“These are delicious. Thank you!” I say around a mouthful.
“Good!” Sam continues to watch me eat. I’m starting to feel a little like a zoo animal.
“You’re not having any?”
“Nah. I don’t like sweet breakfasts.”
I resist the urge to check her pulse and see if she’s actually alive and not a cyborg. “Your loss.”
I keep eating. She keeps watching. The phone feels hotter and hotter under my leg. When it buzzes with an incoming text, both of our eyes fall to my lap.
What if it’s Gavin? What if it’s Gavin? What if it’s GAVIN?
“Are you going to check that?” Sam asks.
“Nope. It’s probably just my dad or Zane telling me happy birthday.”
“I don’t mind. You can check.”
I take another bite. “It’s fine. I’ll look later.”
Sam is so focused on watching the fork move from the plate to my mouth that I feel like I’m doing some kind of complicated brain surgery and she’s observing.
I set down the fork and turn to face her. “Sam. Not to look a gift crepe in the mouth, but I have to ask. What’s going on?”
Sam feigns mild outrage. And I know it’s not real, because I’ve seen Sam outraged. Like when she didn’t get the promotion she requested. Or when she gets the really nasty messages from people who hate Dr. Love.
She huffs. “What—I can’t make you crepes on your birthday?”
I raise an eyebrow and stare until she sighs and begins picking at the hem of her shirt.
“It’s just … well, I wanted to check in and see how things are going. At work. With your boss. Any new developments?”
If she only knew the treasure trove of developments. Did she know? How coincidental was it that she was here, now, when just last night, Gavin and I jumped over the line that had always been drawn so clearly between us?
And tonight … well. I have no idea what to expect.
Is it a date? Is he actually interested the way his text implied? Tone is so hard to read in texts. But he was flirting. And he did invite himself to mini golf tonight.
This is the moment I’ve thought about, dreamed about, and tried to tell myself would never happen for two years. Two. Years. But it felt intangible, not like reality. A fantasy. Now that it’s here, I have no idea what to do with myself. My insides are like a half-baked cake, gooey and shapeless.
Yes, something is developing. But it’s way too soon to talk about it, and I’m definitely not talking to Sam about it. It would just end up as a chapter in her new book. I set the plate on my bedside table, suddenly feeling ill.
“He’s my boss. The end.”
I know I sound way too defensive, and I know Sam notices when I get up, sliding my phone from its hiding spot under my leg. I keep it tight against my body, just in case anything shows on the screen. Not suspicious at all.
“How does Gavin feel about you quitting?”
Why, oh why, did I tell my roommates about my self-imposed deadline? Oh, right. For accountability. Except now, that’s the last thing I want.
“Today was the day, right? When you said you’d turn in your letter of resignation?”
She keeps pressing, and it’s like the way Zane and I used to poke each other’s bruises as a sick sibling game. Except we were little kids. This feels so much more sensitive. Invasive, even. Yet Sam keeps poking.
Maybe I’m being rude now, grabbing my towel and shower caddy without answering. But Sam doesn’t get to just ply me with one of my favorite foods stuffed with one of my other favorite foods and then think she gets access to my feelings.
“Technically, if he isn’t your boss anymore, you guys could date,” she says, and maybe I snap just a little bit.
“Look, Sam. I don’t want to be in your book.”
Sam stands, looking hurt and tugging at her dark braid. I recognize the gesture because I’m dragging my hand over my hair even as I speak.
“You think I’m just here because of the book?”
“Aren’t you?” I say the words gently, but it doesn’t matter. They find their mark and the hurt turns to anger in Sam’s eyes.
“I’m here as your friend. We are friends, if you remember. I write real advice to real people. I help them. Sometimes you guys forget that. If something is happening with you and Gavin, I might actually have helpful advice for