A Girl's Best Friend by Kristin Billerbeck Page B

gift of making you feel as if you’re the only person in the world when he’s speaking to you; he’s never sidetracked or in a hurry and the reason Lilly and Kim both flock to his side is obvious. My fears of being on the street have all but dissipated, and I lean towards him to hear what helpful advice he has, even if it is against my instincts.
    “San Francisco is a happening place, am I right?”
    “You are.” I agree.
    “It’s like New York—if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.”
    “True, but obviously I can’t make it here, so are you suggesting I move? Maybe look for something in Iowa?”
    “You really don’t know what you’re good at.” He says this with just the right amount of flirtation, and I feel myself becoming more uncomfortable.
    “I’m good at buying shoes and spending my father’s money. But it’s a funny thing, I can’t really do anything with that skill. And neither of those brings in a lot of cash.”
    Nate just shakes his head, clearly frustrated with me. “You know the in’s and out’s of the city, where the chic people go, where the ‘yesterday’ restaurants are, and where they wouldn’t want to be seen. That’s a gift.”
    “But not really a marketable one.” I start to imagine what God would want from me, and how He loves an unselfish heart. “Do you think I’d make a good missionary?”
    Nate is not a Christian, and yet this makes him laugh. “You’d make a fine missionary to wealthy people. I’m not so sure if you’re ready for the streets of Calcutta just yet.”
    What I love and envy about Lilly (even when I’m annoyed with her) and her friends is that they tell you the truth. Their version of it, anyway. In fact, just try and hold her nana (who raised her) back from telling her the truth. My father, in contrast, has always blindly encouraged me, so it never dawned on me I wasn’t actually perfect for each and every station of life. Until now.
    “So I’m not cut out for the mission field.” I cross my arms in front of me, pulling my sweater around my chest. “What is my graceful gift good for, exactly, Nate? Is there a place out there that cares if I type prettily?” Truthfully, I don’t know why I’m
listening, other than I want a friend to sit with me until the cab gets here. Nate couldn’t dole out career advice any better than Martha Stewart.
    “When you came into my apartment this morning, what’s the first thing you noticed?” he asks.
    “You have a lot of computer equipment.”
    “Hah!” He points at me. “That’s not what you noticed. You noticed the smell of my dog, just like everyone does. He stinks.”
    Which begs the question, Why doesn’t Nate have a Lysol fetish?
    I nod subtly. It is what I noticed. It’s horrible.
    “His ear drains. He wouldn’t survive the operation, or I’d fix it.” Nate explains. “You never said a thing when you walked in. You just coyly handed me back the coffee cup before excusing yourself.”
    Yeah, and running for my life. “Your point? I didn’t want to be rude.”
    “Did Lilly ever think about being rude? About wiping VapoRub under her nose before entering? Or passing it around like a party favor?”
    I laugh, picturing Lilly and her freakish scent issue, sticking out her jar of Vicks like it’s a fine champagne at a wedding.
    My cab pulls up in front of the building and Nate stands, leaving his groceries on the stoop. As he’s walking to the cab and opening the door for me, he says one last thing. “My point is you could be a stylist and tell people what to wear, a hotel concierge to tell people where to be, or an event planner to showcase what you wealthy people buy. There are any number of options. You just need to think outside the box and stop looking for things beneath who you are. Embrace who you are. You’re the daughter of San Francisco’s Jeweler; your mother is the infamous Traci Malliard. One does not come by successful genes like that for nothing.”
    As I