“I like my snowwomen with carrot noses and vanilla wafer eyes,” Jackson says.
I laugh a little, surprising myself. I can’t say I’ll miss the snowwoman when she’s nothing but popcorn in a puddle—I’m obviously going to throw the shard of glass away before ditching her—but this was a nice recess from everything. Maybe that’s what Jackson is: a recess from everything, even though he’s got a foot in everything, too. I guess I could say he’s freedom.
Did you think of Jackson as freedom?
It doesn’t matter how long I’ve lived in New York, but every now and again someone suggests a restaurant that’s been around forever but whose existence still surprises me. I know the city is big, but wow. I can only imagine how shocked I would’ve been if I had gone out to Los Angeles. Anika is apparently a fan of Spotlight Diner, across the street from Washington Square Park and the NYU dorms. It’s a little more downtown than I’m used to these days, but it’s a guarantee that Jackson’s birthday isn’t doomed—Anika and Veronika’s chances of actually showing up are way higher since we’re so close to where they live. If they do ditch, Jackson and I can go to the High Line, which is either a twenty-minute walk or quick cab away. (If I can find a cab, then a cab it is.)
Jackson is sitting on my right, of course. Directly across from our booth is a mirror. I’ve got to say, the gray dress shirt Jackson is borrowing from me doesn’t look bad on him. I’m not going that far and saying it looks good, because it’s just as baggy on him as it is on me, but he’s somehow managing not to look like he’s living out of someone else’s closet. It’s probably too late to gift it to him for his birthday, right? Nothing would be better than the old “If you like it, you can keep it” trick.
“Anything else I should know about Anika and Veronika?” I ask him. I’ve gotten some basics but not the intimate stuff, nothing like the topics I should avoid or things that might offend them. I’ve been ambushed in the past that way, and it sucked.
“Yeah, anything else he should know?” a girl cackles beside me.
I glance up. I recognize Anika and Veronika from the photos on Jackson’s phone, but he really needs a phone with better camera quality. These two are I’m-forgetting-I’m-gay stunning. They both have dark skin and are dressed like sisters in their denim tops, but that’s where their physical similarities end. Anika has long braided hair and a lean, muscular frame—probably from running track. Veronika’s hair is shaved and she’s got piercings in her nose, left eyebrow, ears, and the corner of her lower lip.
“Happy birthday!” Anika says.
Veronika cheers.
Jackson slides out of the booth and tries to hug Anika first, but Veronika sneaks in, squeezing his midriff.
“I’m so happy you made it,” he says.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the apocalypse,” Veronika says.
“For the thousandth time this week, that doesn’t make sense. Retire it,” Anika says, shoving Veronika out of the way to hug Jackson. “You’re basically admitting you’re otherwise open to watching the world burn.”
“For the thousandth time this week, the world often sucks and I can either burn with my eyes closed or watch it all turn to ash for a hot second,” Veronika says. She settles into the booth without saying anything to me.
Anika waves Veronika off and turns to me. “Griffin, right? I’m Anika.”
“Hi.” I stand and shake her hand before falling back into my seat.
“The other woman,” Veronika says. “So to speak.”
I’m not the other. I was the first.
“She’s kidding,” Anika says with a dark look at her friend, sliding in beside her. “She’s not funny, but she’s kidding.”
I’m not laughing, and I won’t fake laugh.
Jackson sits back down slowly, as if he’s suddenly unsure if this was a good idea. But his smile doesn’t waver. “It’s really good to see you both. How was Thanksgiving? How have classes been? What’s going on?”
He’s only asked three questions and before I can jump in to nudge him to ask a fourth, Anika and Veronika fire off answers.
“Thanksgiving was weird without you. No one ate my mom’s cranberry stuffing,” Veronika pipes up, casually reading the menu.
“But everyone understands why you weren’t there,” Anika adds.
“My mom sends her condolences, obviously.”
“How are you do—”
“Classes are okay,” Veronika interrupts. “We’re partying a lot with the theater crew. We’re not failing any classes yet either, so that’s a plus. NYU is putting together a production of what’s basically a hipster version of Peter Pan. Anika and I are going to go head-to-head for Wendy, even though she can no doubt steal the role of Captain Hook from this dude Jeremy if she wanted.”