Aw ok! See you later!
I cut a piece of pancake and smother it in syrup, watching as it drips slowly off the edge of my fork. The slow drag of maple is about the same speed that I analyze and contemplate my feelings as I watch my family around the table, exchanging loving glances and laughs. My mind drifts to picturing Malcolm here with us. My best friend, exchanging the same looks, fitting into the mix of it all like he always has. Like the Florida sun baking my face on that beach, Malcolm is a warm and steady feeling, clinging to me like rays of sunshine.
Have I lost that warm, steady feeling?
“What’s troubling you?” Lola whispers to me, munching on her tuna melt. She refuses waffles every time—another form of rebellion on her list of many.
“It’s nothing.” I turn my phone face down and force a smile.
Lola eyes me, my smile faltering underthatlook.
“We’re going to go get ready. We’ll see you in a bit,” Benny says, placing cash on the table for the way too many waffleshis fiancée just inhaled. As they leave, Uncle Jerry finds himself interested in the group of elderly ladies playing cards in the back corner.
Lola shakes her head. “Aye, those poor women.” We both laugh at his failed flirting attempts from afar before he quickly diverts to sit at the bar and harass Sam. “Poor Sam.” Lola chuckles. She turns back to me and eyes meagain. It gets exhausting how often she gives me that look. It’s even more exhausting that it’s had the same effect on me for thirty years.
“What?” I groan.
“How are your internet boyfriends?” she asks, pulling a mug of coffee up to her lips. Her smile lines deepen as she rolls her lips to fight the laugh trying to burst through.
“Aye, Lola,” I grumble, stretching her name out.
She shrugs innocently and sips on her decaf coffee. “Is Malcolm taking you tonight?”
“No.” I set my fork down and settle in for a long conversation. Anytime Lola talks to me about Malcolm, it’s never quick. She tends to linger on how amazing he is, yada, yada. “We’re chaperoning. It’s not like we’re actually going to prom.”
“But you’re dressing up?”
“Not really. Just dressy-erthan our normal.” The orange number I have set out would beg to differ. I still can’t believe I let Ellie convince me to wear something other than black this year. For the last four years, I’ve worn the same dress pants and blazer with my sequin high-tops as the statement piece—a classy yet very practical choice.
“I bet Malcolm will enjoy it.” She gives me a wink. I throw my head back and groan, turning every head in the diner in our direction. Lola shrugs again, unfazed by my reaction. “I’m just saying, he will.”
“Will you let it go? It’s never going to happen.”Right?
The words left my mouth quicker than my brain could compute them. I white-knuckle the sides of my mug and gnaw on my lip. A million questions race through my head as my cheeks and neck flush with heat. There’s no hiding the redness that is now plastered to me. Lola continues to stare at me.Stareat me, like I’m a lunatic.
Questions and assumptions pang around in my head like a pinball machine.
Is something with Malcolm possible?
Does he even want that?
Why is it so hot in here?
Has this table always been this wobbly?
I let out a gush of air, which makes me feel lightheaded and sends stars swirling around my vision. Putting my head in my hands, I focus on the crumbs of the pancake and the blob of butter that has now melted into a puddle. Lola’s soft, fragile hands encircle her mug, now empty, with a small pink lip stain on the rim.
“Katherine,” she whispers, releasing the mug and reaching for my hand. “What are you so scared of?”
“What? No, I’m not scared of anything. It’s just annoying how much everyonelooooovesMalcolm.” I wave a big circle in the air to emphasize that it is literally everyone.
Lola’s hand trembles weakly as she squeezes mine, showing her delicate age in a small motion.
On a quick breath, I say, “Just the thought of Malcolm, as more than my friend…it’s just, just…I don’t know. It’s crazy!”
“Why?” I look up to see Lola cross her arms, eyeing me defiantly. A duel in her mind—one she intends to win based on the purse of her lips and the tapping of her fingers against her arm. “Tell me why it’s crazy, Katherine. Why is it so crazy to be with a man who treats you the way you deserve to be treated? Aman who is tall and handsome and fixes your elderly grandma’s squeaky floors? What is—”
“Wait, what?” I hold up a hand to pause her rant. “Malcolm has been fixing your house? Malcolm? He’s your secret handyman boyfriend?” The shock in my voice carries, drawing Uncle Jerry’s attention from the reels he’s showing Sam.
