reflexively, before I knew what I was typing, before I could think through its implications. I had to bury it with other texts before Jamie could wonder what kind of love I meant.
Yes I think 10 am is too early
How about 5?
I just got up, I added pointlessly.
I watched the bubble appear and disappear and reappear again. I knew she knew that that bubble meant as much as whatever she ended up sending. We’d talked about this. We’d argued about it once, and I’d accused her of puppeteering my emotions via text bubble. I didn’t remember if either of us apologized. I only remember that it became a joke, both of us typing gibberish into our phones to keep a bubble on the other’s screen for as long as possible before finally texting a one- or two-word good-night.
5 works! she wrote.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Cool. See you then.
* * *
—
The mood at Triple Moon when I got there was—how do I say this?—funereal. Instead of the usual riot grrrl soundtrack, Sarah McLachlan cooed over the speakers. Dee leaned against the back counter, staring into space, and Gaby sat at a table nearby, reading glasses on, hunched over a laptop. They both perked up when they saw me, but it was too late. My heart sank.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful and instead sounding a little manic.
“Hey, Q,” said Dee. “You’re here early.”
“I’ll have you know, Jamie wanted to get here at ten. In the morning.”
Dee snorted. “I’d have killed you both.”
“I know.” I glanced at Gaby, but she was still absorbed in whatever was on her screen. When I looked at Dee again, she gave a sad sort of shrug. Morale was treacherously low. Sarah, goddess love her, wasn’t helping. I had to do something.
“Can I?” I pointed to Dee’s phone. “It sounds like a commercial for dying animals in here.”
“The ASPCA is very important to Sarah,” Dee said, handing it over.
I scrolled until I found the set of playlists I’d shared with Dee in an attempt to modernize the coffee shop’s music selection, and tapped the one I’d called Screw Everybody. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ “Black Tongue” burst through the speakers, defiant and dirty. Dee bit her lip and raised rock hands above her head. She looked so dorky, and about a million years old, and I loved her for it. I pulled the extra Union-Tribune copy my mom had brought me out of my tote bag and opened it to the Triple Moon story.
“Did you guys see the article?”
Dee took the paper gently, mouthing the headline as she read, and Gaby got up and joined her behind the counter. “Oh, wow,” said Gaby.
“You didn’t look it up online?”
“I didn’t—did you, Dee?” said Gaby.
“I forgot,” Dee murmured. I gave them a minute to read the story, drumming the counter to the beat while I waited. I was stunned to see that when Gaby finished, and looked up, she had tears in her eyes. Dee took a few moments longer, but she placed a hand on Gaby’s shoulder, somehow knowing she needed it. Please don’t cry, I thought. Gaby was bad enough, but if Dee cried, I feared I might never recover.
Finally she looked up, clearing her throat. “This is incredible, Q. Thank you. This means a lot to us.”
I blushed. “I didn’t write it.”
“But you made it happen,” said Gaby.
I shook my head. “No, you did.” Dee was watching me but I couldn’t look at her. Mercifully, the door whooshed open, and we turned to see Jamie stop in her tracks just inside.
“What’s happening?”
“Come in here,” said Gaby. She and Dee looped their arms over each other’s shoulders and together they pulled us into a hug over the counter. Jamie’s hand burned hot against my back, and I pictured its pink print still there, hours from now.
“They just read the story,” I explained.
“Ah, got