Free Bliss by Shay Mitchell Page B

sniffed and could pick up traces of dog piss. That did it. Her stomach convulsed.
    â€œIncoming!” yelled the man.
    Demi was impressed by how quickly the seniors jumped out of the way. Except for Orange Windbreaker. She was kind of doddering.
    â€œMy new arch supporters!”
    â€œSorry!”
    â€œLet’s get her inside,” said Yoga Pants. “She needs a shower and coffee.”
    Wally said with a chuckle, “If I were her age, I’d volunteer to undress her.”
    Demi liked the pervy old man. He kept it light. The three of them were on her again, pulling her upright to standing. Her stomach spasmed again, but she swallowed hard to keep it down. “Who’s Miriam?” she asked.
    They ignored the question. Instead, Yoga Pants asked, “What happened to you, dear?”
    â€œDo you mean last night, or my whole life?”
    â€œOh, honey,” she said, double dose of sympathy, like she genuinely cared.
    Demi looked into her warm blue eyes, and found an ocean of compassion in them. The affect was sobering, and Demi was suddenly, mortally embarrassed. “I’m fine,” she said, standing taller, steadier. “Just another Wednesday night.”
    â€œThursday morning,” said Wally.
    â€œI’m going to pay for your shoes, and wash the sidewalk. I promise. I just need, like, a hose. Is there a hose somewhere?”
    â€œOver there.” Wally pointed toward the side of the building. “I’ll get it.”
    â€œLet him clean up,” said Yoga Pants. “He loves a project.”
    Hosing puke was a project? Like scrapbooking? “I need a hobby,” said Demi. “Hobbies are good.”
    â€œHobbies are essential to happiness,” said Yoga Pants. “Come on, I’ll help you get inside.”
    â€œWhat about our walk?” That was Orange Windbreaker.
    â€œGo on your walk, really. I’m okay,” said Demi, bending down to pick up her bag and backing toward the Grace’s front door. A handsome senior couple in matching workout gear, sunglasses, and hand weights stormed past them. Great , she thought. The one day I meet all the neighbors .
    Hands shaking, Demi managed to turn the key and crawl up the two flights to her apartment. Alone finally, Demi stripped, and stood under a scalding hot shower until her skin turned bright pink. After two Tylenol and a coconut water, she set her phone alarm for two hours from then, and lay down on the mattress on the floor to sleep.
    *   *   *
    Demi rolled into the office at midday in her standard work clothes: Citizens of Humanity jeans, a close-fitting American Apparel long-sleeved navy T-shirt, and suede Vans. Maya Lundy, her boss and friend, was on the phone and waved hello. Lundy Events was a micro company, just the two desks in one room. You’d think Demi and Maya would get on each other’s nerves from all that togetherness, and you’d be right. Their personalities chafed, but only occasionally. For the most part, their collaboration worked pretty well. Demi really looked up to Maya. She was forty-two, but they would go out for drinks and chat for hours. Sometimes, she babysat Maya’s daughters. Not lately, though. When work slowed down—rarely—Maya told Demi about her days at Pepperdine, her years living in Venice. Demi would love to live in California!
    Maya developed several businesses, Lundy Events being the last and most successful. It was the go-to outfit for promoting and launching new restaurant ventures in downtown Vancouver. Their current project was Maya’s baby, from inception to installation, called First @ Second, a weekend food festival on Second Beach. If all went well, next year’s festival would be called Second @ Second, and so on until eternity, if Maya got her wish. They’d been working on it for months, and had only another few weeks to go. Maya had to do most of the heavy lifting last week, with