Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,34

her number into my phone. “Lyd, here, put yours in.”

Lydia typed her number in, her fingers moving fast, her pretty lip between her teeth. When she finished, she held my phone out with a mischievous smile.

“What?” I asked, smiling without even trying.

She nodded at the phone, and I saw how she’d entered her contact info: Lydia Kaufman aka Jason Waterfalls.

“Amazing,” I said, grinning at her.

“Right?” she said, grinning back.

* * *

“So,” Ricky said as he drove me back to my car at Totes-n-Goats. “My friends are pretty great, huh?”

I smiled at him. “They’re incredible.”

“And?”

“And what?”

He looked sideways at me. “Don’t be a punk. How’d it go with Lydia?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You knew it was her I was describing, didn’t you?”

He grinned. “I narrowed it down, yeah, and then after you told me about the redhead and the buzz cut guy, I knew I had it on lock.”

“You didn’t tell any of them, did you?”

“Of course not.” He hesitated and sighed. “Actually, the guys were trying to ask if you and I were a thing, but I shut that down fast.”

“Ew. I didn’t even think of that. Did you tell them I’m gay?”

“No, just said we’re friends.”

I fell silent, wondering how Ricky’s friends would react if I told them. They seemed like they wouldn’t care at all, and I wondered, yet again, why he couldn’t tell them the truth about himself.

“Lydia told me about meeting you at my party,” Ricky said.

I whipped around. “She remembered me?”

“Yeah. She said you were really awesome and she was glad she got to meet you for real this time.”

I felt like I’d been swept up on a wave.

“Are you gonna say anything?” Ricky laughed.

I laughed, too. “What’s there to say? I mean, she’s super cute, but I just met her. Do you even know if she likes girls?”

Ricky shrugged, his eyes thoughtful in the glow of the streetlights. “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

8

Maritza and JaKory weren’t happy with me for blowing them off on Saturday night.

“I told you,” I said as we hovered around my kitchen counter on Sunday afternoon, “I wasn’t feeling well. I just wanted to sleep after work.”

“But you’re feeling better now?” JaKory asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah,” I said, not looking at either one of them. “I probably just ate something weird.”

My brother was standing in front of the pantry, most likely scoping out the canned ravioli he was so obsessed with, and as I spoke, he turned around to stare at me. The look on his face was accusatory. He must have been awake when I’d gotten home last night and knew I hadn’t been sick at all.

“Anyway,” I said hastily, trying to keep Grant out of the conversation, “are we going to the pool, or what?”

We spent the afternoon swimming, playing games, and sunbathing in our favorite section of the lounge chairs. It was comforting, it was familiar, and it was quintessential summer, but it also felt dissonant to be there with Maritza and JaKory, doing the same things we always did, when I’d been with Ricky and his friends just last night, doing something new. It seemed like a glaringly big omission not to tell my two best friends about it.

Much later, when my friends had gone home and I was watching TV on the couch, my brother walked past me and said, “Since when do you lie to Maritza and JaKory?”

I wasn’t quick enough to come up with a retort. Instead I let my mouth hang open, another lie halfway out of my throat, but my brother shook his head and continued on past me.

* * *

Two nights later, when I was getting ready for bed, Natalie texted me.

Natalie Novak: Hey Codi, so when are you gonna paint me like one of your French girls??

I noticed she’d sent it to a group chat—and the other person included was Lydia.

“Shit,” I said under my breath, pacing in loops around my bed. My heart was beating way too fast, thrilled by the prospect of texting Lydia, even if it was technically in a group chat. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the start of something.

Before I could reply, Lydia’s response showed up. She sent a GIF from Titanic of Old Rose saying, “It’s been eighty-four years.”

I stared at my phone, trying to think of a funny or clever response. In the end I settled for something safe:

Hahaha, whenever you want! I’m working morning shifts for the next three days but other than that I’m free.

I