“What?” I demand. “What is wrong? I did everything you said, Simon!”
Simon wipes his mouth and holds the napkin against his lips for a moment while he composes himself. “There is a slight issue. With salt.”
“Salt? There’s no salt?”
I taste the trifle. It’s horrible, and I immediately spit out my bite into my napkin. “Oh God!” I look at them apologetically, but they’re both too busy giggling.
Esben takes a big drink of water. “It was . . . it was a really beautiful trifle, though.”
“Yes,” Simon agrees kindly. “Aesthetically, you were right on target. But since we are now without a dessert, why don’t we venture into the North End. It’ll be very festive there this time of year.”
Esben perks up. “I bet I know what you’re thinking! Mike’s?”
“This kid is good,” Simon says, looking at me. “Exactly! A little chocolate cheesecake!”
Simon drives us to the North End, Boston’s Little Italy. This area of the city is tremendously charming, and the old-world feel of the neighborhood has me enchanted tonight. Wreaths hang from arches above the streets, white lights twirl up and down lampposts, and we pass a Santa Claus standing on a corner, collecting donations.
When we are all seated at a small table inside Mike’s Pastry, I stare at my plate, taken aback by the size of my slice of the chocolate mousse cake that dares me to tackle it. “Both of you pose with your desserts made for giants. I need to post this important moment.”
“I’ve created a social-networking monster,” Esben explains to Simon. “Sorry.”
“Quiet! Hold up your plates!” I take at least ten pictures of them and then go on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook to post and check in at Mike’s Pastry. I tag the picture #singledadtakesusout, #boyfriendesben, and #dessertporn. After my picture goes live on Facebook, some weird window pops up. “Wait, Esben, what is this? It wants me to use something called Nearby Friends?” I show him my phone.
“Here.” He takes out his own phone, and, within a few seconds, he’s showing me his screen. “See? If you enable this feature, then when you’re out and about, you check in places and can see who on your friends list is close by. I don’t use it much, because the majority of people on my personal page aren’t really people I actually know.” Esben taps his screen, and a list of six people show up. “See? A few people are around. This person is pretty close.” He looks again. “Actually, more than close. He checked in to Mike’s!”
“Who is it?” I ask.
He frowns. “Christian Arturo. He comments on my stuff sometimes.” He clicks on Christian’s profile and taps through a few pictures.
“He’s kinda hot,” I whisper.
Esben yanks away the phone. “Hey!”
“Well, he is! But don’t worry. He looks a tad young.”
“Yeah, it says he’s in high school.” Esben looks around the room and then smiles. “There he is.”
But his smile falls away as he takes in the boy on the opposite end of the café. Christian is even more handsome than his photos indicate, with dark hair and dark skin that stand out against his white shirt. And on second glance, I see that it’s a tuxedo shirt and that his jacket rests on the back of his chair. He’s slumped in his chair, his cannoli untouched, and he radiates a sadness that makes me want to scoop him up in a hug.
“Go back to his page,” I say quietly.
The three of us lean over Esben’s phone and read through the posts near the top of Christian’s page.
“He was . . . going to his winter formal,” Esben reads. “Rented a tux . . . it was going to be a big night . . . and his date got food poisoning.”
“Oh no. That’s too bad.” Simon glances furtively at Christian. “He looks so depressed.”
Esben is still glued to his phone, but I can tell he is thinking, deciding what to do. Because this is Esben, and he can’t do nothing. I suspect he’s hesitating because we’re with Simon, so I prompt him.
“Esben?” I touch his shoulder. “Go. Go get him.”
Without even looking at me, Esben smiles. “You know me well, don’t you?”
Simon appears confused for a moment, but when Esben gets up and crosses the room, understanding passes over Simon. “This boyfriend of yours? He’s quite extraordinary.”
We watch as Esben gets to Christian’s table, shakes his hand, and sits down for a moment. Simon and I keep eating, our eyes glued to the table across the room. In only a few minutes, Esben and Christian stand and come to our table.
“Allison and Simon, this is Christian. I invited him to sit with us.”
“Of course. We’d love to have you.” Simon pulls out the chair next to him, and a clearly flabbergasted Christian sits.
“Hi,” he says shyly. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you. I, uh”—he looks nervously at Esben—“I follow Esben. This is so weird. Dude, you’re so cool. I can’t believe you just came over to me. And now I’m sitting at your table.” He looks at me. “You’re Girlfriend Allison. And you’re Girlfriend Allison’s father, right? I know my hashtags.”
I’m all kinds of crazy flattered, but Esben is as embarrassed as he always is when someone compliments him. “I was sorry to hear about your dance tonight.”
I nod. “Yes. That’s disappointing. Your date got sick?”
“Gosh, Allison,” he says shyly. “You’re even prettier in person. You guys are my favorite couple ever.” Then he giggles a little nervously. “Yeah. I got a call ten minutes after I left my house. I didn’t want to disappoint my mother, because she was so excited about me being in a tux and going to a dance and stuff, so I just came here instead. A little cannoli comfort.” Christian sighs. “This night isn’t exactly going as planned.”
“You didn’t want to go alone?” Simon asks.
“Well, no . . .” Christian shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “My date? It’s . . . well, it’s a boy.” He braces for us to freak out and almost seems more flustered when we don’t have a reaction. “So, yeah. Okay, I guess you’re all cool with that. His name is Doug, and I really like him, and he seems to like me, and . . . this was going to be our big night, because, well . . .” Christian glances around the table. “Is anyone drinking that water?”
Esben smiles and pushes the glass his way. “Go on.”
“Look, I assume everyone at school knows I’m gay, and everyone seems fine with it, but I haven’t exactly officially come out, you know? Tonight was going to be that official night. Mostly for myself, I guess, but my parents didn’t know that I wasn’t going with a girl. It was going to be a big night, you know? I just wanted to go to the winter formal and dance with a boy and stand under twinkle lights, and . . . I don’t know. It’s dumb probably. It’s just a dance.”
“It’s not dumb,” Simon says immediately. “It was important to you. It’s also important that you had a fun and safe way to come out. God, I wish I’d had that,” he says with a laugh. “You kids have it so much easier than I did at your age.”