because I was worried I wouldn’t want to. I was also worried that I would want to but she wouldn’t. But as the date of the show crept up on us and I texted her more and more about those logistics, it got weirder and weirder that we weren’t hanging out, so finally, on the first of the month, we met up at Balboa Park. It was my suggestion, offered because it felt romantic, a throwback to before we kissed but clearly wanted to. But also, maybe, I suggested it because it was neutral territory, a public place not particularly close to either of our beds.
At the moment the calendar flipped to December, Balboa Park was lit with strands of green and red and white lights, strung across the main plaza and draped from flagpoles in the shape of Christmas trees. Those trees that weren’t covered in bulbs were lit by rainbow lamps dug into the ground, and little kids and their parents lined up outside Casa de Balboa, waiting to meet Santa Claus, who was set up inside for photos and present requests. Another Santa, this one made of wood, sat in his sleigh, just beginning to take flight between the Plaza de Panama and the Organ Pavilion. This part had been my favorite as a kid, and was even now, because I loved the reindeer’s long painted lashes, and the shiny wrapped presents, which looked poised to spill off the back of the sleigh. The effect was best at night, when you couldn’t quite see all the wires and stands holding the displays together.
It was warmer than usual that night, but Ruby and I had planned to meet at the concession stand for hot chocolate, and because it was almost Christmas, we went ahead with it. I paid for us both, and we carried our steaming cups to the nearest open table, pausing to watch a woman pull her wailing four-year-old boy toward the line for Santa. The boy went limp, collapsing to the ground as if being led to his death, and rather than pick him up, she waved goodbye and walked ahead, pretending to leave him there. Seconds later he got up, hiccuping, and ran after her.
“I feel for him,” said Ruby. “I never wanted to sit on Santa’s lap. I always knew it was just some creepy guy.”
I laughed. “Always?!”
“By age five, yeah. My older brother told me Santa wasn’t real, and I was like, that makes sense.”
“Wow. That’s young.”
Ruby smirked. “Why, how old were you?”
“Umm,” I said. “A little older.”
“How old.”
I picked up my cocoa, knowing full well it was still too hot. “Ten or eleven?” I murmured quickly before taking a scalding sip.
Ruby’s astonished laughter made me feel warm and bashful.
“I don’t have any older siblings!” I exclaimed.
“Didn’t you have friends?!”
“Yeah, mainly Ronni. She conspired with our other friends to keep it a secret,” I said. “She didn’t want to ruin it for me.”
Ruby shook, holding her fingers under her eyes to catch any trailing mascara, and though my later-than-average credulity had previously been a sore spot for me, I finally agreed. It was really funny.
“That’s true friendship, right there,” said Ruby.
“I know,” I said. “I’m really gonna miss her. Maybe you guys can be friends at Stanford.”
“Maybe.” Ruby smiled politely.
We took cautious sips of cocoa and looked around at the lights, each of us struggling to come up with something to say next. I watched Ruby press her thumbnail, currently painted white, into her cup, leaving a little half-moon pattern around the rim. After a nearly interminable silence I settled on a question I’d already asked her, in varying forms, three times at least: “Are you excited for your show?”
“Yeah,” said Ruby. “It’ll be fun. I hope it helps.”
“Me too.”
“I was gonna say, actually—they can keep my share. Dee and Gaby.”
My heart sank a little. “You really don’t have to do that,” I said.