Page 52 of Bad Words

She showed us to a booth, where we shed our layers onto the banquettes. Juliette and Parker took opposite sides of the table.

With the enormous coat piled on the seat beside her, Juliette already looked crowded, so I reluctantly slid in next to Parker. I caught that bittersweet scent. The dots of snow caught in his hair shrank, then melted to nothing.

We ordered drinks. Trumpet runs flurried from the speakers, and under the onslaught of wind, the sheet glass windows hummed.

“So,” Juliette said, “Ms. Undercover City Critic, did you enjoy the event? Good questions, don’t you think?”

“Oh. I mean…” The words caught on the back of my teeth.

“Yes?” said Parker. I felt the deep urge to shove him into a snowbank.

“… Yes. They were good questions.” I fashioned a bland smile. “Maybe you missed your true calling as an interviewer.”

He exhaled through flared nostrils. Juliette, combing her dampened hair with her fingers, didn’t notice. “Speaking of your calling, Parker, what have you been working on recently? You have a new book due out soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah, in February! High and Dry.”

“Have you read it, Selina?” Juliette turned her smiling eyes on me.

I wondered, yet again, how this had happened. Why had she assumed Parker and I were friends? I’d thought I had a talent for exuding the utter absence of friendship.

“Yes,” I said, “I’ve read it.”

“She didn’t love it,” said Parker, forcing a valiant laugh. “She, um—she thinks I have a tendency to overwrite.”

“Ah,” said Juliette. “Well, the best friends are the ones who will be honest with you. Honest and kind, of course.”

I opened my mouth and closed it again.

“So true.” Laughter edged Parker’s voice. “Honest and kind. That’s really the key, isn’t it?”

“I think I’ll have waffles,” I said.

We happened to glance at each other at the same moment, and I fought the instinct to grimace. These booths were too small. Parker’s eyes were full of amusement. I was close enough to see the freckle in his left iris.

At that moment, the waitress arrived with a decaf for me, a chocolate milkshake for Parker, and a glass of house white for Juliette. I ordered my waffles and gulped coffee, burning every square millimeter of my mouth.

My eyes watered as we looked back to Juliette.

“Tell me: What’s High and Dry about?” she asked, and as Parker sketched the concept in a few sentences, she bobbed her head. “I see. I’ll be interested to read it.”

Parker’s face went slack. He looked like he’d ascended into heaven. “Wow. Yes. Can I send you a copy?”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll preorder it. You can send me a postcard to tuck inside, though.” Juliette spread her napkin in her lap. “Houston bus routes … where did that come from? Are you from Houston originally?”

Parker had just spooned about half a pint of milkshake into his mouth. He made a repulsive gurgling sound and held his hand over his lips.

I sighed. “No. He’s from the Bay Area. Daly City.”

A confused flicker of Parker’s dark lashes. He looked my way, nodded.

“And Selina? Where are you from?”

I took another sip of coffee, feeling self-conscious. In my peripheral vision, Parker’s face was still angled toward me. “A suburb of Minneapolis.”

“Really? I don’t catch a Midwest accent.” Juliette tilted her head, her silver-threaded hair brushing her collarbone. “What was it like growing up there, I wonder?”

“It encouraged imagination.”