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“Thanks. I appreciate that,” he says.
I nod, then turn the other way. When I leave, I’m still lying to my best friend, but I don’t feel so torn up about it anymore.
* * *
When I arrive home, there’s a box waiting at the door. My fingers itch to rip it open, and as soon as I’m inside, I grab a dull knife and slice the tape between the folds, then open the flaps.
I laugh.
And I smile.
And I miss.
It’s a pineapple.
And there’s a card attached.
I hope the race went well. You deserve a pineapple. I know they’re your favorite.
It’s just a pineapple. But also? It’s not just a pineapple.
* * *
The next night, Zach and I return from dinner with Nick and Layla and find another package waiting on the front stoop.
“What’s that?” Zach asks, scooping up the small box.
“I have no idea,” I say honestly, and I hope it’s not something I really shouldn’t open in front of him.
For a few seconds, I picture naughty things. A photo of Jules in pink lace panties and nothing more. Silk boxers. Or even something classy and sexy, like cufflinks—but that would still require an explanation.
When Zach rattles the box, something rolls from side to side. When I see a red pepper on the side of the box, relief washes through me, along with amusement.
Inside, I open it. It’s a jar of chili flakes and a note.
Five out of five.
I try to hide a smile. I swear I do. But I know, I just know there’s a hidden message behind this five out of five.
“Dad, this is a boring gift. Why don’t people send you a jar of chocolates or something? Or a jar of pizza?”
He makes a good point. “A jar of pizza would be a good idea.”
But I like the chili flakes more. I text her when Zach goes to bed.
Finn: So, what’s a five out of five, Jules?
Jules: You know.
Finn: Do I?
Jules: Yes.
Finn: Say it.
Jules: You.
That damnYou.
