I browse through until I see one subject line that reads: unique cupcake inquiry!
It’s from Ariel Goldberg’s publicist.
I read the email and the speed of my heart triples and oh my God, what even? It was one thing to host a cover reveal for her. Now Ariel Goldberg wants One True Pastry cupcakes, my cupcakes, at her book launch? And it’s in Boston.
I screenshot the email to send to Nash and Amy, Elle, and Samira.
Then I don’t send it. No one wants to geek out with Kels right now. Nash and Kels aren’t speaking. Amy, Elle, and Samira called me out literally last week for ghosting Nash. I can’t tell Molly or Autumn because they don’t know I’m Kels either. I can’t even run into Ollie’s room and scream with him. Everything is off, everything is tense—and for the first time, my phone is in my hand, and Halle’s not alone.
Kels is.
I reread the email instead. Can I do this? It wouldn’t be me in a front of a crowd, but it puts my work out there. I read the date again, hardly believing my luck. The offer, the date, the timeline—the stars have aligned and I, Kels, have an early opportunity to test the waters and make a splash in the real world before my BookCon debut.
My followers are going to love this. This is my chance to take OTP’s brand to the next level. OTP fans eating OTP cupcakes. How cool is that? It’s not for three whole months, plenty of time to daydream up which flavors to make, what the perfect cake/frosting combos would be for Ariel Goldberg’s launch party.
My phone buzzes—it’s Nash, again. For Halle.
How have I not answered his texts yet?
Nash Kim
Wake upppp
1:45 PM
I’m awake!
1:48 PM
Hi
1:48 PM
Oh hey! Finally!
1:39 PM
Are you busy before Shabbat?
1:40 PM
Nope!
1:41 PM
Nope exclamation point? I seriously have no chill.
Cool.
1:42 PM
?
1:45 PM
It’s a surprise. Pick you up in an hour?
1:51 PM
Okay!
1:51 PM
Is this going to be our first date? Do I get to go on dates with Nash now?
Instead of spiraling, I shift my focus back to One True Pastry. Edit some new cupcake cover reveals in Photoshop. Avoid Twitter and draft an email to send to Alyssa Monday morning, during business hours. It’s probably a world record for longest amount of time to type up an email one hundred words or less. I read and reread it until I am positive there are no errors, positive I don’t sound too unprofessional or use too many exclamation points.
I love exclamation points, okay?
I’ll probably rewrite it again in the morning, but I save it as a draft for now.
Then, I reread Alyssa’s email and Nash’s texts and swoon—though over cupcakes or him, I’m not quite sure.
Halle and Nash, January 3
OMG can’t stop won’t stop reading THE SAPPHIRE PRINCE. Thanks for introducing me to my new favorite series!!!
12:31 AM
And for introducing me to A Novel Idea. How does Middleton not have its own independent bookstore?
12:33 AM
It’s a tragedy I’ve been mourning for YEARS
12:35 AM
Oh! You’re still awake.
12:37 AM
Reading too?
12:39 AM
Working on REX
12:40 AM
Well, trying to anyways. It’s kind of hard to focus on anything right now.
12:40 AM
Yeah, I know what you mean.
12:41 AM
How far are you into TSP?
12:42 AM
Truth? I haven’t even started yet. I just wanted an excuse to text you
12:44 AM
LOL
12:45 AM
BRB FOREVER WHY AM I SO AWKWARD
12:47 AM
Halle?
12:48 AM
Nash?
12:50 AM
I had so much fun today.
12:51 AM
Me too
12:52 AM
NINETEEN
It’s been six weeks since the first kiss.
Five weeks and six days since our first independent bookstore date.
And thirty-four days since Nash Kim became my boyfriend.
It’s such a weird word to type and think and say out loud. Boyfriend. Because nothing about my Halle life has changed. We still eat lunch in the same seats at the same table. I still sit two rows behind him at Friday night services. I still crush everyone at bowling on Saturdays, and Nash still drives.
We just kiss now. A lot.
Also, Nash and I have a dinner date with his parents every Tuesday while Gramps is teaching.
Tonight, we’re having beef bulgogi lettuce wraps—David cooks the best Korean food from scratch. The four of us sit around the table, passing food and making small talk. Well, Nash’s parents talk—about how much Middleton has changed over the years, about Nash. I listen. Chew my food slowly and sip on water and try to make my anxiety chill. Nash’s parents are nice. Really nice. It’s just, what even are appropriate topics of conversation to have with your boyfriend’s parents? I have no idea.
I mean, I have known Andrea and Dave for years, really, but only as the composites that Nash constantly complains about. In my caricature of Nash’s parents, they have clouds over their heads. But Andrea has a kind smile and loves to embarrass Nash. And David cracks basic dad jokes and loves to embarrass himself. Still, it’s easier just to nod along and answer any direct questions than introduce my own topic.
“Halle,” Andrea says, passing me a plate of lettuce wraps for seconds. The way she pauses after she says my name, I know it’s time to brace for a Casual College Talk. It happens every week. “Did Nash tell you we’re going to tour Wesleyan this weekend?”
I take two pieces of lettuce and nod. “He told me.”
Nash didn’t tell me so much as lament to me. I try to make eye contact with him, but he’s turned his attention to his food like it’s a plating challenge on Top Chef—so focused on achieving the perfect beef-to-veggie ratio. I understand. Admissions decisions loom near. The closer it gets, the more Andrea and David want to talk about it.
“It’s such a beautiful campus,” Andrea says.
“We know,” Nash says.
Wesleyan is twenty minutes away.
Painfully close, Nash wallowed. Like, live at home close.
“Clearly, Nash can’t wait,” David says. “His enthusiasm? It’s too much!”
Andrea shakes her head. “Sure, we drive by Wesleyan all the time, but it’s not a tour. You need to see the classrooms! Talk to current students about campus life! Try to imagine yourself there! At least be engaged in this process.”
“It almost feels like we’re the ones applying to college,” David says.
Andrea turns her attention toward me. “Did you go on any college tours, Halle?”
I shake my head. “Not officially, but when I was twelve, my grandmother took me around NYU. And I kind of just knew.”
Andrea crumples a napkin in her hand. “When you were twelve?”
“Yeah. I remember just having this feeling when I was there. I can’t explain it. My family has always moved around, so I have a weird relationship with the idea of home. But walking around NYU with my grandmother? That day felt like home. Or at least the possibility of it.”
Nash shoots me a look, like he’s grateful the conversation has pivoted away from him.