I guess my hesitation and smile told Caro everything. “Get OUT!” she cried. “Do you think he remembers it? How drunk were you?”
“He better remember it!” I said. “We were just talking and then . . .” I brought my hands together. “It just happened. It wasn’t like we were planning it.”
“Yeah, you just lured him into a gazebo at a mansion.” Caro wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Well played, Emmy, well played.”
I pretended to curtsey, which is hard to do when you’re holding a plate full of pancakes and your borrowed pajama pants are too big. “Thank you, thank you,” I said. “But I haven’t heard from him yet.”
“Well, it’s not like you live next door to each other or anything—OH, WAIT.”
I checked my phone again. “What if he doesn’t remember it?”
Caro shrugged. “Then Drew and I will burn his house down.”
“You’re very loyal.”
“Make sure to say nice things about me when they arraign me for arson.”
“Emmy.” My mom’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Are you listening?”
Nope.
“Yeah, totally,” I said, then hopped up on the island countertop. “Down,” my mom said, pointing at the floor, and I hopped back off. I had forgotten that I wasn’t at Caro’s anymore. “So who’s dinner with?”
My mom raised an eyebrow that told me that’s what I just missed. “Maureen invited us over for next Monday night,” she said. “You and me and Dad and then her and Rick and the girls and Oliver. Isn’t that nice?”
It sounded like a nightmare. “Awesome,” I said. “But the girls have a million food allergies. What are we eating? Tofu?”
My dad made retching sounds.
“I think they’re grilling,” my mom said, ignoring him. “But we’re supposed to bring the salad, which means that I have to find that recipe. . . .” She fluttered off to her laptop, where she organized recipes by food group, holiday, event, and season. It’s an Excel spreadsheet straight from foodie heaven. “Are you in the mood for feta?” she called to me as she disappeared.
“Possibly!” I called back. I had finished eating that banana in record time. “Can I go hang out with Drew today?”
“Ask your father,” came the reply, so I turned to look at my dad. “Can I?”
“You and Drew have been spending a lot of time together,” my dad said in a non-nonchalant (or perhaps, chalant? is that even a word?) way.
“Dad, Drew’s gay,” I told him, just as my mom yelled, “Drew’s gay!” from her office. I swear, she’s installed hidden microphones in every room in the house.
“I know,” my dad said, then tapped me on the head with the newspaper as he walked past. “Your old dad may know a little more than you think he does.”
“What?” I said, but he just waved the newspaper at me and went out to the garage, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
“So is that a yes?” I called to no one in particular, and when no answer came, I decided it was definitely a yes, and went to call Drew.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Drew picked me up in his van an hour later, barely stopping at the curb before I was already opening the door and swinging myself in. “Hello, hello,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses. “The Drew Express has arrived safely and on time. Please feel free to give our fledgling business five stars on Yelp.”
“I’ll tell all my friends,” I said, fastening my seat belt. I couldn’t help but notice that Oliver’s driveway was empty and that the blinds in the front window were pulled shut. Where had they gone?
“Where’s your board?” Drew asked me.
“Parents,” I replied, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “They’re both home right now, watching my every move.”
“Just as well. The waves are super flat today.” Drew hit the gas harder and I made a mental note to prepare for my mother’s eventual discussion about how it’s a “safe neighborhood” and Drew needed to be “more cautious.” (Talking to her is like playing Mad Libs sometimes. You just insert the appropriate phrase into its proper slot.)
“So!” Drew said, grabbing my knee for emphasis. “Guess what we are doing today?”
“Surprise me.” His smile was so wide that it made me smile, too.
“We”—he squeezed my knee again—“are going to Starbucks.”
I just stared at him. “Wow,” I finally said. “Because those are really rare and we never go to them. I’m so glad we’re hanging out today.”
“Could you please stop dripping your sarcasm all over my car’s interior? And I could give a shit about Starbucks. I like the place next door better, you know that. But Starbucks has the best employees.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.
The pieces clicked together.
“Kevin works at Starbucks?” I guessed, and Drew nodded. “So I get to go to Starbucks and watch you flirt with the barista?”
“Feel free to live tweet the experience!”
“Drew!” I banged my head against the headrest. “This is going to be so boring! And aren’t you supposed to play hard to get? This is definitely not playing hard to get.”
“Okay, first, thank you for being an amazing, supportive friend. I’ll totally buy you something that involves whipped cream and I’ll love you forever.”