you like the guy, but he is here for just a week, right? There was going to be heartbreak sooner or later.”
“My heart isn’t broken.”
“It’s okay if it is.”
“It isn’t. But why not just tell me he had a date or a girlfriend or whatever Yolanda is.”
“Because right now it’s not your business,” Arya said, never one to placate. “Who knows why men do what they do? Better to find out now rather than later, though, right? There’s a guy in our church group—”
“I’m not done,” Dini said. “We—he and I—are not done. He has the Christmas picture.” Arya stared, blinking behind her pale aviator sunglasses. “The Christmas picture, Arya. I’m meeting him later this evening. I’m going to get to see it.”
“Mm-hmm.” Arya didn’t sound convinced. “So you’re fine with him spending the afternoon with another woman and just being the girl sitting and waiting for a text?”
“I’m waiting to see the Christmas picture.”
Arya put up her hands, causing a cascade of bangles to fall to her elbows. “I’m very happy you found someone to feed into this little obsession of yours, but don’t throw your self-esteem out the window for the sake of some old picture.”
Dini thought about laying out the whole story—reminding Arya again of a tale she had shared many times—but try as she might, Dini had never been able to bring her friend to share her enthusiasm. “It’s not just an old picture,” she said, checking herself for petulance. “It’s my holy grail. It’s a treasure I thought was gone forever.”
The man behind them cleared his throat, and they moved up in line.
“Be honest,” Arya said, leaning in. “Do you want to see this photo? Or do you want to see him?”
“He has more than the photo.”
“That didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you text him right now, tell him to leave everything at the front desk. You can pick it up next week and mail it to him when you’re done.”
“He has my book.”
“He can leave the book.”
“We have the rest of each other’s stories.”
“And he has a girl who texts him love emojis. Look, I just don’t want you to get hurt. This is the first I’ve ever seen you excited about a guy. Ever. At least a real live human guy. I’d get it if he came with the ghost, but there’s a very good chance that he won’t. So, I say take your ghost and run.”
As Arya spoke, Dini’s phone was ringing, the screen lit up with only “Q” and the 571 area code.
“It’s him.”
“Calling you? How old-fashioned and gallant.”
“What should I do?”
“Answer it,” Arya said, with a tone that could register anywhere between indulgent and annoyed.
Dini swiped the screen and said, “Hello?” while taking a step away from the line.
“Dini? It’s Quin.”
“I know. Your—my phone told me.” She slapped her palm to her forehead as Arya snickered.
“Yeah, well…things here, um, wrapped up quicker than I thought they would and, well, I was wondering if you’d be able to get together a little earlier than we talked about.”
“How much earlier?”
“Like now earlier?”
“Now? I’m a little busy right now.”
“What are you doing?”
Before she could think to tell him that if his afternoon activities were none of her business, hers were none of his, she said, “I’m getting a raspa at an outdoor jazz festival.”
“That is oddly specific. Is it close? Are you downtown?”
“Where are you right now?” She heard him ask who she presumed to be the Lyft driver, and he named an intersection. “Oh,” she said, “you’re just a block away. See if he’ll bring you to Travis Park. We’re close to the raspa truck. Speaking of, do you want one?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s like a snow cone. Shaved ice and syrup. There’s a million flavors.” She turned to the board and started reading. “Cherry, blueberry, banana, strawberry, raspberry, coconut …”
“Coconut lime?”
Her eyes made a grid of the poster. “Yes. Sure. I’ll get you one. My treat. You should be here in about five minutes.” She closed the call and wilted under Arya’s mocking glare. “What? Don’t you want to meet him?”
“I’m just saying you could have left him to wiggle on the line a little bit. He cheats on you, and I’m buying him a raspa.”
“He’s not cheating.” Dini slipped her cell phone into her back pocket and found the neatly folded five-dollar bill—the emergency cash she’d carried since she was twelve years old. She tucked it between her fingers and brought her hands through an elaborate display,