Emmy & Oliver

by Robin Benway

  “That is WAY too late,” she said. “Caro’s parents are okay with that?”

  I shrugged again as my dad strolled into the room. “What’s too late?” he asked.

  “She stays up way too late when she goes over to Caroline’s house,” my mom informed him.

  “All we did was watch movies,” I said. “It’s like sleeping with your eyes open. And it’s rude to talk about someone like they’re not there.” I reached for a banana out of the fruit bowl. “Manners matter.”

  Both of my parents gave me a Look. “What, exactly, are you learning at school?” my dad said, shaking his head. “My tax dollars at work, I swear.”

  “Our tax dollars,” my mom corrected him. “Promise me you’ll take a nap later today, okay?”

  “Twist my arm,” I replied, not bothering to mention that taking a nap was already on my Short List of Priorities that day.

  And so was talking to Oliver.

  I had checked my phone the minute I woke up, waiting to see a text or missed call or something from him, but I just had junk emails from SAT prep programs and a few “Don’t you want to apply HERE?” colleges. (Those colleges were like clingy boyfriends or girlfriends. No one wants to go to school there when they’re so desperate to get people to do just that. They needed to start playing hard to get, I thought, or no one was going to ask them to prom.)

  I had deleted everything, but Heather caught me checking my phone three separate times at breakfast. “No word from Lover Boy?” she asked around a mouthful of syrup and blueberries, which was exactly as attractive as it sounds.

  Caro, however, dropped her fork. “Who?” she asked me. “Who’s she talking about?”

  Michael flipped another pancake at the stove, the sudden sizzling sound reminding me of an old torture technique. “Can we, um . . . ?” I nodded my head in the direction of Caro’s siblings.

  Caro didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed our plates, napkins, and silverware. “Get the syrup!” she called to me as she ran upstairs, and since I happen to love both syrup and Caro, I obeyed.

  “Are we seriously going to eat in your room?” I asked as I ran up the stairs after her.

  “What? No! Are you insane?” She beckoned me into the bathroom, then shut the door behind us.

  I looked around. “You want me to eat breakfast in the bathroom?”

  “I don’t care if you eat breakfast in here or not. I just want you to talk and this is the most private place in the house. What am I hearing? You told Heather something important, but not me?” She punched me twice in the shoulder. “Slugbug Betrayal!”

  “I don’t think that’s how the game works,” I said, reaching for my pancakes. “And I thought I was telling you, but you were already asleep. Heather happened to be awake and I didn’t even know she was in the room at first.”

  “Ugh, she’s the worst. So, anyway. Lover Boy.” Caro narrowed her eyes at me and managed to look intimidating even with a drop of syrup on her chin and pancake batter in her hair. “Did you . . . kiss Oliver?”

  I nodded, no longer interested in eating. “Outside. Last night, when we were sitting in the gazebo.”

  “You kissed him in the gazebo? Oh my God, what kind of weirdo romantic are you?” But Caro was grinning from ear to ear. “Was it good? Is he a good kisser?”

  I guess my hesitation and smile told Caro everything. “Get OUT!” she cried. “Do you think he remembers it? How drunk were you?”

  “He better remember it!” I said. “We were just talking and then . . .” I brought my hands together. “It just happened. It wasn’t like we were planning it.”

  “Yeah, you just lured him into a gazebo at a mansion.” Caro wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Well played, Emmy, well played.”

  I pretended to curtsey, which is hard to do when you’re holding a plate full of pancakes and your borrowed pajama pants are too big. “Thank you, thank you,” I said. “But I haven’t heard from him yet.”

  “Well, it’s not like you live next door to each other or anything—OH, WAIT.”

  I checked my phone again. “What if he doesn’t remember it?”

  Caro shrugged. “Then Drew and I will burn his house down.”

  “You’re very loyal.”

  “Make sure to say nice things about me when they arraign me for arson.”

  “Emmy.” My mom’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Are you listening?”

  Nope.

