EVAN: Just pack everything.
CLARA: Are we renting a U-Haul? I feel like as the newer queer in this relationship, I’m not allowed to make a joke first.
I laugh out loud, which makes a few students look up from their work.Shit.
EVAN: I’ll see you when I get home, weirdo.
CLARA: Will Bagel have to start calling me mother right away, or do we start with Ms. Spencer? Less formal? Ms. Clara?
EVAN: Ms. Spencer, I’m going to get fired if I don’t pay attention to my students now.
CLARA: Call me that in bed later ;)
I shut off my phone and throw it in my drawer for good measure. I’m so stupidly gone for her it’s embarrassing. But I willabsolutelynot be calling her that.
Chapter Thirteen
Evan
When I arrive home, Bagel is not screaming and the smell of something delicious greets me—which means Clara got here first. “Clara?” I call out, dropping my purse and backpack near the front door. I kick off my boots and follow my nose towards the sweet scent. “Hey,” I call out again, turning the corner to my typical, Toronto apartment kitchen. Meaning, I had believed it far too tiny to bake in before now.
“Hi!” Clara exclaims, greeting me with a kiss on my cheek. She’s wearing an apron she must have brought from home and every inch of her is dusted with flour. “Welcome home,” she says before winking and turning back to her work.
As if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to be here. Perhaps, because it is.
“Hey,” I say, a little stunned. “Baking?”
She nods excitedly while curling her index finger around the rim of a bowl, bringing the batter to her mouth, and licking it off. “Mhm! I had this idea while walking here. Well, actually, several.” She turns to me, her smile crooked and kid-like. “Care for a glimpse into my head?”
How do I say yes in a way that’s not as desperate as I feel? “Sure.”
Her face falls. I overcorrected.Just be honest, it’s Clara.
“I want to know every thought you have, actually. I sort of hate that I can’t dial in there whenever I want.”
Instantly, she’s back to beaming. “Okay, so. I got on the subway from the gallery and there was a poster with a mouse on it, so naturally, I started thinking about cheese. And because I was already slightly dreading day-old sushi, I thought I’d stop at the grocery store near my house and grab stuff for a cheese plate. I had this whole image of me feeding you grapes. It was very sexy.” She takes a breath for the first time since beginning her story. “Then, I thought about grape juice, which made me think of grape jelly, which made me think of—”
I interrupt, my mouth agape, “grape jelly pinwheels?”
She points at me, smiling. “Yes!”
My mom made them foreverychurch potluck. It was her claim to fame. I’ve really fucking missed them.
“I went online and found a recipe for them but something in my gut just said—no, that’s not right.” She opens my oven, ducks to look inside by bending in half, then stands up briskly to slam the oven door shut again. “So I called my mom. I guess she’d written your mom’s recipe down once, so she went through her cupboards and found it and texted me a photo. I went to the store and now, I’m making them.” Her smile falters. “Oh, but I didn’t get anything to eat for dinner. I just realised that.”
It’s silly. It’s honestly embarrassing—but I start to cry.
“Oh, Ev…” Clara unties the apron and tosses it onto the counter. Her arms wrap around me and I lean into her.
“I-I just didn’t think I’d get to have them again,” I stutter, attempting to contain myself. “I’m happy,” I sniffle, “and, a little sad, I guess.”
“Don’t cry…” She rubs my back. “They might turn out terrible,” she coos.
I laugh, wiping the last tear away. “Thank you for this, Teens.”
“Hey.” She reaches for me, moving my hair away from my face and looking up at me with so much tenderness I feel my heartthud. “Want to help me make them?”
I nod. Clara boops my nose before turning on her heels and reaching back for her apron. “Oh, no! I forgot!”
