“It was last minute,” she explains. “I got a ride with a friend. And we’re only here for a few hours. But I want to see you before I head back. Are you home now?”
“No, I’m in the Loop,” I say.
“Perfect. I’m not far. We can get lunch. If you’re not busy, I mean.”
“Of course I’m not. Where do you want to go?”
Jasmine doesn’t visit home much these days. So it’s a nice surprise when she drops in unexpectedly. Especially when I’m feeling down. Sometimes I think she has a sixth sense aboutthings. After we decide on the best place to meet, I head for the train and make my way over.
The door chimes as I enterUncle Wong’s Palace. It’s our favorite Chinese restaurant in the city. We used to order takeout from here all the time. Red lanterns hang from the ceiling, giving enough light to make out the embroidered dragons along the walls. I walk past the counter and find her sitting by the window, wearing the plaid jacket she borrowed from me. She looks up from her phone as I slide into the other side of the booth.
“Was just about to text you,” she says, folding her arms on the table. “I literally just sat down.” She stares at my clothes. “Look at you all dressed up.”
I let out a breath. “I just came from an interview.”
“Was that today? How did it go?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
I just stare at the table.
“Hmm.”
Jasmine pushes a menu in front of me, picking one up for herself. “Let’s order some food. What are you in the mood for?”
I shrug. “Pineapple fried rice sounds good.”
Jasmine gives me a look. “You hate pineapple.”
“I don’thateit,” I correct her. “It just makes everything taste so sweet.” It’s like Hawaiian pizza. That’s something I can never get behind.
“Then why do you want to order it?”
“Because you always do.”
It’s Jasmine’s favorite thing here. She gets it every single time.
“Well, if youinsist,” she says, setting down the menu.
I smile at this. The two of us sitting here together. You forget how much you miss someone until they’re right in front of you again. Jasmine moves her long hair behind her ear, glancing around the restaurant. “The place hasn’t changed much,” she says. “Almost feels like it’s stuck in time, you know?”
“I like that about it.”
“Me, too.”
A tea candle flickers between us. Maybe it’s the dust on the window, but the light coming through makes the room a little hazy. Piano music is playing in the background. I tilt my head, wondering what song this is. The waitress comes to take our order. A few minutes later, she returns with a pot of tea. Jasmine pours us each a cup and takes a sip. I lean back a little, staring blankly into my cup.
“You’re thinking about the interview,” she says.
“A little bit,” I admit.
“What did they say?”
I shake my head, thinking back to this morning. “Turns out you have to be enrolled in school. Something to do with the funding.”
“That’s so elitist.”
