Sarah Mlynowski - Fishbowl

“Mlynowski is out for a rollicking good time from the start.”

—Arizona Republic on Fishbowl

“Undemandingly perfect…wonderfully bitchy.”

—Jewish Chronicle on Fishbowl

“A fresh and witty take on real-life exams in love, lust, trust and friendship.”

—Bestselling author Jessica Adams on Fishbowl

“This entertaining debut [offers] both humor and substance…. [Anyone] who’s ever been bored by an unfulfilling job…jealous of a roommate who has it all together…or thoroughly perplexed by boy-speak will find something to enjoy here. Mlynowski may not be able to provide all the solutions, but she certainly makes the problems fun.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A likable heroine.”

—Booklist

“Milkrun by Sarah Mlynowski is funny, touching, sassy, and bright. It’s as spicy as cinnamon-flecked foam on cappuccino and as honest as strong black coffee.”

—Anthology magazine

For Bonnie, Ronit, Lisa, Jaime, Mel and Todd:

my roommates, past and present.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who read and reread drafts of this book: Sam Bell, my devoted editor; Elissa Harris Ambrose, my grammar-queen mom; Jess Braun, my long-standing coconspirator; Bonnie Altro, my favorite storyteller; Todd Swidler, my exceptionally patient boyfriend; and Kathrin Menge and Ana Movileanu, my perceptive, speed-reading ex-coworkers.

Special thanks to the Oakville firefighters who—extremely sweetly—explained the technicalities of burning down one’s kitchen. Oh, and let me try on the funky gear.

Cheers for the RDI team: Laura Morris, Margaret Marbury, Margie Miller, Tara Kelly, Tania Charzewski, Pam Spengler-Jaffee…and I mustn’t forget Craig Swinwood.

Finally, thanks to the endless support of family and friends (Dad, Louisa, Bubbe, Grandma, Squirt, Rob, Lynda, Sohmer, Merjane and the Wednesday Night Dinner Girls).

PROLOGUE: A TINY BIT OF FORESHADOWING

1 ALLIE’S MISTAKE

2 JODINE DOESN’T WANT TO TALK

3 EMMA GETS PISSED

4 ALLIE GETS EXCITED

5 JODINE ARRIVES

6 EMMA GETS ATTENTION

7 JODINE HOLDS THE BUTTER

8 IRRITATING OMNISCIENT NARRATOR ADDS HER TWO CENTS (WHO IS SHE, ANYWAY?)

9 JODINE NAMES HER FISH

10 EMMA’S BEING SELFISH AND IS FEELING SORRY FOR HERSELF (SURPRISE, SURPRISE)

11 ALLIE GETS NAUSEOUS

12 TUESDAY 7:00 A.M.: NOTE TAPED TO INSIDE OF FRONT DOOR (NOT TO REFRIGERATOR FOR OBVIOUS REASONS)

13 JODINE WORKS IT

14 ALLIE GOES NUTS

15 EMMA DEALS

16 THE POSTURIZATION OF ALLIE

17 POSTER MANIA

18 ALLIE! YOU’RE BEING AN IDIOT! HE LIKES YOU!

19 EMMA LOOKS SILLY

20 JODINE GETS READY

21 OMNISCIENT NARRATOR TRIES TO GIVE UNBIASED MULTI-PERSPECTIVE ACCOUNT OF PARTY

22 EMMA GOES NUTS

23 ALLIE CONTEMPLATES THE FUTURE

24 JODINE’S DRUG INDUCED EPIPHANY

25 EMMA’S ILLICIT PHONE CALL

26 JODINE COUNTS DOWN

27 PAY ATTENTION, ALLIE!

28 OMNISCIENT NARRATOR RINGS IN THE NEW YEAR

29 JODINE HAS A HANGOVER

30 ALLIE IS OBLIVIOUS

31 EMMA TAKES A PILL

32 JODINE GETS CHOKED UP

33 DID YOU HAVE TO KEEP LEFTOVERS, EMMA?

34 ‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE VALENTINE’S DAY, AND THINGS GOT A LITTLE GORY, SO POUR YOURSELF SOME CHARDONNAY, WHILE THE ANNOYING OMNISCIENT NARRATOR RECOUNTS THE STORY

