by Cameron Lund
“Okay, we’ll see you little lovebirds later!” Jordan’s mom says, and then she blows us a kiss and they both leave.
“Thank god that’s over,” Jordan says once the door shuts. “I swear this holiday turns them into hormonal monsters.”
“I think it’s sweet,” I say, considering my own mom.
“It’s not sweet. It’s atrocious.” He stands, plugging his phone into the aux cord on the counter. “Hold up, I have something for you.” He shuffles through the songs, and then “All I’ve Ever Known” from Hadestown starts playing.
“You did not,” I say, my face breaking out into the widest smile.
“Did too,” he says. “It’s a Valentine’s Day Broadway playlist. Just sent it to you.”
My phone vibrates, and I open his text and see the playlist there. I still can’t believe Jordan’s gotten into musicals, that he’s kind, and smart, and so freaking beautiful he takes my breath away.
The door bursts open then—no knock—and Kai and Olivia come in.
“Honey, I’m home!” Kai shouts, and the moment is ruined, the cozy atmosphere built from the perfect song destroyed.
“Yo, we’re in the kitchen!” Jordan says. He hits a few buttons on his phone and the Broadway music is quickly replaced with Post Malone, the transition jarring. Olivia comes into the room and spins, showing off her outfit. She looks incredible, obviously, in a tight red skirt and black off-the-shoulder top.
I look down at my own outfit—I went simple and elegant in a black dress—and feel sharply self-conscious. But then Olivia makes me feel better, like she always does. “Who is that sexy Victoria’s Secret model angel, and what has she done with my best friend?”
“Thanks, Liv. You look so amazing.”
“You’re a work of art,” she says. And even though I don’t want them here, even though I want this night to be just Jordan and me, it’s hard to be annoyed with her in moments like these.
But Kai, on the other hand . . .
“So, were you too lazy to plan a Valentine’s Day of your own?” I say, turning to him. “And that’s why you had to crash ours?”
“Yeah, I guess I wanted to spend this night with people who make me truly miserable.” He grins at me. “Or just the one person, really.”
I look at him in his stupid green T-shirt—because of course he wouldn’t dress up for the holiday—and grimace.
“Double dates are way more fun than single dates,” Olivia says. “Thanks so much for inviting us, Jojo.”
Jordan wraps his arm around me, bringing me in tight. “I know you two love to fight with each other, but it would be cool if my girlfriend and my best friend could get along, ya know? Can we just make some spaghetti and get over it?”
So we make some spaghetti and get over it. And it’s actually kind of fun. Jordan puts on his dad’s apron—a cheesy one that says KISS THE COOK—and dumps the pasta into the boiling water. I heat up the sauce, and Kai manages to make garlic bread without burning down the house.
Then we sit down to eat, and it’s time to exchange presents. Olivia gives Kai a waxing kit for his surfboard, and Kai gives her the world’s most gigantic teddy bear. He brings us out to the driveway to surprise her because the bear has been hiding all night in the back of his Jeep under a bunch of towels.
Finally, it’s my turn. I’m so nervous to give Jordan his present. My heart feels like it’s going to explode from my chest as I hand over the large silver paper–wrapped frame.
“You got me a thing?” he says, taking it.
“Um, I made it, actually.” It’s embarrassing exchanging presents in front of the others, especially because this one means so much.
“You made me a thing?” Jordan smiles and then rips the paper open. “It’s flowers.”
“It’s your jersey number,” I say. “See? It’s a twenty-three.”
“Oh,” Jordan says, and then there’s a long pause while I wait for him to continue. Why isn’t he saying anything else? My cheeks grow warm. I can feel the weight of all three of their stares, sense immediately like I’ve done something wrong.
When the silence has gone on unbearably long, Kai cuts in. “This is really fucking cool, Penelope.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” I snap at him.
“I’m not. You’re, like . . . super talented.” The compliment is so earnest, so out of place from Kai, and I’m surprisingly pleased.
