“Um, probably Abby?”
But when I glance at my phone, there’s this tiny hiccup in my chest.
I’ve missed two texts from Reid.
Need any help making cookie dough?
And by making, I mean sampling
Xavier’s still on the boob, but he swings his arm back to make a grab for my phone.
“Nice try,” I tell him.
Nadine snorts. “The kid wants an iPhone.”
Okay, I feel like a jerk, because now I want Nadine and Xav to leave, so I can write back to Reid. It’s funny, because Cassie texts girls at the table and in the living room and in the car, and everywhere. I honestly think she’d coordinate an orgy in front of all of us. On the couch between Nadine and Patty. As long as they’re not actively reading over her shoulder, she doesn’t care.
But I can’t text a boy in front of my moms. I just can’t. Not even Reid.
“So, Mina and Grandma tonight.” Nadine yawns. “How the hell did that happen?”
I laugh. “I don’t know. I think it was Mina’s idea.”
“Cannot believe Kitty Cat’s allowing it.”
“Maybe Grandma will be cool?”
“Mmmhmm, right.” Nadine grins. “I’m excited to meet this girl, though.”
“Yeah, you’ll like her. She’s—” My phone buzzes again, and I try to ignore it. But I’ve lost my train of thought. Sometimes not looking at my phone requires all my mental energy.
Maybe it’s Reid again. Not that it matters.
Xavier finally finishes his boob, and Nadine readjusts her top, standing. “Okay, I’ve got to take this little dude to the supermarket before storytime.”
Nadine never misses storytime in the summer. Patty says it’s because whenever Nadine did baby stuff with Cassie and me, people assumed she was our nanny. Which I imagine is a shitty thing to hear when you’re a mom.
As soon as they leave, I tap into my texts, and my heart feels like it’s skipping. My body has no chill whatsoever.
There are the two cookie dough ones from Reid.
And the new text. From a Maryland number, not in my contacts. It says, simply: What’s up. No question mark. Just two words, plus that little emoji with the dancing bee ladies.
So now I’m curious. A text from a mystery person. But it’s got to be someone I know. I don’t think you’re allowed to drop the bee ladies on a stranger.
I Google the number, but Google doesn’t know, and I feel dumb asking who it is. So I ignore it.
I mean, I try to.
Anyway, I still need to think of something to write to Reid. And it has to be funny and casual and badass. But it can’t seem like I’m trying too hard.
I type: Too late. Dough is already made and sealed away. Sunglasses smiley emoji.
Though I may be able to part with some . . .
For a price.
Right away, three dots appear. And a moment later: For a price, huh?
And suddenly, I’m mortified. I don’t know. It’s just hitting me how that sounds. For a price. Like it’s a sex thing. It reads like I’m flirting with him.
Fuck.
Must neutralize awkwardness immediately.
I accept payment in Mini Eggs.
I’M SO THERE, he writes. Where are you?
There’s this prickle in my stomach. Seriously, this body. No chill.
I’m home, I write back. And I carefully press send.
Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if he came over. I don’t think that’s weird. I mean, he’s my coworker. We’ve been grocery shopping together. And he dropped me off here on Monday, so I guess he knows where my house is.
He doesn’t write back.
But maybe he’s on his way. He did say he was so here.
I should stop staring at my phone. I should probably relax. I probably shouldn’t picture Reid standing in my doorway with his ridiculous sneakers and his cute almost-dimple.
I don’t know why my mind keeps going there.
I try to empty my head. I put my phone on the end table. Patty talks a lot about mindfulness and being fully present in the moment, but that’s actually really hard for me. I think I have a wandering kind of mind. When I’m able to rein it in, it’s a pretty cool feeling—it’s like, just for a minute, I stop wanting things. I didn’t even realize how much time I spend wanting. And yearning, and crushing, and aching. It’s like I have this perpetual sense that something’s missing.
I keep turning my head toward the door.
It’s a little ridiculous, but I think I’d really like him to show up.
Before I can stop myself, I open my chain of messages with Reid.
Wait, are you coming?
Three dots. He’s typing.
Coming where?
So, he was kidding. And now I wish I hadn’t said anything. I feel awkward and stupid. I try to play it off. To claim the cookie dough I originally saved for you but then totally just ate myself.
He writes back immediately with a very tearful series of emojis. I’m actually sort of surprised he does emojis.
Anyway, I don’t care. I’m not going to care. I’m going to lean back on my hands and be very mindful about this.
I do not care.
I do not want.
Hours later, Cassie’s completely freaking out.
“Oh my God. Where are they?” She has her whole face pressed to the window, much like the Applebaums’ cat. Outside, it’s raining so heavily, it seems to come down in waves.
“Probably stuck in traffic,” Nadine says. “Rush hour and airport and rain, Kitty Cat. But they’ll be here.”
Cassie huffs into the living room and collapses onto the couch, and I sink down beside her.
“It’s gonna be fine, Cass.”
“Yeah, well, I really need Grandma to get here before Mina.”
“Why?”
Cassie raises her eyebrows. “Because you know she’s going to say something racist, and I need to, like, intervene before it happens.”
I laugh. “Intervene how?”
“I don’t know. Tell her not to say anything racist.”
“She’s going to anyway. She’s Grandma.”
“Yeah. Fuck.” Cassie sighs. “What do I do?”
“I mean, it’s not like it reflects on you. Just talk to Mina. Give her a heads-up.”
Cassie leans back, laughing bitterly. “Right. Hey, Mina. My grandma is probably going to act like you don’t speak English, or tell you about the Chinese lady in her building, or something really awesome like that.” She covers her face. “Fuuuuuck.”
“Hey.”
She slides one hand off her face and peeks up at me.
I hook my arm around her shoulders and hug her. “Gonna be okay.”
She exhales. “I know.”
“This is a good thing, right? You have a girlfriend. She’s coming to dinner.”
I try to say it nonchalantly, but my voice seems to snag.
Cassie rolls her head toward me. “You’re pissed off that I didn’t tell you.”
“No I’m not!”
“That is such bullshit.” She smiles.
“I was surprised you didn’t tell me.”
“And pissed off. Look, I get it.” She leans into me. “I know I’m an asshole.”
“No you’re not.”
“This is just weird for me, you know? And talking about it is weird. It’s fucked up. Like, it’s so easy for me to tell you about some random hookup, because who cares? And we can laugh about it and whatever.”
“You know I’d never laugh at you about Mina, right?”
“No, I know. It’s just.” She shuts her eyes. “Like, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a dick, but, like, maybe it’s one of those things you’re not going to understand until you get a boyfriend.”