"What? You went without me? Me! I'm your best friend Eve." Ivan protests as he inclines over the pink polka-dot tablecloth stretched over the small table.
"That you are, Ivan. The one and only. But in my defense, you were busy running an important errand for your mother, when I was coming to pick you up. I called to ask you. Tell me you remember that?" Ivan hesitantly nods in agreement, clearly annoyed with the fact that he can't blame me.
"I couldn't bring myself to interrupt you." His eyes soften momentarily but then squeeze to slits as he crosses his arms over his chest and slumps back into the chair. An image of a young kid throwing a tantrum flashes through my mind.
"Mom would have understood. It was a dinosaur exhibition for fuck's sake. She knows I love dinosaurs. I've literally been smitten with them since I was eight. Tyrannosaurus rex is my favorite, and now I might have missed his skeleton." The vehemence of his exasperation reflects when he snaffles the Tiramisu in front of me in one swift move.
My first instinct is to reprimand him for stealing my dessert. Then I remember how upset he was when I went to the exhibit without him, and let it slide, even though every muscle in my stomach turns and twists with the desire to put the sweet into my mouth.
"First, the museum was small and packed. Second, its collection wasn't even that big. There were only a few specimens on display—more casts than bones. Thirdly, the ones we wanted to see weren't even here." I lay down all my dislikes, hoping he'll forgive me for not taking him.
"Small or big, you visit the dinosaur museum with me. It's our thing." If there is one thing that you should know about Ivan, he's dramatic. Like really dramatic. And sensitive too. A child trapped in an adult body.
"I know Ivan." I sigh and lean over the table to continue. "Forgive me this once. Please."
With crystal blue eyes watching me he eats the last bite of the dessert I'd originally ordered for myself. "Get me more dessert, and I will think about it." Meaning, he will forgive me.
Looking around I search for a waiter who approaches our table when I gesture at him. With a smile, I ask for another Tiramisu, as well as the bill.
"Trust me the exhibit wasn't anything special. I didn't enjoy it much."
Ivan smirks, contently. "Of course. How could you when my ass wasn't there?" If arrogance had a scale, Ivan was ten on it.
"To be fair I didn't miss your ass that much." Slight anger takes over his face.
"You better be joking Eve." I shake my head in amusement and wave him off.
"How's work going? Got any new orders so far?" The mere mention of the topic evaporates my good energy, and my sunny mood turns gloomy and overcast.
"None. This week is going blank like a sheet. And the one before this too. At this rate, my company will drown in the sea and never be found ever again." The despair radiates off me like sparks from a firework—burning me in the process. Just hearing the words back makes me feel how quickly I'm losing, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Bluebird Design is my wedding card print company. I started it from scratch two years ago, after a decade of procrastinating and overthinking. The idea of starting something from the ground, and building it until the name hung on the top scared me more than jumping off a fifteen-foot cliff and barreling into the water—trust me, that was terrifying.
Since I was a teenager I'd been putting together pictures, designs, and ideas, and saving pins on Pinterest of what I imagined my company would be like. From exploring color palette heterogeneity to learning a million different flower, leaf, and wreath designs, I'd been eagerly waiting for the day to put it all together and bring it into reality. But no one told me how hard it would be. How some days I'd be iffy and filled with indecision.
From the beginning, I gave in every bead of sweat that I could. There were times when I wanted to chuck my dream into a black hole because of one fall, and times when I was so excited to let it all come to life and dance in happiness. I'm so glad that I pulled through all of the hardship and never gave up.
Along the way, I learned much more than I had working as a finance analyst–creating and writing reports all day. During my academic years, I was certain that pursuing a degree in economics was what I wanted. Math was like a second language to me throughout my school years and aced tests just grew me closer to my calling—following a career in finance.
But turns out, sometimes the things you want so badly, end up being mundane.
"Don't think of your company as the Titanic. It isn't sinking anytime soon. Trust me, it'll work out Eve. It always does." Ivan has been that friend who always wrapped me in a blanket whenever my shortcomings left me feeling cold and numb. From serving me cold milk with Oreos on my bad days to squealing and jumping with me on reaching fifty customers. His presence has walked alongside mine through all sorts of seasons no matter the severity.
"I hope so. I'm feeling upset over the lack of sales. I've employees to pay salaries to, you know." My hands cover my face as I feel the leaden weight of my responsibilities settling on my shoulders.
"I know Evelyn. I'm literally your finance manager." Since I'm a finance analyst I thought it'd be easier for me to balance both work and finance, but I was proven wrong. Within a week I had so much on my hands that I had to hire someone else to review the figures and budget. Ivan and I met at university and spent years together, so not a single doubt crossed my mind when I pitched him for the seat.
"Don't get into the stats. I can literally read the numbers off your face." Ivan chuckles with humor but I can't get a smile to bloom on my lips.
"My gorgeous face isn't an excel sheet from any angle. You're getting insane Eve. Maybe we should go out for drinks." While I look for solutions within the problems, Ivan explores outside the box.
"Drinks won't solve a damn thing, Ivan." Sighing like I've deflated his favorite balloon he takes my hand over the table and squeezes it reassuringly.
"You know it's not your fault. It's an off-wedding season so every wedding-related industry is suffering. I guess people are busy planning them these months." A smile cracks my stoic face. "And when they're done planning, their footsteps will be on our door and we'll welcome them." Another warm hand squeeze. "Till then let's have a good time, and later we'll brainstorm ideas for expanding your company." I nod through the happiness that has stealthily swapped the overwhelming sadness in my chest.
"Our company Ivan."
My best friend courses his fingers through the bushy mess of his shiny wheat-like hair that makes everyone bleat in envy. His shampoo and hair routine is a secret concealed by layers of padlocks. Even I don't know it.