“Thanks, babe,” Jordan says finally. “It’s dope.”
“Okay, your turn,” Olivia says to Jordan.
“My turn, what?” Jordan asks, setting down my present for him on the table.
“To give a present to Penny.”
“Oh, I already gave it to her,” he says.
“You did?” I feel giddy with possibility, trying to remember if he secretly handed me something in class, snuck something into my backpack when I wasn’t looking.
“Yeah,” he says. “That playlist I sent you.”
“Oh,” I say, deflating. “Oh, right.”
I glance down at my phone again and look at the Broadway playlist. There’s no text in the message. No I love you. Just the Spotify link. I thought I’d be thrilled with just a hug from Jordan, but it turns out maybe I wanted a bit more. Suddenly—before I can stop myself—there’s an image in my mind: I’ve made a present for Kai instead and it’s just the two of us here together eating spaghetti alone. It’s so crazy, so unthinkable, that I feel myself flush with horror.
“Thanks,” I say to Jordan, forcing a smile. “I love it.” I take a deep breath, risking a glance over at Kai and Olivia and then looking back at him. “I love you.”
Jordan grins and ruffles my hair, looping his arm around my neck. “Back atcha, babe.”
NOW
A FEW DAYS LATER I’m standing anxiously in front of Kai’s front door. We made that stupid plan to cook dinner tonight, and while a part of me is feeling an overwhelming desire to bail, another part of me is actually a little bit excited. Now that we’re friends, taking pictures cooking together might actually be fun.
I borrowed my mom’s car and drove myself over here, telling her I was headed to Olivia’s. Just because Kai’s mom thinks he and I are dating doesn’t mean my mom has to know anything about it—there would be too many questions there, too much I wouldn’t be able to explain. Plus, Steve was with her. Hey, kiddo, he’d said as I left. Sure you don’t want to stay and play Monopoly?
I decided to dress up a little—a yellow sundress and strappy sandals, a cream-colored sweater to cover my shoulders. Even though this thing with Kai is fake, I still want to look good.
Kai opens the door, and I notice he dressed up for this a bit too—he’s got on a pair of brown khakis rolled at the ankles and a navy blue shirt with buttons down the front and an actual collar. He looks nice—handsome. The word comes to me before I can tell myself not to think it. I shake my head, trying to make the thought go away.
“Hey,” I say casually, walking into the front hall. The house smells amazing—like garlic and tomatoes.
He steps aside to let me pass. “Hey, Lemon Poppy Seed Muffin.”
“Now you’re just reaching.”
“But those are delicious!”
“So are you saying I’m delicious?” It strikes me that I’m flirting with him again, and I press my lips together so I will stop speaking immediately.
“Is that Penny?” A voice comes from the kitchen and then Kai’s mom appears. She’s smiling wide, her hair thrown up in a messy bun. She’s got on a colorful flower-print dress that matches the vibrant patterned paintings on the walls, a bright green chef’s apron tied over it. “Welcome! We’re so excited to have you here. Kai has told me so much about you.”
“Mom,” Kai grumbles.
“Oh, hush,” she says. “I can’t tell your beautiful girlfriend that you talk about her?”
“God, leave a little mystery or something,” he says. He heads back into the kitchen and we both follow. Kai takes a seat at one of the stools around the kitchen island, and I take his lead, sitting down next to him. His mom ties her apron tighter and begins to stir something on the stove.
“Thanks for inviting me over,” I say to her. “I love your house.”
“Thanks, Penny,” she says. “I’m a bit of a collector. I ran a gallery back when we lived on Maui, actually. When I see art I like, I have a really hard time walking away.”
“She has a bit of a problem,” Kai says in a teasing tone. “She’ll buy random paintings from Goodwill. She went to one of my art shows when I was a kid and asked if she could buy some other kid’s project! Not even my project. Some random project she liked better.”
