Tomorrow will be the seven-year anniversary of my brother’s death. “Alexia, what’s the matter?” April peered at me from around a stack of canisters, her charcoal-lined eyes wide. Or maybe it was the fact that Brooke Worthington (although in high school she went by Brooke Jenson) had walked into the shop wearing a business suit with three kids in tow and asked, “Is this what you’ve been doing since high school?”
Maybe it was the smell of chocolate in the air playing tricks on my hormones, or watching all those rug rats screaming up and down the aisles and wishing I had one. But now I was twenty-seven and this shit was getting old. It used to be a fun place to work… when I was twenty-one. Sweet Treats had closed half an hour ago, and I was restocking the shelves while April handled the cash drawer. Of course, the last place I needed to have a meltdown was in a candy store by the gummy worms. All the crap that becomes a badge of honor among women-like those little merit badges Girl Scouts have sewn on their uniforms, only these badges are stitched across our hearts.
Death, heartbreak, solitude, desire, jealousy. The kind that weakens you, swells your eyes shut, and strips away every shred of emotion from your body until the pain subsides. I don’t care what anyone says, every girl needs to have a good long cry once in a while.
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