“Okay, that’s pretty great,” she admits, swinging one leg back and forth, the toe of her little boot scraping over the dark brown flooring with each sweep. “But seriously, you’re an idiot to think I’d know a phrase in a language less than twenty million people on a planet of almost eight billion can understand.”
My jaw drops as I realize what she just admitted. “You researched Romania!”
She pulls back from me and narrows her eyes again. One of my fingers comes up to point at her in triumph. “Hah! You still care, Gemma Carson. I caught you!”
She blows a raspberry at me, and I don’t even complain when a fleck of her spit hits my skin. I’m just pumped to have some semblance of normality back between us. It’ll be no time at all before I’m back to giving her noogies and teasing her about her pastry of choice.
“Do you know what else was cool about Romania?”
She doesn’t offer any guesses, but I didn’t expect her to. I’m just happy to be here. Allowed this chance. “Peonies are, like, a huge deal there. It’s their national flower, and a ton of Romanians have the last nameBujor, orBujori, which meanspeony.” Her face softens marginally at the mention of the flower she’s vaguely obsessed with. “They had a peony festival while I was there, can you believe that? I got some pics to show you.”
A non-committal noise, but it doesn’t blow my hopes. I take a step closer to her, closing that space between us again—I’m not ready for it to make another appearance yet—and clasp her left hand in one of mine.
“Listen, Gem. I know I was an asshole.”
“Was?” She questions.
“Fine. I’ve been a real dick. I’m fucking sorry, okay? I don’t know what came over me. I’m working on me, I promise. But I had some ideas I wanted to tell you.”
She raises both of her eyebrows at me, allowing me to continue pitching her. I was kinda hoping we’d, like, sit down and talk, but she’s clearly notthatwarmed up to me just yet, so I’ll take what I can get and go on.
“It’s always been just us, right?”
She nods, and I can practically hear her sarcasticobviously, Stonewith that single, exasperated motion.
“But now it’s not.”
She nods again, understanding dawning on her features.
“So I think maybe our friendship needs to evolve with the rest of our lives. Like, maybe we should start spending some time together with each other’s…” I struggle to find the word, “people.” Anything else would’ve soured my mouth, and I move on before I think about that another second. “We’re not kids anymore, we’re not even working together anymore, maybe it’s time our friendship matures and grows up, too. We can still do video games sometimes, if you want, but I thought it might be nice to go on a double date. You can spend some more time with Kayla, and I can get to meet Steven.” The smile I fake would pass as genuine on-screen, but I just hope it’s enough to fool her.
“Spencer,” she growls at me.
I withdraw my hands, holding them up defensively in front of me. “Sorry. Spencer. I can finally meet Spencer.”
She recrosses her arms over her stomach, digesting my words. After a few seconds, I can’t take the silence.
“What do you think?”
“You really think that’s a good idea?”
My head nods vigorously before she even finishes the line.
“Is Kayla…okay with me?”
“Gem, she really liked you! The key was a bit much for her.” Gemma gives me a pointed look, but I keep rolling. “But it’s been months. If she and I are going to have a future, if you and he are…you know,” I make some undecipherable hand gesture to signify God-knows-what, “we should all hang.”
Gem uncrosses her legs and takes a wide stance, feet spread apart. I can’t help but notice how great she looks with this new look she’s got going on. This difference in her, it’s not just the clothes, the way she looks. There’s this glow about her. Like a surety, maybe more confidence than before. Once again, Alex’s words pummel me right in the gut, and I wonder if it was me who was holding her back, holding her down.
“Okay,” she says simply.
“Okay,” I confirm.
“Spencer goes back to work next Monday, so Friday or Saturday is probably the best night for us. I work till five Friday and six or sometimes seven on Saturday.” She waves to the front of the house, as if demonstrating her late arrival tonight.
“Cool.”
“You’ll text me?” she asks.