She taps the spoon on the edge of the pot. “That is some major revisionist history, Kai. Of course I liked your painting best. Why else would it be in the place of honor?” She uses the spoon to point at the wall above the couch, where there’s a framed blocky painting of a blue whale.
“Wait, you made that?” I ask, getting off my stool and walking to the couch to get a better look. “I didn’t know you painted.”
“Mom, it’s like you’re actively trying to embarrass me.” Kai covers his face with his hands.
“Of course I am,” she says. “That’s what mothers do best.”
“It’s really good.” I reach my hand out as if to touch the canvas and then pull back.
“It’s not,” he says. “I was like eleven when I made that.”
“Well, then it’s even better.” I turn back to him. “How come you never told me you’re an artist?” I realize the question doesn’t make sense as soon as I ask it. Until recently, I’ve never really made an effort to find out anything about Kai’s life. I’ve never wanted to know.
“He’s being shy, but he’s extraordinarily talented,” Kai’s mom says. “I’m an art teacher now over at the elementary school. Not many eleven-year-olds can paint like that.”
“Can I see anything else you’ve painted?” I walk back over to join him on the stools.
“No,” he says. “It’s private.”
“But I’m your giiiiirlfriend,” I say, batting my eyes at him and pouting my lips. If we’re gonna go through with this charade, then I’m going to take advantage of it in all the ways I can.
“Don’t be a douchebag, Kai,” his mom says, and I burst out laughing. “Show the girl your art.”
She turns back to the stove, facing away from us, and Kai glares at me.
“Don’t break your mom’s heart,” I whisper with an evil smile. “Show your beautiful girlfriend your art.”
You’re evil, he mouths back at me. “After dinner, okay?”
“Yay!” I clap my hands together, happy I’ve won this battle. But there’s more to it too—I really do want to see his other paintings. I want to get this honest glimpse of him, peel back the layers to see who he really is underneath all the puns and defensive jokes.
“I do art sometimes too,” I say. “Well, not real art, but . . . I like making crafts. Sewing clothes and doing makeup and stuff. I watch DIY videos on YouTube.”
“That certainly is real art,” Kai’s mom says. “Anything you put your heart into is art.”
“Oh boy, don’t get her started,” Kai says.
“It’s true!” she counters. “Art is a state of mind. Penny, you should look into taking some classes.”
“We have a studio at school, actually. Olivia is really into photography, so she stays after a lot and works in the darkroom.”
“Olivia?” Kai’s mom asks, and I wince. I cannot believe I brought up his ex-girlfriend’s name in his house with his mom. I don’t want her to be reminded of Olivia—of all the ways I’m different. Of all the ways I don’t measure up.
“Olivia from school,” Kai says. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, you could look into other art classes too,” she continues. “There are some wonderful classes available at the university that are open for all ages. I could talk to some of my contacts there if you’d like?”
“Um, sure,” I say, breaking into a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Tanaka.”
“Mari,” she corrects again. “And of course! We’ve got to nurture that creative instinct of yours.” She turns back to the stove, stirring, and as I watch her, I feel unexpected tears sting at the corners of my eyes. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. I can’t cry right now. It would be so embarrassing and ridiculous and out of place. It’s just—this is how I wish it could be with my mom. I know she loves me, I know she means well, but I want her to show it. I want her to talk about signing me up for art classes and cook me nice dinners on the stove instead of spending all her free time with her boyfriends and leaving me money for takeout.
“You okay?” Kai asks from next to me.
I nod, pressing my hands into my eyes for a second, and then smile at him. “Yeah. It’s all good.”
“Okay, cool. Good. Well, your mind is about to be blown. My mom’s food is insane.”
“Actually, can you start chopping me some onions, Kai?” his mom calls over her shoulder. She looks at me with a smile. “I can’t chop the onions. It always makes me cry.”
“You’re just a big softy,” Kai says lovingly.
