Page 22 of Pining for You

Mercifully, our server, Jolene, shows up exactly on cue and gives me a chance to stall.

Once Cash, Izaac, and Diya all agree to have the day’s special (Lazo’s choice), she looks in my direction.

“Short stack, side of bacon, and dry Frosted Flakes, please,” I say. My only enhancement to the classic Pag’s short stack is to crumble Frosted Flakes on top and between layers for texture. Lazo would actually lose his mind if he saw this, but it’s too delicious not to take the risk.

“Kid, we’re going to have to get you to eat something else someday,” Jolene says, returning the nub of a yellow, chewed number two pencil behind her ear.

“Good luck,” Izaac says.

“Yeah, her diet consists of sugar, syrup, candy corn, and candy canes,” Diya says.

“And Frosted Flakes, obvs,” adds Cash. “I support your dietary needs, BB.”

“My philosophy is not to mess with perfection,” I say to Jolene after thanking Cash for his support. “Which is precisely why I come here every week to see you with these three.”

I gesture to my friends, who shake their heads, and Jolene gives a weary smile before she steps away. I take the opportunity to try to redirect.

“Anyway, are we all ready for the Christmas Eve Eve Marathon?” I start, and wow, saying Eve’s name that many times is giving me feelings. I pause, recalibrate back to the present moment, and continue. “I have fully prepared the snack spread. Diya, I’ve taken the liberty of procuring cashew cheese and crackers since we didn’t get to discuss, and—”

“Oh, no, you’re not getting off that easy,” Izaac says, cutting me off. “A girl? I don’t know how this didn’t come up yesterday during our tree trimming.”

“You, sir, are a dog with a bone,” I say, then sigh and lean back. “Look, it’s not a thing. I bumped into some girl. Did she happen to be gorgeous? Sure. Was she possibly the deepest and most thoughtful human ever to grace Ripton soil? And did she just so happen to work at a bakery too? And was she wearing an entire selection of very queer pins? Check, check, and huge queer check.” (Cash claps at this last one.) “Buuuuut I basically assaulted her with hot cider, so I can’t say it was a moment of peak rizz for me. I thought I could make it up to her with a tour of the fields but then my mom showed up early, Cash came and found me, and I had to hightail it home. It’s not exactly going to make local headlines, okay?”

“B, I see you trying to be low-key,” Izaac says. “But given that there are actual witnesses, it would seem you’ve graduated to crushing on a living, breathing human being, and not someone you invented for a script—and that is news.”

“Well, she may as well be an invention,” I say. “Because, oh right, she also lives in Brooklyn. So, back to our evening plans…”

“Brooklyn?” Cash has been on his phone, scrolling or refreshing or something, but at this he perks up. “What part?”

I reflexively glance at Diya and change the subject.

“The better question is, what’s happening in your phone that’s always so much more interesting than us lately?” I ask Cash, in the voice our English teacher, Ms. Cirillo, would use for the same question.

He has been obsessed with the thing lately, and I do not understand, but it feels related to his recent stress-iness.

“So much internet is happening, especially with this storm sitch,” he says, before he makes a production of turning it off and putting it face down on the table. I’m skeptical that the Quasar was his area of focus, though. “Better?”

“Loads,” I say.

“Well, wherever she’s from, she seemed highly interested in your whereabouts. All I’m saying,” Diya says, then hands me the salt, knowing I’ll want it for my cocoa.

It isn’t saying much, but I have to admit, I like hearing it.

“And I’m saying, you all need to take several seats.” I thank her and sprinkle a dusting into my drink before whipping it into a chocolatey whirlpool.

Okay, I’m bluffing. I do want to talk about Eve—like, maybe more than anything—but admitting I dropped the ball on getting her details is pretty freaking humiliating.

Izaac huffs. “You’re telling me a gay girl who happens to work in a bakery, just like you, and lives in the exact place you’re planning to move to, fell out of the sky onto a farm in middle-of-nowhere Connecticut, and you just so happened to crash into her but that’s not registering on your romantic Richter scale?”

“The man has a point,” Cash says, and my heart flutters. “Have you texted her yet?”

“Yeah, let’s see her Insta or something,” Diya adds.

Just as quick as it fluttered, my heart plummets.

“B?” Cash presses.

And here we go. I sit silently.