Twenty minutes later, I slip my phone from my pocket. Idling in park, I notice a text from Derick already waiting for me. He’s typed:
Done thinking about it yet?
My heart hitches at just how much he wants to help me, and I find myself smiling at the phone screen long after I should have gone to sleep.
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Chapter 10
Avery, Mateo, and Brandon are all hovering over my bed when I open my eyes. Instead of questioning the concerning situation, I sleepily say, “Why does this feel like the final scene inThe Wizard of Oz? I don’t remember clicking my heels together three times.” I flop headfirst back into my pillow.
“Breakfast time, Dorothy Gale,” Mateo instructs. That’s when I get a whiff of smoked turkey bacon. I sit up and notice Mateo’s holding a lap table covered in a smorgasbord of eggs and other foods cooked to perfection. There’s a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, probably made from the expensive press we chipped in for a year ago but never took out of the box. Bubbles float to the top.
“Did you make me a mimosa from our spare champagne?” We always keep prosecco in the fridge with a label on it reading:Pop in Case of Emergency. It’s been a running joke since sophomore year when Avery’s FWB put a full stop on both the friendship and the benefits. All she wanted was fancy wine for the emotional wind-down. We were fresh out, and all the stores were closed. Now, we’re always prepared. If we pop a bottle, we buy a bottle. It’s a flawless system.
“Nope, we’re still in stock. Brandon brought this one over to congratulate us on graduating,” Mateo says. He pecks Brandon’s chubby cheek. “He may have also made the eggs.”
“And the toast,” Avery chimes in.
“I poured the mimosa too,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. I reach for my own pair on the bedside table. My previously blurry world comes into focus, and I cringe at their plastered-on smiles. Something is up.
“What’s going on?” They set the tray down over my lap. Mateo takes special care to unfold my napkin and stuff it into the collar of my niche sleep shirt that reads:G is for Gerwig.
“Nothing, babe. Can’t we treat you?” Mateo asks. Avery moves to open the blinds. I check the time on my phone, wiping the crusties from my eyes. It’s already eleven thirty.
It’s then that I remember where I was last night, how late I came home, and how inebriating being around Derick can feel. This is like my post-birthday hangover, except it’s only affecting my heart. It took me forever to find a deep breathing pattern that slowed my thoughts down enough to let me fall asleep. Some nights, and some guys, are just like that.
“Okay. Seriously. What is going on?” They simulate surprise over my skepticism. They’re acting like bringing me breakfast in bed is a Sunday tradition that somehow slipped my mind. Maybe I did hit my head while running from a twister and this is my sepia-toned reality now.
Avery nudges Mateo with her elbow. Her eyes are prompting. He clears his throat and says, “Boss babe, I wanted to apologize for the ticket incident. I’m going to be better about putting my listening ears on when you’re giving instructions.”
“And?” Avery flicks him.
“And I’m sorry for getting you stuck in the storage closet.” He sounds like a bratty child having his arm twisted into apology by his mom.
I bite into the buttery, half-charred toast. It’s exactly how I like it. “Apology accepted,” I say with my mouth full.