“Yes, well. That’s true too.”
“I can help,” I say, jumping up out of my stool. “Actually, wait.” I dig my phone out of my bag and hold it out to her. “Can you take some pictures of us?” I forgot for a second that was the whole reason we planned this dinner in the first place.
“Of course!” Mari says, setting down her knife.
I pick up one of the onions and step closer to Kai, holding it out between us in a way that’s supposed to look pensive, like we are contemplating what to cook.
“What . . . are you doing with that?” Kai asks, putting his arm around me.
“We’re supposed to look like we’re cooking.”
“We could just cook instead of pretending to cook.”
“Then the pictures won’t look right,” I say. Mari snaps a few photos while we strike different poses. She hands the phone back to me, and I look through the photos, relieved to get this whole thing over with so we can go back to having fun. “Hold on,” I say, bringing the phone back up. “You should kiss my cheek.” I take a picture as he does, his lips tickling the soft skin there.
“That one’s better than the one with the onion,” he says. I post it, quickly typing out the cheesiest caption I can think of: Feel so special cooking dinner with Kai. How did I get so lucky? I add six heart emojis to really drive the point home. Then I turn back to him. “So what are we cooking, anyway?”
“You mean what are we pretending to cook?” Kai asks. “We’re making chili rice. We wanted to make you something local style. I thought about doing kalua pork and going, like, full Hawaiian, but I don’t really know how to cook that. Also, there’s no good pork on the mainland. It’s a fucking travesty, actually.”
“Language,” his mom says. “We have a guest. But he’s right. It is a travesty.” She turns around to face Kai. “You’ll just have to take her back to Maui sometime. Show her a real meal.”
“I’d like that,” I say, and I don’t know what is wrong with me. Like, yeah, maybe we’re friends now, but we’re not the kind of friends who take trips together. We would probably murder each other within five minutes if we ever sat together on an airplane. I would likely pull open the emergency exit just to get away.
“I could show you the house I grew up in,” he says. “I had a tire swing. Tommo and I used to fight like crazy over that thing.”
“You and your brother were monsters,” Kai’s mom says. “You would fight over everything.”
&n
bsp; “He’d probably like you,” Kai says to me. “He’d love that you put me in my place all the time. He was the serious one,” Kai says, lowering his voice as he says it, as if they’re bad words.
I remember Tom—barely, from before he graduated. He was a few years older than us, but everyone knew who he was. He was the star of our baseball team and kind of a big deal.
“He’s at Auburn now, right?”
“Yup,” Kai says, and then, surprised, “how did you know that?”
“You told me. I’m a good listener.”
“Kai doesn’t want to go to college,” his mom says. “He wants to travel the world and surf and make art. It’s a dream life, but it doesn’t pay the bills.”
“Wait, really?” I ask. “I didn’t know that.” It’s never occurred to me to not go to college. Olivia and I have dreamed of UCLA for as long as I can remember. It’s the plan. Or at least, it was. “But you have to go to school. That’s . . . I mean, that’s what people do.”
“Maybe I’ll go,” Kai says. “I just think eighteen is too young to figure out what you want to be for the rest of your life.”
“Now, that I agree with,” Mari says. “But I want you to get an education. I want you to have the best life you possibly can. An education opens doors.”
“I know,” he says. “If I find something I’m passionate about, I’ll get the loans and I’ll do it. But I don’t want to do it for the sake of doing it.”
I don’t know how to answer him. I don’t get how Kai can roll through life like he doesn’t care—how things seem to always work out for him anyway. That’s not how it goes for me at all.
The rice cooker on the counter beeps, and his mom removes the lid, using a big wooden spoon to make the rice nice and fluffy. Little puffs of steam are billowing out the top, and it smells delicious. She scoops rice into three bowls and then brings them over to the pot of chili on the stove.
“Wait,” I say. “I just realized what you said. What is chili rice? You’re mixing the rice and the chili together?”
