Baylee steps away, just to turn and face me. Head tilted.
I clutch her waist, drawing her back to my chest. “Put two shit emojis next to the ones that called you a corpse.” My voice is easygoing, not malicious or sharp.
“No.” Bay tries hard not to smile. “Be serious.”
“I’m completely, heartbreakingly serious. If you can’t be with me, I’m going to interview all the assholes who have a shot with you.”
“Really?” Her lips try desperately not to lift.
The food line moves. I step forward and walk her backwards. “You don’t think I will?”
“You don’t even do small talk. You usually toss a peppermint at people and walk away.”
“Tell me that’s not better than a how are you?”
She smiles into a headshake. “So not the point.”
“It’s definitely a point.”
My arms return to her shoulders.
And her arms snake around my waist. “You’d really interview potential boyfriends of mine?” Her face scrunches at the thought. “What would you even ask them?”
I raise my brows. “Boyfriends? As in plural?”
“I heard it’s better to date around.”
“From who?”
“Cosmopolitan. Aunt Lucy. Friends, the television show.”
I’ve seen a few episodes because of Katya. My brows furrow. “Pretty sure Rachel and Ross were meant to be together from the start.”
“Pretty sure they had to date around in order to realize that they were meant to be together.”
My head spins. “They’re not even close to being us. You know that?” We’ve always had feelings for each other. We didn’t willingly break apart. Someone ripped her out of my arms. It’s not like we chose to move on. We had to.
We have to.
Eventually.
“I know. God, I know.” She sighs a heavy breath.
What would I ask her potential boyfriends? “You know what I’d ask them?”
“What?” she wonders, understanding the shift in topic.
“I’d ask them if they love you. And if they hesitate to say yes, even for a second, I’d tell them to get a life somewhere far, far away from you.”
Baylee inhales and rises on her toes, her hand crawling up my back. “I think…”
“Yeah?” I whisper, both of us eyeing each other’s lips.
Affection flows through her features. I see the I love you before she starts to say, “I—”
“What’d you two like?” the food truck dude asks.
We flinch and break apart. Baylee rotates fully and my hands drop from her shoulders.
We’ve made it to the front of the line. We both swallow at the same time.
While she scrutinizes the menu, I check our surroundings. No one looks familiar to me. No Aerial Ethereal employees. Just some bickering families and couples with strollers and crying babies.
I glance back at the menu that consists of jerk wings, oxtail, curry chicken, rice and peas, fried plantains, and chicken, beef, and veggie patties.
She acts like it’s a tough choice, but she’s the kind of person that tries the same exact food in different locations. I know her decision before she says it.
“A beef patty,” Baylee orders, already fishing out some money. “Oh and…curry chicken with rice and peas, fried plantains. Two orders of those.” She’s stocking up her fridge for later.
When she finishes, the cook acknowledges me.
I ask Bay, “What’s your second choice to eat for lunch?”
“Jerk wings.”
“I’ll take the jerk wings,” I tell the guy, handing him my cash before Baylee pays.
She doesn’t protest, probably not wanting to hold up the line. We stand off to the side while they prepare our order, and I immediately read her features that say: you can’t keep paying for me.
“You can’t keep paying for me,” she says matter-of-factly, slipping her cash back in her wrist wallet.
“Look, we’re technically not together.”
“Right,” she says, “you just made my point.”
“But,” I continue. “You gotta wait for my but, Bay.”
She gives me a look. “Did you just make a pun?”
“Did I?” I give her the same face.
She laughs and then groans at the sound and rolls her eyes at herself. “That wasn’t even funny.”
I stuff my hands in the pockets of my black sweatpants; my casual attitude a trait I can’t shake. “Some part of you thought it was.”
“The part that’s infatuated with you,” she says, blasé.
I raise my brows. “A lot of my body parts are just as infatuated with you.”
She begins to smile. “One starts with a C, right?”
“Or a D,” I tease.
“P.”
“See, we can spell.”
“Yeah,” she says, “screw our tutors who wrote poor language skills in our tenth grade report cards.”
I laugh at the memory, but the noise fades fast as she waves her wallet.
“Tell me your but,” she says.
“But,” I start again and then pause. I don’t even know what I planned to say. I confront facts: I’m not with Baylee. I have to let her go at the end of this.
And I have to accept that.
Even if it hurts.
“But…?” She frowns. “You okay? Luka?”
I force a weak smile. “We’ll split the bill next time. Sound good?”
Baylee doesn’t prod about my change of heart. She just nods and then shrugs. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”
After we grab our food order, we stroll down the strip. No destination in mind.
I carry my jerk wings, eating and walking, and Baylee has a to-go bag hooked on her arm, all the extra food for later in Styrofoam containers. But she holds her beef patty, a golden pastry shaped like a squared crescent. Meat stuffed inside.
She groans in disappointment after taking a bite. “Shit.”
“Air patty?” I guess since I’ve seen that expression many times before.
“Yeah.” She flashes me the inside of the patty. I see only a small dollop of beef. “It’s like roulette trying to get a beef patty that’s actually full of meat.”
“The risk of ordering the same thing everywhere, you’re going to be disappointed at least nine times out of ten.”
“You think it’s boring, but it’s as fun as spontaneously ordering food.”
“Evidence?”
She raises the beef patty towards me. “This beef patty. It may’ve let me down, but I’ve uncovered a huge mystery about how it would’ve tasted in comparison to all the others I’ve ever eaten. That is exciting.”
I believe her because she says every word like it lives in the core of her heart. “Where does your millionth patty rank?”
“Low to mid-tier.” Baylee takes another bite. “Crust is really good.” She holds the patty out towards me.
I take a bite. It’s one of the better ones I’ve tried. I share a few jerk wings with Bay, which is why I picked her second food choice.
“How’s your aunt?” I ask.
“Happily married and in a successful career,” Baylee says, licking her fingers and tossing a bone back in the tray. “Also, very pregnant.”
“Wow.” I’m actually surprised. I forgot that people aren’t stagnant. That in five years, people do really move on, even if we haven’t. “She still hate me?”
“Aunt Lucy didn’t hate you.” Baylee passes the beef patty to me. “Trade?”
I nod and give her the tray of wings. “There’s no chance she liked me after we were caught though.” Her entire family thought were just best friends, not also boyfriend-girlfriend and having sex.
Bay shrugs. “She doesn’t like you, but only because she thought we were temporary.”
“Yeah.” I understand.
“My parents always liked you. Do you remember that breakfast where they invited you for ackee and saltfish?”
“I wouldn’t forget that.” I remember the moment really well. I didn’t know her parents for long, but at the kitchen table, her mom would discuss music of all genres for hours, and she’d recount all of Baylee’s embarrassing childhood stories. Most about toddler Baylee dancing without a diaper and accidentally peeing on the floor.
Bay claims she had an aversion to public toilets as a kid, and her mom loved to joke about it. I think she knew that Baylee wouldn’t be embarrassed. The stories only made her daughter laugh, which made me smile wider.