“I still owe Cessy dinner from last time we went out,” I said. “This one’s on me.”
“Wait, for all of us?” Sam asked.
“I mean, it was a really nice dinner.”
Sam leaned across the table to bump his fist against mine. “Sick. Thanks, Goldie.”
I gave him a little salute and watched them head out, suddenly—strikingly—envious of the way they tilted toward each other, the bonds of their friendship like knots between them. I used to be like that with Cessy, before she met Shrishti. And now…We were still friends. Best friends, even. But it wasn’t quite the same. Most nights Cessy headed out with Shrishti, and most days—between practice sessions—they were going for coffee or a walk or lunch. They even went to the bookstore together. They were inseparable in a way I’d never been with anyone, ever.
It was only once they were gone that I realized the diner was unusually silent, the only sound that of dishes clinking together as the staff cleaned up. Jamie and I were alone.
“Cessy seems cool,” he said after a few moments, swirling one of those little wooden sticks through his coffee.
“Yeah,” I said. “She is.”
“How long have you known each other?”
“Almost four years,” I said, and surprised myself when I realized it had actually been that long. “We met in high school. I was in the Juilliard Pre-College program, and she was doing one of the School of American Ballet youth programs. They’re right next to each other in Lincoln Center, so we kind of hung out in the same places. Ended up having to share a table at a coffee shop once because all the other seats were taken. And we’ve been friends ever since.”
“Nice meet-cute,” Jamie said.
“I mean, yeah, it was pretty serendipitous.” I laughed. “And we got lucky that we both went on to Parker, too. The universe wants us to be best friends.” I lifted my own coffee up to my lips then realized it had gone cold. I grimaced and set the mug down again. “What about you and Shrishti? Incestuous music department friendship or did you have some movie scene run-in on the subway or something?”
“We met here,” Jamie said. “Music theory class. Not nearly as adorable.”
“Well, I guess it’s hard to meet friends these days. They even have apps now—like Tinder, but for platonic relationships. College is one thing, but after we graduate I don’t know how I’m going to meet new people. Like, what do actual adults even do?”
“Meet people through work, I suppose.”
“I guess.” I shrugged expansively. Even then it was hard to imagine. Piano performance was a pretty solitary pursuit. And if you did end up playing with an orchestra, it was usually a guest position—and most of the other players would be older.
Although there was a certain appeal to being tight with some sixty-year-old lady, hanging out in her cozy Village apartment sipping tea and playing duets.
“And your friendships don’t stop the second you turn twenty-two,” Jamie said. “You’ll still have Cessy. And the rest of us.”
The rest of us.I felt my cheeks color; it was the first time Jamie had suggested that he and I might be friends long-term. And, yeah, a part of me would rather be more than friends. But I’d take what I could get.
“Assuming you all will tolerate me that long. I have it on good authority that I can be obnoxious, and a snob.” As Cessy reminded me all the time.
Jamie snorted. “I mean, sure. But maybe I like that.”
God. Was he saying things like that on purpose, just to watch me flush? I busied myself with the remains of my waffle, pushing little pieces of it around my plate using the tines of my fork.
Do you want to go out sometime?The words pressed up against my shut lips, begging to be spoken. But I couldn’t stand the prospect of rejection. How would I face Jamie for the next three years if he said no? Or worse, if we tried and it didn’t work out?
He was probably flooded with girls wanting to go out with him. Between the raw talent and the devastating good looks, there was no reason he’d want to settle for me.
“Do you?” I asked at last, gaze flickering up to meet his. “Do you really?”
It was his turn to blush. It looked good on him—windswept, almost, as if he’d just walked in from a snowy night. And then, of course, I was imagining him with snow in his hair, gathered like pale glitter on his eyelashes. How his lips would feel chilly against mine.
“Yes,” he said. “Quite a lot, actually.”
The tension was unbearable. I wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss those pinkened cheeks. I wanted to grab hold of that gorgeous bronze hair and keep him there while I bit his neck. And then roll my hips down to find out how much he likes snobs,exactly.
“So,” I said instead of any of that, social anxiety winning out. “Tell me more about yourself. I feel like half of what I know is secondhand from Shrishti. Feels like I should get it right from the source.”
It was partly a lie. I did feel like I knew him. Maybe not all the intricacies of his life—maybe not where he went to elementary school, or if he played sports in high school. But I knewhim.What made him smile. What made him embarrassed. The way he always felt awkward in social situations, how he couldn’t help but takeeverything literally, to the point that half the bad jokes I made flew right over his head.
