Chapter 6
“Pag’s pancakes are proof of miracles, don’t you think?” Cash asks at breakfast the next morning.
“Honestly, it’s magic and a miracle that we are finally situated,” Izaac says.
It’s true, it did take a full five minutes for us to maneuver around one another and remove all our layers before we could settle into our booth.
If I could, I’d just live in my cozy sweater era for always.
But in the winter, wearing enough clothes to be warm-ish outside makes everything so freaking hard.
“Order up!” shouts Lazo, the surly owner of Pag’s, and we all pause to take giant whiffs of the fluffy, syrupy flapjacks floating by on the servers’ trays.
“Soooo, what’d Naomi think of Marley?” Cash asks the second we’re situated.
He’s rocking back and forth in his seat, rubbing his hands together, looking like a slightly unhinged but loveable elf.
He’s in good spirits this morning; actually, everyone seems to be, which feels like an auspicious start to our movie marathon day.
More of a reason to get this part of the conversation over with and move on to the good parts.
“Hard to say,” I reply. “Didn’t make it ’til she got in to find out.”
When I left the house this morning, Naomi was still asleep.
I assume she saw the tree, since she would have had to pass him on her way to bed, but then again, sometimes my mom comes home so tired that she doesn’t know which end is up.
Which makes me feel bad, and mad, and sad, and all the things.
But right now, it also means I really don’t know the answer to Cash’s question.
“Oh, well, I’m sure she’ll love him,” says Cash quickly, because they all know the drill by now with Naomi, and they know me better than anyone.
“He’s right,” Izaac adds. “She just needs to meet Marley when she’s well rested.”
“I never would have let him go home with you if I didn’t believe that,” Diya chimes in, dropping her curmudgeon vibe to offer her encouragement too.
“Sigh,” I say. “You guys are the reason for the season.”
“Anything for you, BB,” Izaac says.
“Well, I’m glad to hear you say that,” I jump in, thrilled to have a segue to change the subject. “Because I’m going to have to enlist you in another endeavor already.”
“Uh-oh,” Diya says, and Izaac’s eyes narrow.
“Don’t worry. This one has a lot less logistics,” I go on. “Just requires you to be your wonderful selves and to commit to a little casual on-camera time.” I set my mom’s camcorder on the table.
Before I fell asleep, I was researching documentary styles and formats.
My idea is to do a vérité-style film—which from what I understand just means following along and observing life without interrupting it.
I may not know much about making a doc, but making myself invisible?
That is something I’ve had plenty of practice with at home these last few years.
Cash starts preening and Izaac smiles at him before looking back at me.
“Gonna need to run footage past legal, boss,” he says. “Can’t risk campaign scandals.”
“Oh, I’m confident this will only endear you to prospective constituents,” I say, straightening up. “More of a December present than an October surprise.”
“Wait, is this for your application stuff?” Diya asks.
I nod proudly.
“I’m venturing into the world of documentary filmmaking.”
I’m thankful to finally have something to report on this front, especially to Izaac, but he gives me a skeptical glare.
“Sorry, how exactly does that have to do with your applications?” Izaac asks.
“Well,” I say, and then explain my thought process, about finding magic and how that’ll strengthen my film work—though I leave out the parts about Eve. And about making a gift for my friends with the footage.
“Think of it as extra credit,” I say. “I’ll detail what I learned from the film in my Statement of Purpose, proving that I am a very serious person, who is very serious about my goals and career aspirations.”
“B, maybe you should just work on what they’ve asked of you,” Cash says.
“Yeah, I mean, I love your go-getter spirit, but ya know, maybe just prioritize and focus,” Diya says gently.
“They’re being kind,” Izaac says, gesturing to Diya and Cash. “So allow me to be real. If you start something new every week, you’ll never get any of it done!”
“I’ve got plenty of time!” I say, partially to convince myself.
“You have twelve days,” Diya says.
“And John Hughes—”
“Wrote Home Alone in nine days,” they all say in unison.
“You guys! You really do listen,” I say, with both hands over my heart, and there’s a round of eye rolls and grumbles. “Anyway, I had a fresh wave of inspiration. I’m riding it. I feel good about this finally.”
“And where, pray tell, is this burst of inspiration coming from?” Izaac asks.
“Just… ya know. Fresh perspective, I guess.”
“More like fresh meat,” Cash says. “I saw that look on your face yesterday with that girl.”
“Don’t be gross,” Diya says to him, outraged. “Although, he’s not wrong,” she adds to me.
“You were smitten,” Cash says, and I can feel the blush bloom across my cheeks.
