“I literally just had a snack,” I say self-righteously.
“Was it a can of expired black olives?”
“Those werebarelyexpired,” I say, and regret ever admitting my snack habits to my friends.
Silas makes hisI’m not going to argue thisnoise, and I roll my eyes at my empty apartment. “How many cups of coffee have you had today?”
“I don’t see why this matters.”
“Have you had more or less cups of coffee than expired olives?”
“I haven’t had any olives, expired or otherwise, thank you very much. And they were fine, for the record. Usually canned food is still good for a while after the expiration date. Companies just want to avoid lawsuits.”
“I…” Silas starts, and I can practically hear him deciding not to engage. “Okay. Anyway, I already made chili and Gideon already made chickpea pilaf and Wyatt already made the Rice Krispie treats he won’t shut up about, so we’re coming over because you have to eat.”
He’s right and how dare he. But now that the peanut butter is entering my system, or whatever food does when you eat it that makes you feel better, I’m realizing I’ve been kind of an asshole.
“Thanks,” I manage to say. “My place is kind of a mess—sorry.”
Gideon and Wyatt arrive together,and when they come through the door, Gideon hands me a bag of trail mix.
“Here, it’ll help.” He walks through my apartment to put chickpea pilaf on my kitchen counter. Then he takes another bag of trail mix out and puts it into my pantry, and I kind of want to protest that I don’t need his trail mix charity, but I’m too busy practically unhinging my jaw so I can pour the first one into my mouth.
“Have you eaten anything today besides peanut butter with a spoon?” Wyatt asks, also in the kitchen, and I swallow a mouthful of peanuts, M&Ms, and raisins.
“It’s efficient,” I tell them, and he sighs.
“Bringthem to Clara’s for Christmas Eve,” Silas says when I take a break from talking to shove a third Rice Krispie treat into my mouth. Wyatt followed some “elevated” recipe, which would sound ridiculous except that they’re fucking delicious and I want to eat ten more.
“You can’t just invite random people to someone else’s house,” I say.
“It’s notsomeone’shouse, it’s Clara’s house, and it’s a free-for-all anyway,” he says. “Besides, your sister’s coming, right?”
“She’s not even your mom.”
“Close enough. She’s put me in time out before.”
“Kinky,” mutters Wyatt, and Silas throws a velvet throw pillow at him. “Ow! You could have killed me.”
“We were ten—gross,” he says.
“What did you do to deserve time out from someone else’s mom?” Gideon asks calmly, as if no one is throwing pillows.
Silas sighs. “It wasn’t that bad,” he says. Wyatt throws the pillow back at him, and Silas catches it. “Levi and I…lost track of some frogs. Inside the house.” He clears his throat. “Again.”
“Some frogs,” I say, just Gideon raises one eyebrow and says, “Again.”
“Did you ever find the frogs?” asks Wyatt.
“Technically, no,” Silas says. “Two we let go in the backyard, and the third probably found its own way out. And then Levi and I had to sit quietly on the couch and not go anywhere or do anything or even speak to each other until my mom came to pick me up. Andthenshe told my mom what had happened, and I got into more trouble because my mom assumed I’d talked Levi into it.”
“Had you?”
“Yes.”
“So, for Christmas Eve, you’re inviting me to invade someone else’s home where there may or may not be a thirty-year-old frog skeleton waiting to be discovered,” I summarize.
“There are probably also other skeletons,” Silas offers, picking up another Rice Krispie treat. “I’m about ninety percent sure Seth and Caleb smuggled a snake in once. You should ask Caleb when you see him.”
