anyone. I can hardly wrap my head around that. She’s so self-assured and funny and brave. And pretty. And I guess I kind of assumed she’d find my lack of experience to be this huge turnoff.
But now she’s saying she doesn’t see the point of dating, and I don’t even know how to interpret that. Is she getting . . . some sort of vibe from me? Maybe this is her way of rejecting me without actually rejecting me. Like the whole thing about unreciprocated crushes ruining friendships—is that supposed to be some kind of gentle heads-up? An emotional caution sign?
It occurs to me that it’s been an agonizingly long time since either of us has spoken.
Deep breath. “So . . . seen any good movies lately?”
“No.” Maya smiles. “Bucko.”
And just like that, the tension disappears. “Want to know a secret?” I ask. “I don’t even watch movies that much. They feel so short, because I’m so used to bingeing TV shows.”
Maya laughs. “Yes! I’m rewatching The Office now—”
“Wait, seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
I just stare at her for a moment. “That is my favorite show.”
“Mine too!”
“What’s your favorite season?” I ask.
“Duh,” she says, “season two. All that Jim and Pam sexual tension.”
I smile. “Jim and Pam are the best.”
“They’re OTP,” Maya says. “They’re so cute and oblivious, and season two is so great, because Pam is so in love, and she doesn’t even realize it. I love them so much.”
“Me too.” I grin back.
“All right!” says our waitress. “Two slices of our seven-layer chocolate cake. And the check.” I blink up at her, startled.
“Ooh, thank you!” Maya says.
“No problem, sweetie. And I just have to say . . .” She looks from Maya to me, and back to Maya. “You two are the cutest couple, I swear. I’m so used to awkward first dates here. It’s nice to see the real deal.”
Maya’s eyebrows shoot up.
I shove a bite of cake in my mouth so quickly, I almost choke.
Chapter Eighteen
Maya
I don’t normally buy into miracles, but sign me up as a true believer now.
Because Sara is not working today.
I tie my hair up into a messy bun and glance at the phone again.
Hen’s mom just canceled. No babysitting today! Pick you up at 1?
It’s 12:30 and she hasn’t followed up to cancel or postpone. Like I said, a genuine miracle.
My phone buzzes.
Jamie: I think I ate my entire lifetime supply of chocolate cake yesterday.
Maya: Aw, bummer. I was hoping we could go for seconds today.
Three dots blink and then—
Jamie: I was totally kidding. I’m hanging with my friends at my place, but we can go after?
Maya: Can’t Meeting up with Sara
Jamie: Whoa. So it’s happening. The talk?
Maya: I think so?
Jamie: You got this, Maya!
I press thumbs-up to his text and put the phone in my pocket. I’ll talk to Sara. I will. But right now, I don’t feel the tiniest bit upset. I’m just relieved to have a moment to hang out with her. To talk about our lives and fill her in on what’s been happening with my parents and canvassing. Everything. Suddenly, I feel a rush of missing her so much it makes me ache.
I slip on my sandals in the foyer. Glancing up, my eyes land on my parents’ framed wedding photo on the wall. It’s been up there so long, I never notice it—but today it catches my eye. It’s not a normal wedding photo with the couple posed like royalty wearing clichéd smiles. They’re in front of a wedding cake. My mother is wearing a velvety red outfit with a gold tikka on her forehead. My dad’s wearing a cream sherwani kurta with a matching turban on his head. They do look like royalty, but my mom has icing on her nose and chin, and my dad looks like someone slammed a meringue pie in his face. My mother’s bent slightly at the waist, her hands on her hips, and even though it’s a picture—you can almost see her shaking from laughter. My father looks down at her with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.
The front door jangles and parts open. My mother steps inside and kicks her shoes off. She glances at me and startles.
“Hey, you.” She leans over and kisses my cheek. “Heading out?”
“Yep. Home early?”
“Quick detour to pick up my laptop,” she says. “Are you and Jamie going somewhere?”
“Sara’s picking me up. We’re going to get a bite to eat and hang out.”
“About time!” My mother smiles.
“Why this picture?” I blurt out. She looks confused,