I worked last night.

Well, Shawntell told me. Matt called her and he asked her out! Did you not know? Cinnamon’s eyes were wide and her perfectly glossed lips formed a matching circle.

What? He’s going on a date with Shawntell!

Matt and I used to laugh at Shawntell. In addition to having a mother who couldn’t spell, she was blessed with gorgeous sun-streaked looks and a killer body. But she was so incredibly stupid that she gave dumb blondes a bad name. She was constantly getting her orders wrong, and causing all kinds of problems in the kitchen. Was dating airheads what Matt meant by having more fun? Of course, she also confided in me that she believed giving b.j.’s gave her an orgasm because she had an extra clitoris in her mouth, which now seemed to be information I shouldn’t have passed on to Matt.

I hinted to Aaron, the assistant manager, that I wouldn’t mind getting cut early that night, but he blew me off. He liked to keep more experienced waitresses around on Sundays in case it got unexpectedly busy. I managed to avoid Shawntell most of my shift. Then around 9:30, I saw Matt sitting at the bar chatting with the bartenders. I felt so weird seeing him; at first I was excited that he was there, and then sad when I realized that he wasn’t there for me.

I walked over to say hello. I could show that I was mature, adult, and cool.

Hey, Matt, how’re you doing?

Hey, Frankie. Good, good.

He barely glanced at me, and Marshall who was tending bar gave me a sympathetic tilt of the head.

I walked away without saying anything else. How could we have been in love yesterday and now nothing? I felt really down. But that was only the beginning of my woes.

Shawntell walked out from the back, after her shift she had switched out her white shirt and black skirt for a sheer top and jeggings.

Oh Frankie! Are you okay? she cooed at me with mock sympathy.

Fine, Shawntell, why wouldn’t I be? I wasn't going to let her see how sad I felt.

Oh! No reason. Her blue eyes went all big and she blinked her fake eyelashes at me. I mean, I wore false eyelashes too, but hers were like the wings of steroidal glitter moth. Then she sashayed away, went over to the bar and greeted Matt.

Her girlish voice carried across the room. Hey gorgeous, I’m all ready to go out and par-tay!

She gave Matt a big hug and a kiss. When he looked down at her and smiled in his sweet, slow way, I was frozen to the spot. Cinnamon said something to me, but I didn’t hear her words. I couldn’t stop watching. He rose up, put his hand on the small of her back and led her out the door. He never even looked back to see how I was taking it all.

I felt breathless, like all the oxygen in the room was gone. And I hurt inside, my heart was actually felt constricted.

Cinny, do me a favour, I gasped. Eleven is all settled, would you mind clearing and re-setting the table for me after they leave?

Sure, Frankie, sure. Cinnamon was all sympathy and concern.

I ran to the staff washroom and barely held my tears back until I got in. I was still in love with Matt, and now I had to see him going out. It was like all the months we spent together meant nothing if he could date so soon. And it hurt so much to watch him do the same little considerate things for her he did for me. They looked like such a perfect, golden couple together, even if there was only one brain between the two of them. I cried for at least ten minutes, and then I heard a knock at the door.

Frankie, may I speak? It was Aaron, using the Earl’s speak method of addressing someone. That he was so formal at a time like this was just proof of what kind of knobs got promoted here.

Yeah.

Are you okay?

I’m fine, I sobbed.

Frankie, let me in.

Nooooo, I don’t want you to see me like this….

It’s okay, just unlock the door.

I did and Aaron walked in. He was a bit awkward with people, so he tried to give me a hug, but it turned into patting my back, like I was a baby he was trying to burp.

Um, Frankie, you can’t really go out and work like this.

I looked in the mirror. My mascara had gone all punk raccoon and my skin was red and blotchy. I wasn’t exactly an ad for fun times at Earl’s.

Look, why don’t you just go home. I’ll cut you now, it’s dead out there anyway.

I nodded. Thank you, Aaron.

Man, you’re the last person I ever thought I’d be in the washroom saying this to, but you need to pull yourself together. What Matt did was definitely sketch, but you’re a professional, right?

I nodded, but the tears kept leaking out of my eyes. I was a good worker and I had never brought my personal issues to work like everyone else, but these were extreme circumstances. Still he was right, having a breakdown at work was totally adolescent and humiliating. Around here, it was something that happened nightly but never before to me.

5

Daring and Adventurous?

I rode the 99 B-line back to my apartment and looked out the bus window sadly. Sunday night and everyone was out—in couples. Happy couples holding hands, smiling and talking to each other, laughing and flirting; happy frigging couples everywhere I looked. And I was alone, all alone.

As if on cue, some drunken guy turned around and started talking to me. Hey sweetheart, are you alone? His breath was a winning combination of beer and garlic.

The words burst out of me. Yes! I’m alone. I’m all alone, and I’ll be alone for the rest of my natural life because all guys are pigs. Huge, fat, stinking pigs who never think about anything but themselves and their need to have fun, fun, fun!

Okey-dokey. Even drunk, the guy could recognize a Looney Tune, and he turned back around. The hipster guy across the aisle from me slipped out of his seat and went to the back of the bus, preferring to deal with the gangsters back there instead of the insane chick. I got home, safely unmolested.

I walked into the apartment and flopped onto the couch. My two roommates were both home, but locked away in their rooms since they still had exams left.

Usually when I walked into the apartment, I felt all happy and safe. I loved nesting, and this place was my first big decorating project. I had sewn creamy linen curtains for the living room and made gorgeous jewel-toned cushions for the beige-y couch that Lauren had snuck out of her parent's basement. I had reupholstered the fifties chair I found on Craigslist with a retro print and only stapled one finger in the process. And I had accessorized with free paintings from my friends in fine arts as well as fabric collages I made myself. Our place had turned out pretty slick for a student apartment. All our friends loved to hang out here, and normally I felt cheered up whenever I walked in. But tonight had been so horrible that even my nice apartment couldn’t cheer me up. My tears welled up again. I had cried more in the last two days than in the last two years.

Rex sauntered out to greet me. He was a black and white cat that I had found on my way home from classes over a year ago. When I met him, he was skinny and scabby and forlorn, and I fed him part of a leftover sandwich I had in my pack. After that he had followed me home and basically refused to leave. Although cats are supposed to be self-regulating around food, he remembered his life on the street and basically inhaled everything I set in front of him and then wanted more. He had expanded from skinny to fatty in no time, and although he adored me, he still hated the rest of mankind. My roommates barely tolerated him. Matt had suggested more than once that I take him to the shelter, since Rex had scratched him and insisted on sleeping on the bed between us and he snored. (I mean Rex snored, not Matt who had been perfect even while unconscious.) But who would ever adopt such a crabby cat? If I took him to the shelter, he would never find another home.

Oh Rexy, you were right. Matt was a tool! I should have listened to you. I gave Rex a cat treat and then went into my bedroom. Rex followed me, either to comfort me or in hopes of more treats.

I threw myself face down on the bed and sobbed. There was a knock on my door.

Frank? You okay? Bianca’s voice called out.

I lifted my head off the pillow and choked out the word, Fine.

Bianca walked