“Don’t throw out the container there,” Mom says, because she has nothing to say about her gay daughter but plenty about where it’s appropriate to dispose of dairy products. “And remember to bring your spoon back to the kitchen.”
Eating yogurt alone in your bedroom, by the way, feels sad even when you’re about to have your first date with your dream girl.
Maliah stops by a couple hours later without having responded to my texts. I’m so happy to see her I don’t even bring it up.
“I want to start by saying that I still don’t approve of this,” she says once we’re back in my room. “And I don’t think you need my assistance. You have the best style of anyone I know. But I’m your friend and I’m going to help you pick out what you’re wearing.”
“You’re wrong about Jordi,” I say. “She never went to juvie and she’s a really good person.”
Maliah sighs and sits down on my bed. “I know you have this weird, sad fantasy that you’re going to die alone, but that doesn’t mean you have to date just anyone who comes along.”
“Mal, I like her,” I say. “A lot. I just hadn’t told you because …”
“‘Because’?”
“Because of exactly this. Because you have something against her.” I want to say that I’m too annoyed to flip through my closet, but I’m not sure there’s a level of annoyance high enough for that to actually be the case. “Anyway, before it didn’t matter. I thought it was impossible.”
“I didn’t come over here to listen to you to insult yourself,” she says. “Wear the dress that looks like tie-dye and your pink wedges. Everything goes with your hair and you’ll look really soft and pretty.”
“Ooh, that’s good.” I pull the dress out of my closet. “I haven’t worn this to work yet.”
Maliah gets up to sift through my jewelry box. “Don’t wear any complicated necklaces.”
“Do you think it’s too much look?” I ask, and she finally laughs.
“No, you dork, you just don’t want to make it harder to access your neck.”
“Oh! That’s actually good advice.”
“Don’t say actually! All my advice is good.” Maliah takes out my strand of white ceramic beads I found for dirt cheap at a yard sale. “Can I borrow this?”
“Sure.”
She slips them over her head and examines herself in the mirror. “How’d Norah take it? The big date?”
“I think she’s still out there hoping I’m secretly dating Jax.”
Maliah laughs. “Gross. You and Jax would have the ugliest babies.”
“Maliah!”
She fluffs her hair. “What? It’s true. I can see things like that. You both have round, pale faces. Your baby would look like the moon.”
“What about me and Jordi?”
“That’s not scientifically possible.” She walks to my doorway. “I have to get home. Mom and Dad are making me go to this boring benefit tonight. Some disease needs money.”
“Sorry. Have fun?”
“Sure.” She rolls her eyes. “And, yes. In a more technologically advanced world, you and Jordi Perez would have cute babies.”
CHAPTER 12
The doorbell rings at seven sharp.
“Punctual,” Dad says. “That’s good in business, and it’s good in relationships, too.”
“Dad, that’s the weirdest thing you could say right now. Please don’t say anything like that in front of her.”
I walk past him to open the door, but he stops me.
“Let me do this. It’s a dad job.”
I’m not sure that’s true but I let him. And then Jordi Perez is standing in my doorway. She’s wearing a slouchy gray T-shirt with black jeans, and—a detail that makes my style-craving heart explode—suspenders.
And, strangely enough, she’s holding a basket of tomatoes.
“Hi,” Dad says. “Jordi? Come on in.”
She steps inside and glances around until we make eye contact and then looks back to Dad. “Hi, Mr. Ives. I, uh, I know this is weird but my parents insisted I brought these tomatoes. We have plants and there’s just been this … overflow of tomatoes. I’m sorry, this is—”
“It’s great, my wife and I love homegrown tomatoes.” Dad takes the basket from her as Mom walks into the front room. “Norah, Jordi brought us tomatoes from her garden.”
“Thank you,” Mom says and then looks to me. “She’s actually pretty.”
Oh my god.
Dad looks toward the front window. “What are you driving?”
“My dad’s Prius,” Jordi says. “It just had an oil change.”
“Sounds good,” Dad says.
“Don’t stay out too late, girls,” Mom says.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I rush Jordi outside before things can get any more embarrassing. “I’m so sorry about them.”
“I’m the one who came with produce.” She takes my hand. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile at her. In these shoes, I’m a little taller than her. “I’m so glad you asked me out.”
“I’m glad you said yes. Come on. Let’s go.”
I get into the car. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” she says with a smile. “I planned the whole night.”
“I feel bad! That sounds like a lot of work.” I don’t actually feel bad at all. Jordi planned a whole night for us. Who cares if it was a lot of work!
“You can plan our second date then,” she says. “Deal?”
Second date? “Deal.”
She reaches across the console to take my hand again. It seems unfathomable not to be holding hands constantly when now this is a thing we’ve done.
“Give me a hint,” I say. “About tonight.”
“Abby,” she says and laughs. “We’ll be there in about ten minutes. You’ll survive.”
“I might not,” I say. “The suspense might literally kill me, and then you’ll feel horrible.”
“All right,” she says. “If you start displaying any symptoms of death, I’ll fill you in.”
“Was everything okay last night?” I ask. “When you got home? If I can ask?”
“Of course you can ask. And, yeah. It was fine. My mom walked into the living room without her glasses, asked if I had fun, and went back to bed. There’s no way she could have known I had a different shirt on. Oh, and speaking
