Thirty minutes later, the bartenders had all arrived, and Veronica and Helen were back to their normal selves, emo panic having passed, and were talking a mile a minute about future, bigger launches.

“Okay, c’mere, y’all,” Helen said, gathering Veronica, Carys, and Greta at the bar. They passed out cups of lemonade. “Toast time.”

Veronica rolled her eyes but raised her glass indulgently.

“Carys, you’re the raddest housemate ever. You’ve been so supportive and you almost never complain about there being honey everywhere.”

Carys snorted.

“Greta, when you came on the scene…well, I’m not gonna lie. I thought y’all would break up in a week. You’re so sweet, and I kinda didn’t think you could hang.”

Veronica snickered into her cup, and Carys elbowed Helen in the ribs.

“But—I was about to say but. But you’re actually a total badass, and I’m so damn glad you’re part of this honey, lemonade, wax crew. Whatever. I can’t wait to see what you’ll grow next that we can incorporate into recipes.”

Greta tipped an imaginary hat and smiled at who she’d been the first time Helen had met her.

“Veronica. You’re the sister I never had.”

Veronica said, “You have a sister.” But Greta saw her dab away a tear.

“You’re the sister I should have had, and I’m so fucking excited that we’re taking all this to the next level. You’re the best. The total best.”

“Damn it,” Veronica hissed, tipping her head back so tears wouldn’t run down her face. “Okay, since we’re doing this. Helen, you’re the brother I never had—yes, yes, I do have two brothers. They both suck. Never thought I’d meet someone as up for wild shit as me. I’m so damn glad we didn’t work out, because otherwise I never would’ve gotten you as a best friend.”

“Wait, you two used to date?” Greta’s mouth dropped open.

“We went on a very ill-fated date five years ago. We were not compatible…uh…you know.” Helen made vague gestures between them that Greta assumed meant sexually.

Veronica snorted and swatted Helen’s hands away.

“Anyways, that’s history. Here’s to the future of Lagniappe motherfucking Lemonade!”

“Cheers!” they all chimed, clinking glasses—well, bumping, since the cups were cardboard.

“Knock knock,” called a voice from the door. Greta recognized Ollie from Eleventh House parties.

The launch had begun.

They’d all reached deep in their social pockets to invite every contact they had. At first, Greta had thought she wouldn’t have much to contribute since she hadn’t been in New Orleans long. But when she began to invite everyone she knew, she realized how many points of connection she had already made in her new home.