Page 34

“Right,” Gianna says, uncapping her pen. “Decorations.”

We work through it—lights yes, balloons negotiable, a playlist that is mostly Sydney’s existing Spotify wrapped, inside of course because it’s still freezing. I break off a corner of the croissant and push it toward Gianna, who takes it without acknowledging.

“Also,” Gianna says, “Mark didn’t text me back for nine hours yesterday.”

I look at her. She’s not looking at me—she’s writing something down that doesn’t need that much concentration.

“Did you ask him about it?”

“No. Because then I’m a crazy girlfriend who needs reassurance.”

“Or you’re a girlfriend who asked about a normal thing.”

“Don’t be reasonable at me right now.”

I pick up my coffee. “How long has it been—” I start carefully, “—since you two have actually, you know.”

She sets her pen down. “Six months.”

“Gianna.”

“I know.”

I look at her. She’s biting her lip nervously.

“It’s not bad,” she says, before I can say anything. “When it happens it’s… fine. It’s perfectly fine. It’s just—” She moves the pen around in her fingers. “Is it supposed to have sparks? Like genuinely, is that a real thing or is that just something movies and books talk about?”

I think about Jake. Jake is good, in the practical sense of two people who know each other well enough to not have to explain very much. Jake is comfortable and reliable and not even slightly sparks.

“I think sparks exist,” I say carefully. “I just also think people confuse them for the whole thing, when they’re more like—” I look for the word. “The ignition.”

“So you’ve felt them?”

“No.”

She frowns. “And with Jake?”

“Jake and I work.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

She nods slowly. Picks the croissant back up.

“He packs me snacks,” she says quietly. “Little bag in my backpack on long days. Calls my mom on her birthday.”

“He does do all of that.”

“And it’s still—” She stops.

“It’s not enough?”

She doesn’t answer.

“You don’t have to figure it out today,” I say. “You just have to get through today. And you’ve got us, whatever you decide. There doesn’t have to be something hugely wrong for you to leave, Gi. It’s okay if it’s just not right.”

She nods. Eats the rest of the croissant slowly, and some small tight thing in her shoulders lets go a little.

Someone rushes up to our table; it takes me a second to recognize her.

Lucie.