Page 3 of Pining for You

I put up my hands in surrender.

“Well, anyway. We’ll talk, Diya,” Seichi says. “See ya, Bosley! Good luck with the mission!”

“He’s so adorbs,” I say, stepping up to Diya as I wave to Seichi. “I can’t wait to see all your climate warrior babies.”

“Back to business,” Diya says with an eye roll. She reaches into her bag, then slaps a hefty stack of papers on the table. “Allow me to introduce you to… Marley.”

“Marley?” I echo, looking down at the Polaroid paper-clipped to the top sheet. It reminds me of a perpetrator’s file in a detective show. Except instead of a mug shot, it’s a selfie. Of Diya. Grinning beside a pine tree. “Meaning, as in Scrooge and…?”

Diya nods. “Pronouns are he/him. Naomi prefers the firs, and this guy is best in show. I selected him based on the following metrics.” She counts off on her fingers. “Ceiling height, resources—i.e., the amount of water and time you and Naomi can offer—and the volume and approximate weight of your ornament collection. Oh, and the delivery system. In this case, the roof of Izaac’s Prius.”

“Sound evaluation,” I say seriously, trying to energy-match Diya.

“Now, let’s do this, and tomorrow, we toast our success,” Diya says with confidence.

“Mmm, toast,” I utter, staring at the refreshment stand.

Diya snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“Bosley! Focus!”

“I’m with you!” I say. “Legit, though, cider for the road?” I nod to the urn.

“Are you seriously not full up on sugar after swimming in it?”

“That is a fruit, Diya!” I argue. “Gotta get my five a day.”

Diya gives me a look meant to challenge my understanding of basic nutrition, but then makes a Fine, go ahead gesture. I set down my phone and grab my reusable, Cooper-branded KeepCup from my bag, then open the tap to fill my mug. I’m about to take off, but Diya is back to her untangling and ready to get in a brawl with the netting machine, so I set down the cider for a second and step in to help. I grit my teeth a little as I tear at a knot and finally get it loose, then stand back in triumph.

“Damn, B. You really are good at that,” Diya admits. “Thank you.”

“Seriously, what are you going to do next year when I’m not here to help you with this?” I ask. It was meant as a joke, but I quickly regret making it.

Cash, Izaac, and I try not to bring up the fact that Diya will still be here next year after we’ve graduated and gone on from Cooper and Connecticut. But ever since “someday” started to become “soon,” it’s been harder to remember that rule.

She shrugs, but she’s looking down at her mittens and I can’t see her expression. I sling an arm around her shoulder and try to course correct.

“Well, it’s a good thing I plan to come back here on weekends to see you,” I say.

Something awkward happens to her face when she looks up. “Yeah, ha, right,” she says. It feels forced, and I feel worse. I try to redirect.

“Anyway, at least for now we still have pancakes. We’re on for Pag’s tomorrow, right?”

“Obviously,” she says.

“Just making sure, seeing as so many of our traditions have been tossed out the frosted windowpanes this season,” I say pointedly.

“Your passive-aggressiveness is rivaled only by your pecan square production.”

“Damn, say that five times fast!” I say. “All right, I must seek Marley.”

“Go forth,” Diya says. “And know him better, man!”

I tip my hat, collect my scalding cider, and take off toward the Cooper Family Organic Farm tractor stop, prepared to meet my match.

2

A Christmas Carol Marley may be dead as a doornail but according to Diya’s documents, the one I’m seeking is a very much alive five-foot, three-inch-tall, eight-year-old Douglas fir. In fact, there’s so much information here, I’ll need to opt out of the Christmas season, the rest of the school year, and maybe the entire college experience if I want to absorb it all. I can probably get away with processing the coordinates and the need-to-know stuff, but she put so much time and energy into it that I don’t feel right not reading it all.