“Okay, question number one: what’s your longest relationship?”
“Two years.”
“Wow,” I say. So, he was with her for two years, and they’ve just broken up. “Okay, pet peeve in a partner?”
“Cheating,” he replies quickly. So that must have been the catastrophic part of the breakup.
“Body count?” I smile slyly.
“More than one, less than one hundred. Next question!”
“Okay, best day ever?”
“Like, hypothetical, or a day that actually happened?”
“Hypothetical.”
He scratches his chin. “I’d start by waking up next to someone I love. Then I’d go for a surf or a hike, and then I’d work on some songs for a while. I’d make dinner with my special person, something like spaghetti carbonara and shortbread cookies.” He shoots me a glance. “And then, yeah, just hanging out with my person, doing all the stuff that couples do. What about you?”
“Is this your first lightning round question?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, let me think.” What’s weird is that what immediately comes to mind is Kei’s perfect day, but with me inserted into it. Him waking up next to me. Me kissing his salty lips when he gets home from surfing. Cooking dinner with him, doingallof the things that couples do.
Teddy, the cameraman, coughs, jolting me out of my reverie. Ugh, when did I get so pathetic?
I give another version of a perfect day. “I guess it would just be a normal day, but one where I don’t have anything to worry about. Like, I don’t have to worry about my card declining if I buy a coffee, and Ican go have fun with my friends without feeling guilty about leaving my mom. Just a day to be carefree—that would be a perfect day.”
He puts his hand on my knee and gives it a little squeeze. And then he leaves it there, heavy and warm. “What’s going on with your mom?”
“Is that your second question?”
“Yes.”
Teddy draws closer.
I sigh. Reality TV stars are famous for airing their trauma to gain the sympathy of viewers, but I can’t do that to my mom. “She’s just having a rough time. Since my dad left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.”
“How long ago was that?”
“He ran away with his secretary when I was thirteen.” Kei squeezes my leg, but he doesn’t say anything else. I feel a lump rising in my throat. “Look, these questions are killing me. You owe me a few softballs.”
He looks at me, searching my eyes. I have the feeling he wants to push me further, but he relents. “Okay, question number three: sweet or salty?”
“Salty.”
“Because you’re already sweet enough?”
I groan. “Stop!”
“Okay. Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Chocolate.”
