“We need to get some rugs in here!” Clover Maes called over the crinkling plastic. “It would help muffle the sounds.”

The sound of opening bags and then filling them with plastic water bottles, granola bars, a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, a comb, a brush, a razor, travel-size shaving cream, a washcloth and more, bounced off the apartment walls and laminate flooring, making talking between the two friends intent on their task difficult at best.

“You think?” Maddie replied. She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Do you have anything for a headache?”

Clover nodded. She was well on her way to needing something for the pounding behind her right eye. She got to her feet and offered her hand to Maddie. “Let’s take a brownie break. I tried a coconut flour and almond milk recipe this morning. That should help your headache. And if that doesn’t work, I have Tylenol.”

Maddie had been diagnosed with Celiac disease two months ago. She’d called Clover from her doctor’s parking lot, sobbing. All Clover could make out between the despair and gulps was, “I’ll never eat a brownie again.”

Because Maddie was her best friend and because she deserved to have a good brownie in her life, Clover began an expedition to discover gluten-free brownies. Her travels took her deep into the batter, flour alternatives, and even Dutch-processed cocoa. There had to be a recipe hidden deep on the Internet that wasn’t too dry, was dense, had the right amount of chocolate, and that tasted good.

She’d tried one last week that was made with black beans. It wasn’t bad, but it had a fudge texture, not a brownie texture; however, the fudge-like texture didn’t dissuade the girls from eating through the whole pan in forty-eight hours. Clover hung on to that recipe, because guilt-free fudge was also important in life.

Clover removed the plastic cover on the cake pan. “Ta-da!” she said with a flourish.

“That looks … promising.” Maddie leaned over and sniffed. “They smell like brownies.”

Clover smiled. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up right now, but the batter was pretty dang good.” She opened a drawer, looking for a knife. “I had a good feeling when I pulled the pan out of the oven. I mean, the house smelled like brownies. That hasn’t happened before.”

Maddie licked her lips. “I’m officially intrigued.” She reached for the paper towels that were stored in a cute holder with a wire daisy on top. Clover had found it at the thrift store, still in the package.

Clover sliced the brownies, placing one on each of the paper towels Maddie laid out. Since Clover was the one who had attempted the recipe, she was brave and took the first bite. Chewing slowly, her eyes dropped shut, and she moaned. “Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner, folks.”

Maddie nibbled on a corner, her eyes widening with delight. “This is good.” She took a much bigger bite and moaned. “So good.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Once their chocolate craving had been properly attended to, Maddie looked around the apartment. “You know, when you asked if I wanted to have a girls’ night, I had other ideas.” She waved her arm to indicate the open boxes strewn about the front room.

Though they’d been living in the condo for six months, they still didn’t have a lot of furniture. It never bothered Clover. She was thankful to have a roof over her head, a lumpy mattress, and a door with a lock on it, because she hadn’t always had those things in her life. Sometimes the only door that locked was a car door as her mom moved them from city to city. They’d sleep in the Taurus. Clover took the front bench seat, and her mom took the back. More often than not, they’d sleep outside, curled up next to a tree trunk.

Maddie hadn’t grown up on the streets like Clover. She was used to having a couch and knickknacks and photos on the walls. When they’d signed the lease, Clover made her promise not to fill the apartment with stuff—that whatever they bought, they each paid half. So far, they’d bought a couch from a garage sale and a coffee table from a neighbor who was moving out. The kitchen was fully stocked. For whatever reason, Clover didn’t mind paying full price for pots and pans, plates and bowls. She loved clean utensils and spatulas and wooden spoons.

Cutting a smaller brownie, she placed it on her paper towel and pondered Maddie’s statement about a different kind of girls’ night. She didn’t have many friends growing up. When they’d stay in a shelter, which wasn’t often, she’d play with whichever girl was close to her age. Rooming with Maddie was a big step, one she’d never regretted. Maddie was patient with Clover’s clueless ideas about how the “normal” world worked. But now she wondered what other women did when they got together. “Like what?”

