I was thriving.
The scent of vanilla pancakes filled my apartment like joy wrapped in calories, and my kitchen had turned into an unofficial comedy club that was starring yours truly and Kelly, my best friend with the absolute worst ideas like calling off work for the morning because “girl time was an emergency.”
“Kelly, you’re going to get fired,” I said to her now through a mouthful of pancake batter as I lazily whisked it with my left hand.
I really still couldn't believe it that Kelly wasn't going to work today because she wanted to spend time with me.
She was perched on my counter like a mischievous imp in bunny slippers and a face mask that looked like a sheet of seaweed gone rogue.
“First of all, that cafe can survive one day without my legendary caramel macchiato skills,” s