  “Yeah, totally,” I said, then hopped up on the island countertop. “Down,” my mom said, pointing at the floor, and I hopped back off. I had forgotten that I wasn’t at Caro’s anymore. “So who’s dinner with?”

  My mom raised an eyebrow that told me that’s what I just missed. “Maureen invited us over for next Monday night,” she said. “You and me and Dad and then her and Rick and the girls and Oliver. Isn’t that nice?”

  It sounded like a nightmare. “Awesome,” I said. “But the girls have a million food allergies. What are we eating? Tofu?”

  My dad made retching sounds.

  “I think they’re grilling,” my mom said, ignoring him. “But we’re supposed to bring the salad, which means that I have to find that recipe. . . .” She fluttered off to her laptop, where she organized recipes by food group, holiday, event, and season. It’s an Excel spreadsheet straight from foodie heaven. “Are you in the mood for feta?” she called to me as she disappeared.

  “Possibly!” I called back. I had finished eating that banana in record time. “Can I go hang out with Drew today?”

  “Ask your father,” came the reply, so I turned to look at my dad. “Can I?”

  “You and Drew have been spending a lot of time together,” my dad said in a non-nonchalant (or perhaps, chalant? is that even a word?) way.

  “Dad, Drew’s gay,” I told him, just as my mom yelled, “Drew’s gay!” from her office. I swear, she’s installed hidden microphones in every room in the house.

  “I know,” my dad said, then tapped me on the head with the newspaper as he walked past. “Your old dad may know a little more than you think he does.”

  “What?” I said, but he just waved the newspaper at me and went out to the garage, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

  “So is that a yes?” I called to no one in particular, and when no answer came, I decided it was definitely a yes, and went to call Drew.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Drew picked me up in his van an hour later, barely stopping at the curb before I was already opening the door and swinging myself in. “Hello, hello,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses. “The Drew Express has arrived safely and on time. Please feel free to give our fledgling business five stars on Yelp.”

  “I’ll tell all my friends,” I said, fastening my seat belt. I couldn’t help but notice that Oliver’s driveway was empty and that the blinds in the front window were pulled shut. Where had they gone?

  “Where’s your board?” Drew asked me.

  “Parents,” I replied, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “They’re both home right now, watching my every move.”

  “Just as well. The waves are super flat today.” Drew hit the gas harder and I made a mental note to prepare for my mother’s eventual discussion about how it’s a “safe neighborhood” and Drew needed to be “more cautious.” (Talking to her is like playing Mad Libs sometimes. You just insert the appropriate phrase into its proper slot.)

  “So!” Drew said, grabbing my knee for emphasis. “Guess what we are doing today?”

  “Surprise me.” His smile was so wide that it made me smile, too.

  “We”—he squeezed my knee again—“are going to Starbucks.”

  I just stared at him. “Wow,” I finally said. “Because those are really rare and we never go to them. I’m so glad we’re hanging out today.”

  “Could you please stop dripping your sarcasm all over my car’s interior? And I could give a shit about Starbucks. I like the place next door better, you know that. But Starbucks has the best employees.” He wiggl
ed his eyebrows at me.

  The pieces clicked together.

  “Kevin works at Starbucks?” I guessed, and Drew nodded. “So I get to go to Starbucks and watch you flirt with the barista?”

  “Feel free to live tweet the experience!”

  “Drew!” I banged my head against the headrest. “This is going to be so boring! And aren’t you supposed to play hard to get? This is definitely not playing hard to get.”

  “Okay, first, thank you for being an amazing, supportive friend. I’ll totally buy you something that involves whipped cream and I’ll love you forever.”

  “And?”

  “And the time for playing hard to get is over because I have been gotten.” Drew looked so pleased that the tips of his ears were turning red. “Kevin stayed over after the party last night.”

  “You had sex with Kevin?!” I dove for my phone, ready to text Caro.

  “No, no, not that. God, calm down. I just . . . we kissed and . . . you know, we actually cuddled.”

  “You do like to snuggle.”