Maddie wiped her fingers on another paper towel and plucked at her cotton pants. “Like not wearing sweats.”

Clover looked down at her black-and-pink-striped pants. “Okay, they’re called lounge pants. And I know because it said so on the package.” She relied heavily on packaging to keep her up on things like that. The people who made the pants should know what they were called.

Maddie giggled. “Fine. Lounge pants.” She reached for the knife to cut herself another brownie, too. “We could go out to dinner, find a place to dance, preferably a place that has hot men looking for a broke, twenty-something woman who wears sunscreen like a second skin.”

“But if there’s men there, then it’s not a girls’ night. Is it?” Clover slowly folded her paper towel, careful to keep the crumbs inside the creases. The recipe was a winner. Her quest for gluten-free brownies was over.

Maddie’s eyebrows lifted. “I think they call it a girls’ night because you come with other women and you leave with them—you don’t hook up.”

Clover tossed her garbage. “I don’t hook up anyway.”

Maddie pressed a palm to her forehead again. “Neither do I. That’s not the point.” She took a deep breath. “I appreciate that you want to help people. I do. I look at all you do for others, and I am in awe and feel like a jerk even standing next to you.”

Clover opened her mouth to protest. Maddie was the best friend anyone could ask for. She never made fun of Clover’s social mistakes. She accepted her for what she was and what she wasn’t; Maddie was a true follower of Christ who loved without judgment.

Maddie held up her hand. “I’m going to appeal to your giving nature and tell you that I would consider it a charitable act if you would be my wing-woman next Friday night.”

Clover snapped her lips closed. She hated going to parties, clubs, and any place where there was flirting and/or the hope of exchanging phone numbers. She wasn’t good at social nuances, and inevitably she wound up hiding in a bathroom stall.

“Please, Clover. I’ve been working like a zombie at the hotel for three weeks. I need to shake loose, get dressed up, and feel pretty.”

Besides her own fears, Clover couldn’t come up with a good reason not to go. The chocolate aftertaste went bitter in her mouth. “Okay.”

Maddie squealed and bounced in her seat.

“As long as it doesn’t involve sequins, glitter, or sparkles on my clothing or face—I’m in.”

“Deal.” Maddie stretched her arm across the bar, her pinkie hooked out. Clover hooked their pinkies together, and they turned to the side, pretending to spit to seal the deal.

Clover drummed her hands on the counter. “Are you ready to finish the bags?”

“Now that my evil plan to get you out of the house is under way—yes.”

Clover laughed, even though the brownies sat heavy on her stomach, and her wrists itched with anxiety. She scratched them quickly and then shook out her arms while Maddie’s back was turned. She could do this. She’d hate it. But she could go out there and talk to a man like a normal human being.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the memory of her mom—screaming at her for talking to the nice man who offered to buy her lunch—rushed back with crippling force. All she had to do was take a little ride in his van. He even had a soda in the cup holder that she could drink on the way to get a hamburger. Her mouth had watered at the thought of a whole hamburger all to herself.

Mom was asleep on the park bench. She could go and be back before Mom woke up. She’d even save some food to share. She was halfway in the van when her mom came tearing down the grassy hill, screaming for her to get away from that stranger. Fear took root in Clover’s heart.

“Clover?”

“Hmm?” She pulled herself out of the memory. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted these cards with directions to the soup kitchen in each bag.” She held up a stack of index cards. Clover had spent every spare minute at the front desk writing out the directions in blue ink. She didn’t have a computer or printer, and she didn’t dare use the one in the hotel for fear she’d lose her job.

“Yes. Shoot! I forgot.” They’d already filled 50 bags. “I’ll go back and put them in the others later. Let’s finish up what we have left and call it a night.”

“Sounds like a plan. But next week we are going to party.” Maddie lifted her hands above her head and shook her backside.

Clover copied her movements even though she was dying inside. She’d been to enough group counseling sessions to know that the only way to overcome a fear was to face it head-on. She could do this. For her best friend—and for herself—she could put on a dress and strut her stuff.

If all else failed, there was always a bathroom stall to hide in.