"Yes. Now tell me, do you understand?"
As much as I want to roll in worry and stress, I know there isn't much that I can do.
"Yes, I understand." This time I squeeze his hand and he graces me with a twinkling smile that steadies me on my feet.
Ivan and I chat for another twenty minutes. When the waiter appears with the bill. I take it faster than I enter a store offering a seventy percent discount.
Ivan isn't impressed by my move and scowls when I use my credit card and leave a tip in cash. Once I finish, we exit the restaurant.
Whenever we go out to eat, we fight over the bill like dogs over a bone.
Do we make a scene and attract others? Yes.
Does that make one of us back down? Absolutely not.
Have we stopped fighting in public? Technically, we had to.
Last year we went to a sushi restaurant for a celebration dinner. I had hit forty customers whilst Ivan had bought a new BMW i8 after years of drooling over the car—I mean that literally. The guy had been dreaming of it since high school, and when it arrived at his place, the whole neighborhood knew of Ivan Reyes' delirium. He arrived to work in it and took me out on a spin—but he didn't let me drive it.
We had a blissful night, talking and congratulating each other on our successes as we ate the food. It was all going well until the waitress came with the bill. Both of us reached for it at the same time and got engaged in a tug of war. Somehow during the tussle, the flute glass knocked over and cold red wine spilled over my purple dress, drenching the cloth.
In the moment of shock, my grip loosened and Ivan yanked the server book and grinned. The dampness leaked through the fabric and wet my thigh which ignited a flare of rage in me. I took his flute of champagne and threw the liquid across his chest in one clean move. The blue dress shirt clung to his skin and his nipples became visible through the material.
A victorious smile hung on my lips, as Ivan's mouth opened in surprise.
"Evelyn Melgren, you did not just stain my favorite shirt." His tone was crisp as the cold winter air.
"I most certainly did. You spilled wine on me first."
"It was an accident and clearly unintentional."
"Yeah well...mine was totally intentional. Now let me pay the bill." I proceeded to take the server book but he pinned me with a glare and raised his arm in the air before I could even touch the book.
"Come and get it then." My fingers ached and I got out of my chair and came towards him but he was already away from the table.
Before I could lunge at him the waitress got between us.
"Why don't you two split?"
Ivan and I both looked at her.
"We don't split," We said at the same time and then pointed fierce stares at each other.
"Well, you can this time since you're making a scene here. And I don't want our manager to be her—"
"What is going on here?" A strong masculine voice interrupted the waitress and the three of us—along with other sets of eyes, looked over at the old man with curly black hair dressed in a fine suit.
"Nothing significant sir. They're jus—"
"—creating a disturbance for the other people." His dark black eyes cut through Ivan and I and we both straightened up like children entering the principal's office.
"Please see me in the back," The intimidating manager whispered to us and we both followed him knowing that it was our fault.
"This is because of you. You should have just let me pay," Ivan hissed at me and I elbowed him in the ribs.
"You paid last time. And before that too. So it's only fair that I pay this time." Ivan scoffed at me.
We passed the kitchen and then turned into a hallway that had various abstract paintings attached to the glittering wallpaper. Instead of entering the office the manager stopped and turned toward us with an accusing stare and tight lips.
"Can you please fill me in on the fuss you two were brewing in my fucking restaurant?" For a manager, he was uptight.
"I know we're at fault but this is no way to talk to us Mr. Brendan," Ivan replied.
"This place caters to adults, not children." A vein in his forehead vibrated.
"We are adults," I added, and his dark eyes flew to mine.
"You were arguing, pulling the server book like a toy, splashing each other with wine while my incompetent waitress was standing there and doing nothing. We have a reputation, and high-profile people come here to dine. If you can't behave like well-mannered people then you both can take your leave and refrain from coming here again." His pointed chin tipped down in my direction, and his finger raised as he gestured between us.
Ivan pulled out a couple of dollars, put them inside the book, and slammed it shut.
"We're sorry." Handing him the book he took my wrist and we both stepped out in the heat of the summer.
"God I feel embarrassed," I said to no one in particular.
"Me too. Can't believe we got banned from a restaurant."
"All because of you."
Ivan glared at me. "You were equally involved."
I sighed.
"What was sticking up his ass? I can't believe he talks to customers like that. And he called the waitress incompetent. That was a lie. If anything she had been doing her job perfectly until the point where she warned us and that dickhead came through," Ivan grumbled as he kicked a rock.
"I know right? I'm sure he's hard on her."
"Hard on her? I think he gives her a hell of a time."
Suddenly I felt bad for that girl.
"Excuse me?" A sweet voice came from behind us and I turned only to see the waitress from earlier holding my purse.
"You left it inside." I took it from her with a grateful smile.
There was no way I was going inside after the stunt my best friend and I had just pulled.
"Thank you so much."
"You're welcome. I should head back inside."
"Is Mr. Brendan an asshole to you?" Ivan asked. I jabbed his arm.
"Huh?" The young girl sputtered and rubbed the side of her neck.
"Never mind. I was just curious. Forget it." Ivan waved it off.
The woman walked inside without giving us a single glance. I hoped we hadn't upset her.
"Let's go and I'm paying next time. Don't pull this shit next time Ivan." I said.
"I won't. That was humiliating." I couldn't agree more.
"In fact, let's make a pact. Whoever gets the server book first pays. No bantering, spilling wine, and creating a scene." Ivan suggested.
"I can agree to that. But on one condition."
Ivan cocked one eyebrow.
"The same person can pay three times in a row. After that, it falls on the other person. This way no one will feel bad." His arms relaxed and he slung one of them over my shoulders.
"Fine, I agree," Ivan muttered.
"I agree second." We shook hands.
Since then we hadn't broken the pact, though we'd come close to creating a crack in it at times. After all, we were best friends.