“It was cute!”
She wrinkles her nose at me, then turns back to the screen. “Oh my God, he’s about to do it.” She presses her hands to her cheeks.
On screen, Jim tells Pam he’s in love with her. Maya leans her head on my shoulder, sighing.
Her head.
On my shoulder. During a love confession. I’m just—
Okay, but how am I supposed to read this? Is this a friend thing? Is this what friends do? I’ve never had a close female friend before.
Her head’s still on my shoulder, even though I’m the king of awkward, with my arm just hanging down stiffly.
God. Speaking of stiff—
I adjust the blankets, blushing furiously. Think of Asa Newton. Think of Ian Holden. Jennifer Dickers. Fifi. Fifi’s humanoid hands—
Crisis averted.
Except Maya’s head on my shoulder is a different sort of crisis entirely. My heart’s hammering all around in my chest. I don’t know what to do next. Should I put my arm around her? Is that what you do when someone puts her head on your shoulder during a love confession?
When the girl you’re in love with puts her head on your shoulder.
During a love confession.
Everything’s stopped working. My brain my heart my lungs. Have stopped working. I can’t do this. I’m not a guy who can do this.
But.
I tuck my arm around Maya’s shoulder.
And without missing a beat, she curls up closer to me. On screen, Pam sneaks into the office to call her mom. Maya’s completely transfixed, biting her lip, hair falling loosely past her shoulders. So close to my hand.
Of course Maya has the softest hair in the world.
I run my fingers through it, tentatively. And then again, letting it thread between the tips of my fingers. And again.
She turns to look at me, smiling almost quizzically. And I lose my breath. I just.
Stop.
Breathing.
But she just turns back to the TV, nestling deeper into the crook of my arm.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this completely, nonsensically happy in my whole entire life.
Of course, we’ve barely made it through the credits when Mom, Sophie, and Grandma burst in, talking a mile a minute about dress alterations. Maya lifts her head dazedly when they reach the living room. Mom raises her eyebrows, making me blush to my feet, but at least she and Grandma keep it moving.
Sophie, on the other hand, flings herself dramatically backward onto the love seat.
“I haaaaaaate going to the alterations place. Mom and Grandma are so embarrassing. I’m like, great, fine, it’s perfect, but Grandma’s like, let’s try pinching it under the arm more. Grandma, let your armpits live! That should have taken five minutes, tops, but no.”
Maya straightens. “Ooh. So you’re wearing something custom-made?”
“No, it’s from Nordstrom.” Sophie rolls her eyes. “They’re just obsessed with everything fitting exactly perfectly. Whereas I’m like, okay, can I zip it? And does it not fall off? Great. We’re done here.”
I lean toward Maya. “Don’t let her convince you she’s so chill about this. She tried on twelve dresses—”
“Uh, that’s not a lot. Andrea tried on fifty-four dresses.” Sophie smiles brightly at Maya. “I’m so glad you’re coming, by the way!”
“Yes! I can’t wait. Thank you so much for letting me crash it.”
Sophie narrows her eyes. “Are you kidding? Pretty sure my brother’s—”
I give her a death glare. If Sophie says girlfriend, I swear to God . . .
“—best friend is VIP material.” Sophie shoots me a tiny smile.
Best friend. At first, Maya looks almost startled by the phrase, but then she turns to me and grins.
Kind of hard to know what to make of that. I mean, at this point, she really is my best friend. No question. But also . . . is that how Maya sees us? A pair of really touchy-feely best friends?
“Okay, Sophie, Jamie’s no help,” Maya says. “I need your advice about what to wear. It’s kind of fancy, right?”
“Medium fancy. It’s semiformal.”
“Right.” Maya furrows her brow. “So . . . not a ball gown, but not like a sundress, right? Should I wear a long dress to be safe?”
“Safe from what?” I ask.
“Oh God, you don’t have to wear a long dress,” says Sophie. “I mean, you can. But I’m not. Hold on. I can poll the squad.” She pulls out her phone.
“Okay, thanks!” says Maya. “And for the service, I should go pretty conservative, right?”
“Yup, conservative,” I say. “The goal is to dress as much like a Republican senator as possible—”
“Shut up.” Maya covers my mouth. “Cardigan and skirt, right?”
“That works!” Sophie checks her phone. “Okay, FYI, everyone’s wearing short dresses. And Jamie, Maddie wants me to tell you she’ll see you at the bat mitzvah.”
“Um. Okay.”
Maya raises her eyebrows. “Sounds like Maddie has a crush.”
“I think she’s into some guy at the mall,” I say.
Sophie rolls her eyes. “Ugh, no. That’s Tessa. Did I tell you they’re dating now?”
“Isn’t he a lot older?”
“He’s like a year and a half older, so not really, but . . . he’s also kind of really skeevy?” Sophie wrinkles her nose.
“I can’t believe you guys are already dating,” says Maya.
“Well, I’m not.” Sophie grimaces. “That’s all Tessa.”
“Weren’t you actively trying to make this happen?” I turn to Maya. “She made me drive her to the mall, acted like it was this big emergency, all so she could be a wingwoman, and now—”
“It’s called being a decent friend,” says Sophie. “But I didn’t actually think Tessa would be able to seal the deal. He’s fifteen!”
“So your friends are all into older guys, huh,” says Maya.
“Her friends are out of control.” I shake my head slowly. “Now you know why I’m terrified of giving this toast.”
When I get back from driving Maya home, Mom’s parked on the living room couch, waiting for me. “Hey! Can we talk?”
I narrow my eyes. “Okay . . .”
“Don’t look so scared.” She pats the couch, beckoning for me to sit. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”
Translation: she saw me on the couch with Maya, and is now planning to make the next half hour of my life as excruciatingly awkward as possible. Pretty sure this is going to end with Mom saying the word condom. Can’t wait to hit this exciting new low point.
I settle in cross-legged at the opposite end of the couch. “I’m good.”
Mom doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me with this gentle, searching expression. Which—wow—may actually be even worse than talking about condoms.
I rush to fill the silence. “Everything’s good. The campaign is going really well. They’ve had at least three dozen volunteers every day this week. Maya and I did a shift in Dunwoody. It was good—”
“Great!” Mom says.
“Great,” I repeat.