Getting Over It

Felicity eyed her rapidly deflating souffle with a jaundiced eye. Baking wasn't her forte. It made sense. She'd never been a fan of chemistry. Her garlic butter sauce had absolutely rocked, though, so she wasn't giving up on the cooking classes. There was a strict no-cellphone rule that allowed her to truly decompress. Her coworkers enjoyed giving feedback on her homework.

Four months ago, she never would have imagined herself at a cooking class. She was okay in the kitchen in that she didn't often give herself food poisoning, and she had a few decent fallback recipes for when her parents or grandparents visited. She'd stuck to basics that were easy to reheat: baked chicken, pork chops, sautéed zucchini and steamed broccoli. Foods that were hard to screw up. Foods she, and Kyle, enjoyed.

After two weeks of classes, she'd splurged on new cookware. Her pots and pans had been the original set she'd been gifted when moving into her first apartment. She was the proud owner of new stock pots, sauté pans, sauce pans, and omelet pans. A wok! She had a wok! And she knew how to use it.

Hmm… she had frozen shrimp and a complementary frozen veggie blend. She could pick up some bok choy after work on Friday. Paired with riced cauliflower and a bottle of flavored sake – not peach, never peach – she could shake up girls' night on Friday. Josie had been complaining about the carbs after the last pasta and wine fest.

She'd need something for dessert. She frowned at her souffle. Out of the question. Perhaps a turtle cheesecake to balance out all that healthy food. Life was too short to skip indulgences.

She accepted the instructor's criticism of her souffle and mentally filed away the instructions for how to keep it from caving. Not that she had plans to try again. It had been fun experimenting, but she wasn't adding souffle to her repertoire. Felicity's mind drifted as she cleaned her workstation.

She was surprised at how much she liked the cooking class. She'd signed up in a fit of anger at Kyle. He'd promised for months that they'd go together, and he'd always found something else to occupy her time. She'd let him. That was on her.

The barre class three times a week was equally enjoyable. It had started out as a way to fill her time, and to keep her mind off her absent (ex?) best friend. She couldn't live at the office, after all – though she certainly tried, and there were too many hours to fill. She'd tried crossfit because Kyle had raved over it, but it wasn't her thing. Same for the whiskey-appreciation class he'd mentioned before his vanishing act and that new crime drama set in San Francisco.

And that was okay. It was nice to see that there were differences, that they weren't one weird FeliciKyle hybrid. She had things she liked, things that were hers. She was busy. She had work, bingo at Sammy's, cooking class, girls night, evenings on her patio, and running across the pineapple mug in her drying rack didn't have her sobbing in the shower. Kyle had broken her heart, yes, but he hadn't broken her. If anything, he'd strengthened her. Forced her to live out of his shadow.

Not that she was planning on sending him a thank you card or a fruit basket.

She was good, though. Most of the time. If she stayed a little too late at work or took on one too many projects or sometimes made a cup of dark roast coffee just to smell it, well, she was only human. She loved him, missed him with every other heartbeat, but she was learning to live her life. Not their life.

"Hey, Felicity!"

The bright, feminine voice shook Felicity out of her reverie. She dropped the sponge onto the counter and wiped her hands on her jeans. Yesenia Ramirez had been her partner for the pasta-making class. She'd enjoyed the other woman's acerbic wit and easy laugh. Yesenia had introduced Felicity to a few of the other women in the class.

Felicity noticed that Yesenia's souffle was perfect. She grinned at Yesenia. "Great job! Of course, what do you expect from a biochemist?"

Yesenia laughed and shook her head. "We're heading out for a quick drink. Do you want to join us?"

Felicity glanced at the cell phone sitting on the corner of the counter. The light was blinking, indicating that she had a waiting message or email. She and Kyle had started texting again. Light, shallow conversations but it was a start. He'd tried to call a time or two, but she'd put him off.

She knew herself. Or, she was getting to know herself again. She'd let him suck her in to that destructive stagnation that had broken both their hearts. He'd wanted a break, and she almost understood his reasons, so they'd get a break.

Still… she wanted to tell him about her souffle. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong about Super Mario Bros. 3 being superior because a racoon suit was just ridiculous looking. Super Mario Bros. 2 was her favorite because, hello, Princess Toadstool could kick ass and float. She wanted to hear about what weird smoothie concoction his cube neighbor wass trying to talk him into trying. She wanted…

"There's a new place around the corner that makes a killer watermelon margarita," Yesenia said. "They have a great green sauce, too."

Felicity shoved her phone in her back pocket. She dumped her trash in the receptacle and slung her purse over her shoulder. She rounded the corner of her workstation and linked her arm with Yesenia's. "The question is, my friend, how are their sour cream enchiladas?"