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“Yes! He brought us back black-and-white cookies once; they were awesome.”
“But maybe you’ll have something like that—I’m sure they have something really delicious in Connecticut. Maybe they’ll have amazing tacos there, who knows.”
“They have nothing good in Connecticut. It’s barely a state. Nobody even has a concept of it.”
“That’s not true. I’m sure there’s something.”
“Like?”
“Like… Yale? Hedge funds?”
“I appreciate the effort, but Connecticut is basically the beige of America.”
“So… um, why are you going there? It doesn’t sound like you’re that excited about it.”
“I’m not.” I said this shortly, then immediately regretted it. I shook my head, trying to think of how I wanted to put this. “Sorry. I just—got a really good financial-aid package. One that was pretty hard to turn down. But it wasn’t my first choice.” I figured that Russell didn’t need to know how exactly I’d gotten my free ride, or that it had been pretty much my only choice.
He nodded, looking right at me—like he was letting me know that if I wanted to tell him about it, he’d be listening. I considered this for a second, but then pushed it away. Tomorrow, and everything that came after it, had no place here, tonight, with Russell.
“Next!” the woman called as she handed the man in front of us a brown paper bag and a dripping can of soda, and I realized with alarm that I hadn’t even made my decision yet.
“What did you want, Darcy?” Russell asked, and I couldn’t help but notice how much I liked the way he said my name.
“I’ll get a carne asada taco and a cheese quesadilla.” I took a breath to order, just as Russell stepped forward and ordered for me in perfect Spanish. I just stared at him as he ordered for himself—a chicken burrito and an al pastor taco—then took a step back to stand with me while we waited.
“Sorry,” he said, looking abashed. “I probably shouldn’t have done that. I just wanted to impress you.”
I felt a happy little flutter in my chest. “Well—it’s working.” I gave him a smile and tried to focus, even though it felt like it was getting harder by the moment. “I thought you spoke French.”
“My mom’s a translator. You had to pick up multiple languages in my house if you wanted to eat.”
“That’s so cool! How many languages does she speak?”
Russell frowned, his head tilted slightly to the side, like he was counting in his head. And with every second that passed, I got more impressed. I could just see them—Russell and his dad and mom, all sitting around their cozy kitchen table, multiple languages flying rapid-fire as they talked and laughed together.
“Five,” Russell finally said. “French, English, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian. But she’s currently trying to pick up Korean, so let’s say five and a half.”
“So does she translate books?”
“Now she does. When she started, it was more in hospitality. That’s where she met my dad, actually. He was in France and ended up hiring her to be his translator because he kept accidentally insulting people.”
“So that’s the opposite of building bridges.”
“Exactly.”
“More like tearing down bridges. And you can’t have that.”
“Okay, fun fact—”
“Oh yay!” I clapped my hands together, and Russell laughed. “Another one!”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”
“I swear I’m not. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m no Tall Ben.” I paused—something had just occurred to me. “You guys never went with Big Ben instead?”
“Okay, where were you back in fifth grade?” He swung his backpack down to his feet and started to unzip it. “I’ll text him—”
“Dead phone.”
