He laughs. “No. The parental stuff. Sounds weird.”
Although I’m surprised by his directness, I find that it doesn’t bother me at all.
I wave a hand and half smile. “Maybe another time. Or not. It’s super bizarre and not very interesting.”
“I like super weird.” We hold each other’s gaze for a second before he pulls me in for an unexpected, crazy-long bear hug, and it’s everything. “I gotcha, lady!”
The smell of his leather jacket, the Marlboros in his pocket, and the cheap beer is oddly comforting. I’m not sure exactly why.
He pushes away just a bit. “See that divine young lady over there?” He points to a very pretty girl standing in the corner and places a hand over his heart. “Swear, she’s my future wife. Her name is Katrina. An artist, painter, I hear.” He nods to himself, swipes his floppy hair back, and gives me a zealous grin. “I’m going in. Wish me luck!”
He bounds across the room with a carefree joy that I’ve never witnessed in anyone, and I realize I am now hooked on his energy.
Later that night, after I’ve somehow connected with some girls who live on my floor and when I’m surprisingly more at ease, Patrick circles back, grabs my hand, and spins me around.
“I got my lady!”
“Katrina fell for your charms?” I ask. “Still your future wife?”
“Pretty sure,” he says with the cutest wink.
In this dorm-room gathering—and while we’re basking in loud playlists and booze and dancing wildly and even while he’s getting his Katrina—I catch him watching over me. Making sure I’m never alone for more than a moment. Making sure to introduce me to people.
And cementing the foundation for the best friendship I will ever have.
That is the night Patrick becomes my best friend.
Maybe not the friend that I’ll get to have forever, but the best one I’ll ever have.
Chapter 1
I’m about half of a second into an Asian dumpling before I have to resist jumping up and down.
Not only is there a meat-to-wrapper filling that is killer, but the dipping sauce is damn divine.
“Oh my God, Megan Madonna, you need these!”
My assistant does not object when I pull her into the pile of goodness.
“You have to taste this absolute heaven,” I gush.
It’s one bite before she agrees. Her sigh echoes mine as she nods and keeps filming.
“Isn’t it easier if you just call me Megan?” she suggests between bites. “We didn’t just meet.”
“Nope. Not happening. Not with that idyllic name. Megan Madonna it is.” I sigh blissfully and devour another dumpling. “Why is it so hard to find the perfect dumpling? Gyoza, potsticker, momo? Whatever. But this is it, yes?”
This eating thing is the best job ever.
Again, I tell myself how lucky I am to have fallen into this weird but amazing life. This career. The idea that I’d need an agent for anything? Nonetheless one to help me manage book and TV invitations? And that I’d need such an invaluable assistant? It’s bananas.
I started my restaurant-review accounts and blog on social media in college way, way before it was trendy. I’m stillastounded by the devotion of my followers and how they’ve stuck with me for so long, especially considering how many other similar accounts are out there now. I’m pushing over a million. But it’s not that kind of number that even shocks me the most. It’s that I’ve somehow managed to curate a group of people who aren’t horrible. Every day, I melt over how loving and supportive my followers are.
There are invites from really upscale restaurants and hotels now and then, but my heart remains where it began—with the smaller, often-overlooked restaurants. Ones who really need and deserve love and attention.
Like this spot I’m at in Allston tonight. It’s a new favorite of mine, one I’ve been to a few times now, and I feel a particular need to make this spot blow up like mad. It might not look like much from the outside, but I’ve found places like this to be the hidden gems. The restaurant name is a little odd—Dumpling Me You and Noodle—but maybe a very cute one? I’m going with cute.
An older Chinese gentleman smiles when he emerges from the kitchen and sees me going over the menu, and he calls out and beckons someone from the front of the place to join us.