  “I am a first-class snuggler, let’s be real. And so is Kevin.” Drew held up his hand, made a V with his index and middle fingers, then brought them together. “Compatible.”

  “Is he a good kisser?”

  He signaled to turn left out into the main intersection. “Do you think I’d be this excited if it was like making out with a mackerel? He was amazing. He is amazing. And he”—Drew honked at the person in front of him to move—“said he likes me back. What is the holdup here?” He honked again.

  “You literally look like you’re starring in a romantic comedy right now,” I said. “You’re almost glowing. I need sunglasses to look at you.”

  Drew handed me his and I put them on. “Do I look stupid?” I flipped down the car’s visor to look in the mirror, but there wasn’t one.

  He glanced at me. “No, you’re adorable.” He honked again. “I mean, seriously. How hard is it to press a gas pedal?”

  “You know Caro and I still have to vet Kevin, though. He needs to be group-approved for our official seal of approval.”

  “Caro already gave him the thumbs-up last night, even though she was so drunk, she couldn’t even spell her name. Which is more than I can say for you and your disappearing act. Why are we just sitting here?” Apparently, Drew had no problem keeping two conversations going at the same time, one with me and one with the traffic jam.

  “Well, I was a little busy last night,” I said, suddenly feeling my ears turn as red as Drew’s.

  But he was too distracted by the traffic jam to notice. “Are you kidding me?” he cried, sticking his head out the window. “The sign says STOP!” he yelled. “Not GIVE UP!”

  “I thought making out with someone was supposed to lower your blood pressure,” I mentioned as he settled back in the driver’s seat.

  “You know I have road rage,” Drew replied, like it was the simplest answer imaginable. “Now, sorry. What?”

  “What what?”

  “You were saying?”

  “Oh, just that I was busy last night.” I tucked my hair behind my ear.

  “Nervous tic!” Drew cried. “Tell me everything. Especially because we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He glared at the traffic jam.

  “So, um, me and Oliver sort of made out last night.”

  “Shut up!” Drew slapped the steering wheel in delight. “You did not!”

  “Oh, but I did.”

  “Okay, can I just say? Oliver is way cuter than the last guy you kissed.”

  “Ethan was totally fine, dude, I—”

  “Rabbit teeth. There, I said it.”

  “He was going to get orthodontia eventually,” I protested. “But I don’t want to talk about Ethan.”

  “Yes, okay. Redirecting back. Thank you!” he suddenly screamed at the cars in front of us as they began to crawl forward. “I was starting to worry that I should have packed a snack and a canteen just so I could drive three miles to Starbucks. So where did you make out?”

  “The gazebo, of course.”

  “Naturally. Did you initiate?”

  I hesitated just long enough for Drew to say, “It’s totally fine if you did, you know. You have to be a take-charge woman, Emmy. No one likes a doormat.”

  “No, I’m just trying to remember,” I told him. “I think . . . I did? Or maybe it was . . . ?” I frowned and tilted my head, like it would dislodge the stuck memories and send the correct one to its rightful place in my brain. “I think we sort of just met in the middle.” I brought my hands together. “Like this. But, you know, better.”

  “And he’s a good kisser?”

  I nodded, blushing again. “He’s no mackerel.”

  Drew gave my shoulder a gentle shake. “You’re so cute!” he said. “You and your childhood love, back together. Someone needs to call Oprah. Or Ellen. Whoever has a daytime talk show that will get you a movie deal.”

  “He’s not my ‘childhood love,’” I told him, making air quotes around the last two words. “He’s Oliver. He’s just a dude—”

  “—that you made out with last night. You’re welcome, by the way, for throwing that party.”

  “Thank you, Drew,” I intoned. “Best friend ever. You’re the best.”

  He nodded approvingly. “I think you and I should stick together more often,” he said. “We can make out with half of California if we play our cards right.”

  I just laughed and moved my hair again so it would stop blowing in my face. Drew’s car was amazing, but it had no air-conditioning, and all the windows were down. “He still hasn’t texted me,” I said.

  “Did you text him?”

