“My best friend in Hebrew school and I had a falling out when she snowballed withmycrush—Jamie Baits—atmybat mitzvah.” Snowball dances were only the most pivotal momentof a seventh grader’s life. You get to pick one person to start, then you each pick someone, and so on, until the whole semi-circle of awkward thirteen-year-olds are swaying to a Black Eyed Peas song while your adult cousin, who had too many wine coolers, is whooping somewhere in the background.
Eitan makes a noise like he’s been stung. “Betrayal of the highest order.”
I nod. “ObviouslyIdidn’t pick him as my first snowball.Iwas playing hard to get. And Sarah Cohen swooped.”
“And you two entered a years-long feud for Jamie’s heart?”
I take a deep breath. The cottonwood is shedding, the air full of fluffy white spores. “Not quite. Sarah moved to Ohio that summer, and we lost touch.”
“Josh moved from New York to Chicago when we were fifteen.”
“It’s impressive that you two stayed close.”
Eitan shrugs. “That was all Josh. He keeps in touch with everyone. He convinced his parents to let him spend the summers in high school with me and my family. He and I worked for my dad’s landscaping business four days a week, and the other three we’d try our luck getting girls to talk to us at the beach.”
And not much has changed for you since,I hold myself back from saying.
“Was only fitting that Josh was the first person I admitted to that I liked girls and boys.”
My steps slow for a moment, processing this. “Oh!” I say, catching myself, trying to not act like an idiot when someone is coming out to me. Or, just telling me? “You’re?—”
“Bi,” Eitan supplies, not missing a beat. “Yep.”
“That’s cool,” I say, like an idiot.
He laughs at me. “Sure is.”
“I’m straight,” I offer.
“I figured that out.” He winks.
My sip of coffee goes down the wrong pipe and I cough up a lung. He thumps me on the back and I grab hold of a scrawny city tree while I get a grip on myself.
Eitan is bi. Why does that make himhotter? Maybe it’s the self-assuredness. The security in knowing who he is. Either way, my breath has evened out and I have no excuse to continue staring at him. I scramble for a subject change. Something Eitan said earlier plays back in my head, sounding more meaningful after he mentioned his dad.I wasn’t in a good place for a while, and Josh—Josh was a really good friend to me.
“When you mentioned Josh being a good friend to you…Was that related to your dad?”
Eitan stares straight ahead, something inaccessible in his voice. “He lived in Chicago by then, but he flew back to Long Island five times in one year, to help.” Eitan’s jaw clenches. “After my dad” —he clears his throat— “died, I had a remote job already, so I started traveling. Didn’t have much of a reason to stop, until Josh told me he was getting engaged.”
“You moved here for Josh?” I can’t help the disbelief in my voice. I’ve never had a friend like that. Someone you drop everything for, no matter what.
“Yeah, Chicago wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of destinations.”
“Oh? Now who thinks they’re better than everyone else?” Eitan protests but I cut him off. “And which city, pray tell, do you think can possibly top Chicago?”
“San Francisco was next.”
I can’t help but laugh. “San Francisco is full of poop. And needles.Humanpoop, I should add.”
“I’ve heard the human poop rumors are vastly exaggerated.”
“What about climate change?” I press. “Chicago is going to be a much better spot in twenty years. Freshwater supply, et cetera?”
He looks at me like I’ve said something humorous. “I’m not exactly thinking twenty years down the road. I like to take life day by day, year by year.”
Eitan sees the future as a sunny meadow full of surprises and I, on the other hand, know that the meadow is actually a lightning storm on the open ocean. In nothing but a life raft. “And let me guess. That’s another nugget of coaching, free of charge?”
Eitan sucks on his teeth, shaking his head. “I bet you’re a good writer,” is all he says.
