Page 23 of Pining for You

“Bosley…,” Izaac says, dropping the last syllable an octave in disappointment.

“It was so crazy at the end!” I try to defend myself.

“Oh my god,” Diya says in recognition.

“From the girl who pretends the love of her life isn’t following her around like a puppy everywhere!” I shoot back. “Where is Seichi this morning, anyway?”

Diya gives me a Don’t start look.

“Well, we may not know her coordinates, but I think I know exactly where she’s living rent-free right now,” Cash says.

Diya taps my head, and I swat at her.

“Mmkay, that’ll do,” I say.

“So let’s just play the romantic detective for a minute,” Izaac suggests. “What do we know about her?”

“Yeah, what was she wearing?” Cash asks. “A letter jacket? Hoodie? Anything school-specific? I can’t remember.”

I shake my head. As Jolene delivers our dishes and we pass around silverware, I scan a mental transcript of our conversation, but it all seems pretty useless for tracking her down. Even her name, Eve, is too generic to be a starting point. I sigh, then begin to count off details on my fingers anyway.

“Well, she’s a Scorpio,” I start, and am quickly interrupted.

“Bosley, you got her star sign but not her Instagram?” Izaac says, closing his eyes in exasperation. “Lesbians…”

“Continue,” Diya says, ignoring Izaac’s remark and playing sexual identity Switzerland as the sole straight among us. She takes a bite of her vegan bacon and I grin at her.

“Okay… she has a younger brother who dresses like Charles Dickens.”

“It. Was. Fabulous,” Cash says, while Izaac looks perplexed.

“Her cousin runs a tree-lot-slash-taco-truck situation somewhere in Brooklyn and gets the trees from Cooper, which is why they were at the farm, apparently,” I say.

“Okay.” Izaac nods and pulls out his phone. “This is not nothing, keep going.”

My heart speeds up. I lean forward, combing my memory, but I’ve already given them the most salient details. Wait! No. Not all of them. I literally yelp as something dawns on me. I riffle through my bag, and yes, it’s there. The gift Eve gave me yesterday.

I peeked in the bag last night but decided to hold on to them to share with Diya, Cash, and Izaac as a breakfast dessert. They look like a lot of sugar cookies—kind of like shortbread texture—but they have this heady cinnamon aroma and are shaped like stars.

“She gave me these,” I say, handing one to each of my friends, then holding my own and imagining the moment Eve packaged them up herself on the other end, before she even knew I existed. I have already wondered so many times who they were originally meant for, and at what moment she decided she’d rather give them to me.

“Nowwwww we’re getting somewhere,” Diya says. “What are they?”

“Ohhh!” Cash says. “We had a neighbor growing up who made these at Christmas. Her family was from Nuevo Leon.”

Cash rarely talks about his former life in Texas, but this time, he takes a deep inhale and smiles. Cookies. Always a reliable joy delivery system.

“Hmm,” he says. “Let me think what were they called…”

But before Cash can search the old people way—by sifting through his memories—Izaac has his phone in hand.

“Star-shaped Mexican cookies, Christmas…,” he mutters, typing. “Ah! Hojarascas,” he says a moment later, turning his screen around triumphantly.

There are dozens of Google images of the very same cookies.

“Okay,” I say. “I mean, cool, but there’s probably about a bajillion Mexican bakeries in Brooklyn selling these same cookies.”

“Is there a name on the bag?” Diya asks.