  “No. That’s why I wanted to hang out with you. Because I wasn’t sure what to do.”

  Drew patted my hand. “You’ve come to the right place.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As happy as I was to see Drew happy with Kevin, canoodling at the register over the chocolate bars and day-old bananas, it wasn’t exactly my ideal Saturday afternoon. Still, Drew made good on his promise to get me some sort of frosty mocha whipped-cream thing that was delicious. It eased the pain of hanging out at a table mostly by myself, checking my phone for a text that never came.

  “You should text him,” Drew told me when there were customers, and Kevin had to take their order. “Just do it.”

  “Well, what do I say?” I ran my thumb over my phone’s screen. “Like, ‘Good making out with your face last night? Let’s do it again.’?”

  “Text Caro and ask her. You need all the help you can get.”

  I made a face at Drew but texted Caro, anyway. Her response came through a minute later:

  Just say what’s up or whatever.

  I told Drew when he wandered back to me.

  Drew sounded annoyed. “‘What’s up?’ That’s her answer? God, she bugs the hell out of me sometimes. I love her but I want to kill her, you know?”

  “I know,” I said, because I did. “That’s friendship, dude. Kevin’s free again, by the way.”

  Drew glanced over his shoulder. “Be right back. You better have texted him by the time I return.” He pointed his finger at me, then tapped me on the nose and went back to Kevin, who hadn’t stopped blushing in the hour that we had been there.

  I rolled my eyes in their general direction, then texted Oliver before I could stop myself. It took a few minutes to figure out what to say, but in the end, I went with something safe, just in case Maureen was checking Oliver’s phone. “Hey,” a voice said, and I looked up to see Kevin holding a duplicate of the drink Drew had bought me earlier. “Thought you might want another. On the house.”

  “The service here is amazing,” I said, then smiled and took it. “Thanks.”

  Kevin sat down next to me. “Drew went to use the bathroom but he said I had to check and make sure that you texted Oliver.”

  “So you’re up to speed?”

  “You made out with him last night but now you’re too scared to text
him and he hasn’t texted you yet?”

  “Impressive. You are up to speed. And I did text him. I said”—I held up the phone so Kevin could read it—“‘Had a great time last night.’ What do you think?”

  Kevin shrugged. “A little boring, but it’ll do. Better than Caro’s response, that’s for sure.” He grinned at me and I could see why Drew was starry-eyed over him. “Thanks for hanging out here, by the way. I know it’s not exactly exciting just watching us talk to each other.”

  “No worries, dude. I like when Drew’s happy and he seems happy with you.”

  Kevin blushed even deeper and tried to hide his smile by playing with his apron strings. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ll break my legs if I break his heart or something?”

  “No. I thought that was already implied. Besides, I figured Caro might have already covered that.”

  He nodded. “Last night. She mentioned something about a crowbar . . . ?”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “Did you text him?” Drew came hurrying over. “Did he text you yet? What did I miss?”

  “Had a great night,” Kevin reported. “I told her it was meh.”

  “Six out of a possible score of ten,” Drew agreed. He nudged Kevin’s hip with his own. “How long is your break?”

  Kevin just smiled and took Drew’s hand in his own. I couldn’t help but watch as Drew laced his fingers between Kevin’s and pulled him a little closer.

  I knew my cue to leave.

  “Well, thanks for the drinks,” I said, standing up and gathering my phone. “I’m gonna go, though.”

  “No, stay!” Drew said.

  “There’s scones,” Kevin added. “The blueberry ones, not the gross currant ones.”

  “Ugh, currants.” Drew shuddered.

  “I don’t even know why we sell them,” Kevin admitted.

  “Bye,” I said pointedly, then stood on my tiptoes to kiss Drew’s cheek. “See you on Monday. Use protection.”

  “I assume you mean an apron,” he muttered in my ear, but kissed me back. “Be safe walking. Don’t take any rides from strange men.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, then stole his sunglasses off his head and took a sip of my drink as I headed out. He and Kevin were already halfway out the back door, tripping over each other’s feet and giggling.