Page 55 of The Way I Am Now
“It’s good! Here, try,” I tell him, hovering the spoon in front of his face.
“Gross, keep your old-person pistachio mint.” The barista, Chelsea, sighs again, thoroughly unamused. Part of me wonders if she’s looking at me and looking at Josh and wondering how—why—he’s here with me and not giving her a second glance when we’re so similar.
“Can I try the chocolate peanut butter?” Josh says, either not picking up on the barista’s annoyance or just not caring. She gives Josh his sample, and we both watch him as he presses the spoon onto his tongue and closes his eyes.
“Chocolate peanut butter, really? That’s what does it for you?”
“What’s wrong with chocolate peanut butter? It’s a classic flavor combination.”
“I know I’m in the minority, but there are just some things that don’t go together.”
The barista says, completely monotone, “Oh my God, take it back.”
Josh looks at the barista, then at me, and for a second I wonder if he sees it too. But then he says, “Okay, I’m sorry, but this isn’t gonna work out after all.” He turns like he’s going for the door, and I try to laugh because I know he’s joking, but then, out of nowhere, I collide into this wall of panic that rushes into me at the thought of him saying that for real someday.
I reach for him, but he floats through my fingers because they’re going all tingly. Time seems to expand in the second he takes to stop and turn back around and pull me into his arms.
“Just kidding,” he whispers into my hair. He looks down at me and kisses my lips, quickly. Time resets. AndI’m here, I tell myself,I’m okay. I can keep myself here.
I see: Josh.I feel: Josh.I hear: Josh.I smell: Josh.I taste: Josh.
He brings his hand to my neck and tilts my face toward him. “You know I’m just kidding, right?” he says quietly, sweeping his thumb across my cheek.
“Yeah,” I breathe, finding my voice again. Not disappearing. Not tonight. Not with him.
The barista clears her throat and says loudly, “So, one pistachio mint and one chocolate peanut butter?”
I look at her again, and maybe I don’t see as much of a resemblance anymore. She is just a girl named Chelsea who has her own life and will probably never think about us again after we walk out of here. “Yes, please,” I answer, stepping away from Josh and feeling my feet and hands and legs and arms regaining their strength as I walk up to the register.
“I can get it, Eden,” Josh says.
“No, I insist,” I tell him. “You got dinner; I’m getting dessert.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Thank you.”
Chelsea slides our cups of gelato across the counter and says, “Have a good night,” adding, under her breath, “I’m sure you will.”
We take our little paper cups of gelato and tiny flat spoons to go, eating as Josh leads us down the street. “So, I sorta got the feeling that girl didn’t like us very much,” he says with a laugh.
“Well, in her defense we were being a tad . . .cute.”
“You meanyouwere.” He nudges me in the arm, but I sidestep the sweet comment because even though I’m trying here, I’m still me, and I still can’t seem to acknowledge even the most innocent compliment.
“So, I’d like to guess at the theme of the evening.”
“Okay,” he says, scraping the sides of his dish and licking his mini spoon.
“Something Italian, obviously,” I say, tapping my chin with my finger and pretending to give this my serious and undivided attention. “Delicious Italian foods?”
“Clo-ose,” he says, drawing the word out. “Remember, though, it’s more of a theme within a theme. We do still have one more stop.”
“Are you taking me to Italy next?”
“Yeah.” He smiles as he tosses his cup into a garbage can. “I wish.”
“I have one more bite of my pistachio mint. You sure you don’t wanna try? It’s really good, I promise. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
He studies the contents of my cup and then says, “Okay, I’ll try.”