“Whoooooa. I’m sorry, run that back?” Izaac says before I can react. He lets his menu flop to the table. Even his hair stands more at attention.
Mercifully, our server, Jolene, shows up exactly on cue and gives me a chance to stall.
Once Cash, Izaac, and Diya all agree to have the day’s special (Lazo’s choice), she looks in my direction.
“Short stack, side of bacon, and dry Frosted Flakes, please,” I say. My only enhancement to the classic Pag’s short stack is to crumble Frosted Flakes on top and between layers for texture. Lazo would actually lose his mind if he saw this, but it’s too delicious not to take the risk.
“Kid, we’re going to have to get you to eat something else someday,” Jolene says, returning the nub of a yellow, chewed number two pencil behind her ear.
“Good luck,” Izaac says.
“Yeah, her diet consists of sugar, syrup, candy corn, and candy canes,” Diya says.
“And Frosted Flakes, obvs,” adds Cash. “I support your dietary needs, BB.”
“My philosophy is not to mess with perfection,” I say to Jolene after thanking Cash for his support. “Which is precisely why I come here every week to see you with these three.”
I gesture to my friends, who shake their heads, and Jolene gives a weary smile before she steps away. I take the opportunity to try to redirect.
“Anyway, are we all ready for the Christmas Eve Eve Marathon?” I start, and wow, saying Eve’s name that many times is giving me feelings.
I pause, recalibrate back to the present moment, and continue.
“I have fully prepared the snack spread. Diya, I’ve taken the liberty of procuring cashew cheese and crackers since we didn’t get to discuss, and—”
“Oh, no, you’re not getting off that easy,” Izaac says, cutting me off. “A girl ? I don’t know how this didn’t come up yesterday during our tree trimming.”
“You, sir, are a dog with a bone,” I say, then sigh and lean back.
“Look, it’s not a thing. I bumped into some girl.
Did she happen to be gorgeous? Sure. Was she possibly the deepest and most thoughtful human ever to grace Ripton soil?
And did she just so happen to work at a bakery too?
And was she wearing an entire selection of very queer pins?
Check, check, and huge queer check.” (Cash claps at this last one.) “Buuuuut I basically assaulted her with hot cider, so I can’t say it was a moment of peak rizz for me.
I thought I could make it up to her with a tour of the fields but then my mom showed up early, Cash came and found me, and I had to hightail it home.
It’s not exactly going to make local headlines, okay? ”
“B, I see you trying to be low-key,” Izaac says. “But given that there are actual witnesses, it would seem you’ve graduated to crushing on a living, breathing human being, and not someone you invented for a script—and that is news.”
“Well, she may as well be an invention,” I say. “Because, oh right, she also lives in Brooklyn . So, back to our evening plans…”
“Brooklyn?” Cash has been on his phone, scrolling or refreshing or something, but at this he perks up. “What part?”
I reflexively glance at Diya and change the subject.
“The better question is, what’s happening in your phone that’s always so much more interesting than us lately?” I ask Cash, in the voice our English teacher, Ms. Cirillo, would use for the same question.
He has been obsessed with the thing lately, and I do not understand, but it feels related to his recent stress-iness.
“So much internet is happening, especially with this storm sitch,” he says, before he makes a production of turning it off and putting it face down on the table. I’m skeptical that the Quasar was his area of focus, though. “Better?”
“Loads,” I say.
“Well, wherever she’s from, she seemed highly interested in your whereabouts. All I’m saying,” Diya says, then hands me the salt, knowing I’ll want it for my cocoa.
It isn’t saying much, but I have to admit, I like hearing it.
“And I’m saying, you all need to take several seats.” I thank her and sprinkle a dusting into my drink before whipping it into a chocolatey whirlpool.
Okay, I’m bluffing. I do want to talk about Eve—like, maybe more than anything—but admitting I dropped the ball on getting her details is pretty freaking humiliating.
Izaac huffs. “You’re telling me a gay girl who happens to work in a bakery, just like you, and lives in the exact place you’re planning to move to, fell out of the sky onto a farm in middle-of-nowhere Connecticut, and you just so happened to crash into her but that’s not registering on your romantic Richter scale? ”
“The man has a point,” Cash says, and my heart flutters. “Have you texted her yet?”
“Yeah, let’s see her Insta or something,” Diya adds.
Just as quick as it fluttered, my heart plummets.
“B?” Cash presses.
And here we go. I sit silently.
“Bosley…,” Izaac says, dropping the last syllable an octave in disappointment.
“It was so crazy at the end!” I try to defend myself.