35 WHEN HARRY MET ALLIE

36 JODINE LETS GO

EPILOGUE: THE OMNISCIENT NARRATOR TELLS YOU WHAT HAPPENS TWO AND A HALF MONTHS LATER

A TINY BIT OF FORESHADOWING

Allison, Jodine and Emma are going to set their apartment on fire. No, they’re not going to do it on purpose. What kind of lunatics do you think they are?

Now, don’t go worrying. No one will get hurt. There will be no heart-stopping da-da-da E.R. music in the background, no one in white yelling Stat!, no George Clooney look-a-like climbing aboard a gurney to thump life back into someone’s heart, and no artificial respiration of any kind, including the mouth-to-mouth variety.

And we’re all thankful for that, of course. Although when Janet, the substitute teacher who lives in the apartment upstairs, tells the story, she’ll kind of wish something slightly more significant will have happened, like maybe the girls get trapped in the bathroom while the flames lick the closed door, and they stand sweating and shivering under the running shower, and they see smoke creeping in from the hallway, and just as they’re about to pass out…No, wait! Maybe one of them will pass out. She’ll faint away just as the cute fireman throws open the door and tosses all three girls over his muscle-rippled shoulders. He’ll look as if he stepped right off a Chippendales calendar (except his fireman’s getup is done up) to carry them into the midnight air to safety. And then he’ll give the passed-out girl resuscitation (yes! yes! the mouth-to-mouth variety) and she’s breathing! She’s going to make it! Isn’t it wonderful to be alive!

But this isn’t going to happen. This is Janet’s fantasy, and Janet is not an important player in this story.

Sorry, Janet.

Anyway, the girls will have to go to the E.R., but it’ll be more of a formality than because of any real concern. Something about sucking in too much carbon monoxide and needing oxygen. They’ll also need to shower. When they get out of that burning apartment, they won’t exactly be making a fashion statement, although they’d make excellent “before” or “fashion don’t” pictures, if any glossy magazine decides to snap their pictures. Which, of course, isn’t going to happen, either, because why would a fashion photographer be sitting in the waiting room of the E.R.? Be serious. The girls’ faces are going to look as if they’ve been rubbed with black chalk, if black chalk even exists, as there are no white blackboards. And their hair…if their mothers were to see their hair in that rat’s-nest sooty condition, they’d probably cover their eyes and scream, “Cut it off! Just cut it all off!” while flashing back to incidents of pink chewing gum. Mothers can sometimes get a wee bit overdramatic.

These girls ain’t going to be a pretty sight.

But do you know what they’re going to need? Even more than a shower?

Insurance. Sounds kind of superfluous next to oxygen and water, but when you don’t have protection, things tend to get a little messy.

Anyway, you don’t have to worry about all this fire mumbo jumbo right at this moment. The girls haven’t even met yet. So relax. Have a cup of coffee. Never mind, there’s no need to stimulate any heart-stopping da-da-da E.R.-beat hyperactivity. Have a cup of herbal tea instead. And pay attention to the first name in each chapter title or you’re not going to have a clue who’s talking. Oh, and forget you ever heard about the “burning down” of any “apartment.”

So did you hear about the fire at 56B Blake?

(Fire? What fire? Insert your blank stare here.)

Well done!

ALLIE

Eeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Shut. Up.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Shut. Up. Pause.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Shut! Up! I’m trying to mind my own business while I stir my instant coffee (my brewer has gone back to Vancouver with its owner, one of my former roommates. My other college roommate, most furniture, all forms of cutlery and the living-room TV have also deserted me for the rainy city of Vancouver), but this teeth-scratching eeeeeeeeeeeeep keeps interrupting me. It’s like when you bite your lip by accident and it gets all puffy, and because it’s puffy, you keep biting it—you know?