Page 59 of Better Than Gelato
It’s well after midnight when everyone leaves, and I take one look at the kitchen and decide to leave the cleanup for tomorrow.
I’m tired but excited for my first sleepover with Jake. He’s gone into Isa’s room to change. I zip into my bedroom and put on my fanciest pink and black silky pajamas and then make us some hot chocolate. It’s just the powdered kind, but it’s still yummy and hot.
“Juliet in pajamas with hot cocoa,” Jake says, coming into the kitchen. “This is just like that dream I had.” Jake’s wearing black sweatpants and a Johns Hopkins T-shirt. His huge smile matches my own.
“Merry Christmas,” I say.
The hot cocoa is too hot to drink so we snuggle on the couch, which turns into kissing on the couch. When we pull apart, our chocolate has gone cold. I want to stay on the couch kissing Jake for the next three hours.
Instead, I move the mountain of stuffed animals off Isa’s bed and tuck him in. He gives me a long, lingering kiss.
“Good night, Jake,” I say.
“Good night, Juliet.”
And then I crawl into my own bed and try to forget that Jake is sleeping on the other side of my wall.
* * *
The sound of my phone ringing wakes me up, and I know without looking it’s my parents. As soon as I answer, they launch into “We wish you a Merry Christmas.” My parents, like me, are not natural singers, but it’s good to hear their voices. I can tell from the echoey sound that they have me on speakerphone.
I tell them all about Milan.
“The city is huge!”
“My new friends are awesome!”
“Isa made it a whole week without screaming obscenities at anyone!”
“I’ve gained 15 pounds but I’m fine with it.”
And they tell me about home.
“We saw Maggie, and she misses you.”
“We hung up your stocking, even though you’re not here.”
“The main steamer at the shop broke, but we got the repairman to fix it in exchange for free dry cleaning."
My stomach clenches at the mention of the shop that has captured my future.
I tell them about the party last night.
“Fried chicken?” my mom says. “For Christmas Eve?”
“It was Jake’s idea” I say. “It turned out great.”
“Jake is your American friend, right?”
“Right. And we’re, um, kind of dating.”
“What is kind of dating?” my dad asks.
“Well, not kind of dating. Actually dating.”
“Oh! That's a big deal,” my mom says.
"It's not a big deal," I say. "More like a small deal. Medium at most. Anyway, it’s getting late there. You probably have more presents to wrap. I’ll let you go.”
