“That’s Frankenstein’s Monster,” Jordi tells me. “Which is why you should never let cat-naming fall to the youngest family member.”
“The cat seems okay about it, at least,” I say, and she smiles.
“Thanks for coming. I know this isn’t the coolest way to spend today. My dad’s really into honoring his family’s recipes, or whatever, so we get roped into it sometimes, too.”
“I’m super glad to be here,” I say. “Though I feel bad because you planned our first date and now this is all you, too.”
“No,” she says. “Our second date is still ahead of us. My parents are involved, so this does not count as a date.”
“Did you have fun last night?” I ask. “Your photos were amazing.”
“It was … interesting. I’ll tell you more later.” She cocks her head to the side. “Are you wearing lemon shorts?”
“Be honest with me: do you think I have too many pieces of clothing that have fruit on them? Bear in mind an apples-and-pears skirt should be shipping to me this week.”
“I think you have exactly the right amount of fruit clothing,” she says. “Come on. If I don’t bring you in to meet my parents, they’ll get demanding.”
I’m about to ask what they know, but then she takes me by my hand and I guess they know the truth.
“Guys, Abby’s here,” she says as we walk into the kitchen where a couple around Mom and Dad’s age is sitting at the kitchen table. The air is fragrant with a savory doughy smell, like someone was just baking, and ingredients have been set out along the counter like ground beef, onions, bright bell peppers, cans of tomato paste, and jars of spices.
Jordi’s parents are, of course, cool, like they came as a matched set with this house. Jordi’s dad has bold glasses and a very precise haircut, and he’s wearing a James Perse T-shirt with jeans, which is the sort of look I should demand Jax investigate. Her mom has wavy hair like Jordi’s, but it’s longer and highlighted perfectly and completely goes with her flowy boho look.
“It’s great to meet you.” Mr. Perez stands up to shake my hand, and then Mrs. Perez does the same.
“I love your hair,” she tells me. “It’s like strawberry gelato.”
“Oh my god,” I say. “I love strawberry gelato. Thank you.”
“Jordi says you’re a genius with social media,” her dad says.
“I’m …” I smile at Jordi. “I’m okay. It feels like a goofy thing to be good at.”
“In this day and age? Not at all.” Jordi’s mom walks to the refrigerator. “Can I get you some juice or coffee?”
“Not so fast,” Jordi’s dad says. “We don’t seem to have enough onions. Can I send you girls to the store?”
“For a fee,” Jordi says, and her dad hands over some cash from his wallet. “Can we take Mom’s car?”
“You can take my car,” he says. “And go to Gelson’s. Trader Joe’s has garbage produce. See you in a few.”
I follow Jordi into the garage and see why she wanted to take Mrs. Perez’s car: it’s an old Mustang. I’m sure I never want to drive, and I don’t really care about cars, but oh my god. We get into the Prius, and Jordi turns down the volume on the blaring NPR.
“Hey,” she says, and we kiss softly, like it’s a secret between us. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you last night. After the show, they brought me to this afterparty.”
“Was it cool?” I ask as she backs out of the garage.
“I guess. It wasn’t really my thing, but Maggie and Laine made it fun.” She shoots me a look and then goes back to paying attention to the road. “We’re not found out, but … we need to be extra careful.”
“Why? What happened? Are there rules about dating? Is someone homophobic?”
Jordi squeezes my hand. “One question at a time. First of all, I accidentally drank, because one of the models, Aliyah, didn’t know I was seventeen and gave me what I thought was juice. And I never drink so I was …”
I grin. “Drunk?”
“What’s between normal and drunk? Tipsy? Anyway, they said some guy was checking me out, and then that turned into all these questions about if I had a boyfriend or not, and to get it all to stop, I told them I have a girlfriend.”
A girlfriend.
“If that sounds like too much, just remember there were something like five women chanting he’s cute and I didn’t know what to do,” Jordi says as she turns the car into Gelson’s parking lot.
“It doesn’t sound like too much,” I say. “The girlfriend part, I mean. The chanting part sounds terrible.”
“Okay,” she says. And she smiles.
“What did the guy look like?” I ask. “Who was checking you out? Was he cute for a guy?”
She laughs. “No. Come on, let’s get some onions.”
We head to the produce section, but I forget that you can’t get there without seeing an in-store display of their featured and semi-famous nutritionist.
“Oh my god,” Jordi says. “I never noticed this before.”
“I hate it,” I say. “It’s like my mom can watch me buy an orange.”
“Well, today she can watch you help me pick out onions that my dad won’t deem garbage,” she says.
“Your parents seem really nice,” I say, and then I’m not sure if I should take that opinion back. “Sorry, I know there was the whole thing with … it’s none of my business and—”
“It’s okay.” She hands me an onion. “Seem good to you?”
“Jordi, this is not my area of expertise.”
“My parents are …” Jordi sighs and runs her hand through
