"Finally? There's no finally," Enzo said. "I've been on to you since I met you."
"Maybe you have," I allowed.
"And anyway, that doesn't solve this problem," Enzo said. "We're about to sit down for dinner. You're supposed to be here. Not to make you feel guilty or anything."
This was the difference between me and Enzo now and then. There used to be a time when Enzo would have said those words and they would have come out sounding like he was accusing me of something (besides, of course, being late). But right now they were gentle and funny. Yes, he was exasperated, but he was exasperated in a way that suggested I might be able to make it up to him. Which I probably would, if he didn't push it.
"I am in fact wracked with guilt," I said.
"Good," Enzo said. "Because you know we put a whole extra potato in the stew for you."
"Gracious," I said. "A whole potato."
"And I promised the twins they could throw their carrots at you," he said, referring to his little sisters. "Because I know how much you love carrots. Especially when they're kid-hurled."
"I don't know why anyone would eat them any other way," I said.
"And after dinner I was going to read you a poem I wrote for you," Enzo said.
I paused. "Now that's not fair," I said. "Injecting something real into our witty banter."
"Sorry," Enzo said.
"Did you really?" I asked. "You haven't written me a poem in ages."
"I know," he said. "I thought I might get back into practice. I remember you kind of liked it."
"You jerk," I said. "Now I really do feel guilty for forgetting about dinner."
"Don't feel too guilty," Enzo said. "It's not a very good poem. It doesn't even rhyme."
"Well, that's a relief," I said. I still felt giddy. It's nice to get poems.
"I'll send it to you," Enzo said. "You can read it instead. And then, maybe if you're nice to me, I'll read it to you. Dramatically."
"What if I'm mean to you?" I asked.
"Then I'll read it melodramatically," he said. "I'll wave my arms and everything."
"You're making a case for me being mean to you," I said.
"Hey, you're already missing dinner," Enzo said. "That's worth an arm wave or two."
"Jerk," I said. I could almost hear him smile over the PDA.
"Gotta go," Enzo said. "Mom's telling me to set the table."
"Do you want me to try to make it?" I asked. All of a sudden I really did want to be there. "I can try."
"You're going to run across the entire colony in five minutes?" Enzo said.
"I could do it," I said.
"Maybe Babar could," Enzo said. "But he has two legs more than you."
"Fine," I said. "I'll send Babar to have dinner with you."
Enzo laughed. "Do that," he said. "I'll tell you what, Zoe. Walk here at a reasonable pace, and you'll probably make it in time for dessert. Mom made a pie."
"Yay, pie," I said. "What kind?"
"I think it's called 'Zoe gets whatever kind of pie she gets and likes it' pie," Enzo said.
"Mmmm," I said. "I always like that kind of pie."
"Well, yeah," Enzo said. "It's right there in the title."
"It's a date," I said.
"Good," Enzo said. "Don't forget. I know that's a problem for you."
"Jerk," I said.
"Check your mail queue," Enzo said. "There might be a poem there."
"I'm going to wait for the hand waving," I said.
"That's probably for the best," Enzo said. "It'll be better that way. And now my mom is glaring at me with laser eyeballs. I have to go."
"Go," I said. "See you soon."
"Okay," Enzo said. "Love you." We had started saying that to each other recently. It seemed to fit.
"Love you too," I said, and disconnected.
"You two make me want to vomit so hard," Gretchen said. She'd been hearing my side of the conversation and had been rolling her eyes the whole time. We were sitting in her bedroom.
I set down the PDA and whacked her with a pillow. "You're just jealous Magdy never says that to you."
"Oh, dear Lord," Gretchen said. "Leaving aside the fact that I so do not want to hear that from him, if he ever did try to say that to me, his head would actually explode before the words could even get out of his mouth. Which now that I think about it might be an excellent reason to try to get him to say it."