And just like that, I’m blinking and breathing and grinning my face off. All at once.
Maya spends the whole ride to Intermezzo gushing about chocolate cake—but the moment we step inside, she goes silent.
The hostess leads us to our table, handing us menus. Maya plops into her seat, cupping her chin in one hand and staring vaguely at the dessert display.
I settle in across from her, trying to act as normal as possible. Which isn’t the easiest thing to do at Café Intermezzo. The room is softly candlelit, crowded with small round tables, each barely big enough for two people. Waiters and waitresses weave through tight quarters with mug-laden trays, and there’s a buzzy drone of quiet conversation all around us.
“No, I’m just.” She makes a face I can’t quite decipher. “It’s weird. I’ve always come here with Sara.”
“Oh.” I hesitate. “Do you want to go—”
“No! Not at all,” Maya says quickly. “I’ll come back with her another time. It just made me realize how little I see her lately. It’s been really hard with her schedule. She’s so busy with work, and now she might be leaving early for UGA if she gets this job she applied for.” She pauses for a moment, staring at the candle in the center of our table. “I guess I feel like I’m being replaced?” she says finally. “Sara has this friend—her roommate, Jenna, and all summer, Sara’s been so focused on her. I mean, I barely see her anyway, but when I do, every other word out of her mouth is Jenna. And then yesterday—this is really embarrassing, but I was waiting all day for Sara to say Happy Eid, because she always does—she always remembers. But she never did, and then I checked Instagram, and—” Maya looks up at me suddenly, her expression abashed. “I’m so sorry, Jamie. You don’t need to listen to my stupid friend drama.”
“It’s not stupid. I’d be really upset if I were in your position. Maybe you should tell her how you feel.”
“Maybe. It’s so confusing. This is why I want to be a veterinarian. Animals are way less complicated.”
“It’s true. People suck. Who needs them?”
“Exactly.” She glances sideways and smiles a little. “But people watching is pretty fun. Especially here.”
I follow her gaze—a man and woman have just been seated at the next table over. Maya leans in conspiratorially.
“You realize basically everyone is having a first date here, right?” she whispers. “This is like Atlanta’s first date factory.”
“I know! My parents actually had their first date here. Not here. The Buckhead one.”
Maya’s eyes flare wide, for just a split second.
And I’m an idiot. Wow. I’m an absolute, next-level, record-shattering idiot. Who does this? Who brings a girl to his parents’ first date spot? And then tells her it was his parents’ first date spot?
“Right.” Maya bites her lip.
Lip biting. The universal gesture of freaked-out people who are trying not to hurt the feelings of the person who freaked them out. I mean, of course she’s freaked out. How could she not be? I basically just proposed marriage and offered to father her children. I stare at my hands, pulse quickening. I might as well—
“Can I ask you a question?” Maya asks.
“Um. Sure. Yes!”
She hesitates. “I was just wondering . . . you never really talk about your dad.”
“My dad?” I look up, startled.
“Or not. We don’t have to talk about it,” she says quickly.
“No, it’s fine.” My heartbeat slows back to normal. I meet her eyes, and she just looks curious.
Not freaked out.
I can’t believe she’s not freaked out.
“I don’t mind talking about him,” I say finally. “I just don’t talk to him that much. My parents divorced when I was six. You probably don’t remember my dad—he used to work a lot, even before he left. He lives in the Netherlands now. Sophie and I go out there for a few weeks every summer.”
“I didn’t know that. Are you seeing him this summer?”
I nod. “End of July. He’s not coming to the bat mitzvah. He says he’s saving vacation days so he can take off work when we’re out there.”
Maya looks stricken. “Wait, aren’t bat mitzvahs really important? He’s just not coming?”
“He didn’t come to mine either. He didn’t have a bar mitzvah as a kid, so I don’t think he sees it as a big deal.” I shrug. “He’s, like, super