OVER THE PAST HOURmy screen has been lighting up with a selfie of Kat and me on the last day of school. She texted me multiple times from the car heading to Pinecrest, New York, and again immediately after arriving at the apartment she and her dad will share. She was annoyed her dad wouldn’t let her drive up behind him, but even for the move her parents wouldn’t break their No Highway Driving Until 17 rule, and her dad hired someone to bring her car up next week.
We’ve avoided talking about how her not being able to drive on the highway might affect our plans for her to return for Summerfest in August. I refuse to entertain the thought that she won’t be here for it.
We video chat to decide where she should hang her Coco Gauff poster and mount the shelves where she displays hertrophies and medals. When I have to go to the bathroom, she asks me to leave my phone next to my open window so she can hear the ocean while I’m gone.
We chat constantly the next day too.
I wonder if she’s lonely and regretting leaving early instead of waiting until the end of summer, especially because her dad’s never been a big talker. I don’t ask, though, because I don’t want to jinx it. I’m just happy it feels normal and like maybe my fear that she’d move away and completely forget about me won’t come true.
She sends a message on Monday morning that makes me laugh out loud. I’m about to head to Pearl’s to work my first shift and am putting the finishing touches on my mascara—basically the only makeup I wear every day—when my screen lights up.
Kat: I will send you ten million dollars if you mail me some of your mom’s stuffed clams
I quickly switch over to the thread with my mom and ask her to make stuffed clams for dinner tonight, because that sounds top-notch delicious, and then go back to Kat.
Me: Something tells me Post Office Dan wouldn’t go for that
Me: What happened now?
Kat’s welcome packet included some sort of health and nutrition brochure from the tennis program, and her dad, the only person who takes Kat’s tennis more seriously than Kat, has been trying to cook ever since they arrived. It hasn’t even been three full days, and so far he’s overcooked the chicken, undercooked the rice, required stitches from what the nurse dubbed “avocado hand,” and started one fire. I’ve received photo evidence for everything exceptthe stitches because Kat knows that anything even blood-adjacent makes me queasy.
The one thing he’s mastered is scrambled eggs, and yesterday Kat requested breakfast for dinner.I’ll take my wins where I can get them,she texted after sending me a photo labeledEGGS FOR DAYS, followed by,Tell me truthfully, is this too much cholesterol?
Kat: i’m too hungry to even talk about it
Kat: i’m on pinterest right now creating my first recipe board. i can’t take this anymore
Me: I’d send you instructions for my famous grilled cheese if you weren’t a total freak who DOESN’T LIKE CHEESE
Kat: tbh at this point i’m so desperate i’d risk the farts
Me: Really? In that case, email incoming. You’ll have to wait a couple of days, but I’ll even ship you some of Mrs. Reacher’s fig jam.
Me: Also, I’m kind of glad you’ll be four hours away when you eat one.
Kat: this is no laughing matter. i’m starving but my dad says we can’t go to the store until after tennis practice today. it’s not for another two hours!
Me: Why don’t you have something delivered?
Kat: oh my god why didn’t i think of that
Kat: i’ve never loved you more
I send her a GIF of Captain America saluting, then tell her I’m heading out for my first Pearl’s shift.
Kat: your first shift, my first practice
Kat: let’s nail this
I heart the final message and slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
Trish, the manager at Pearl’s, is easing me in with a couple of weekday lunch shifts, which aren’t as busy as evenings or weekends. I only wrote down my days when I checked the schedule after my final training last week, and didn’t pay attention to who else will be there too. Which means I don’t know if Myles will be there. I’m nervous for my first shift to begin with, and this is serious additional oversight that I vow won’t happen again.
I spend extra time on my hair and walk through a mist of my favorite vanilla perfume just in case. Just because I can’t date him doesn’t mean I don’t want to impress him, okay?
Our house is a twenty-minute walk from Pearl’s, and I decide to head out on foot today.
I walk or ride my bike a lot, which is easy in this town. It’s so low-key, the speed limit doesn’t go above thirty anywhere, so it feels pretty safe to move around on foot. I pass the elementary school on the way, and I smile at two kids playing on the swings. It’s the exact spot where Kat and I met a lifetime ago. Most friends as close as Kat and I probably have some cool origin story—like, one person rescues the other from a bully or shares their lunch on the first day of school.
