Chapter 1 #2
So far, Diya has never admitted to her crush, but it’s on my big picture to-do list to get her to, right under convincing her that New York City is the center of the universe and our futures (another fact she refuses to acknowledge).
“Oh, cool! Good luck!” Seichi says, then turns to Diya. “So, did you see the latest? These predictions are getting wild. Like, snowflakes the size of dinner plates, and winds strong enough to slap the cocoa right out of your hands!”
He mimes this slapping and adds a mind-blown gesture, then grins and crumples the wax paper.
He’s finished with his pastry and obviously proud of his hyperbole, but Diya has moved on to untangling some of the netting that she loathes so much.
That girl will do anything to keep busy around Seichi.
“Sounds like you and your dad are going to be busy on Thursday morning.”
I thought my 5:30 bakery shift was ungodly early, but Seichi takes the cake on that front. In the winter, his dad runs a side hustle using the gardening company’s pickup trucks as snowplows.
“For sure,” he says. “Already set an alarm for two a.m.! But actually, that’s kind of what I came to ask you about. I was thinking…”
He takes an awkward pause and looks up at me, so I step aside to give them a shred of privacy. I’m pretending to spruce up the pastry display when I get a text from Cash:
Leaving soon-ish! Get that wood, Bosley!
I shake my head at the screen. Cash, who doubles as Izaac’s beloved boyfriend, is picking my mother up this morning, since I took her ancient Toyota to work for my shift.
When she gets here, I’ll need to be ready to take off.
Izaac will collect me—tree in tow—so she doesn’t see me and spoil the surprise.
I don’t want to block Seichi’s shot, but Cash’s text reminds me of what Diya said—timing is everything today, and keeping to a schedule isn’t my strong suit.
I know from experience that if I mess with the station organization, it’ll get Diya’s attention, so I reach to remove the lid from the cider urn, and—
“Bosley!” Diya shouts without even looking in my direction, and I suppress a mischievous grin. Like a charm. She has spidey senses for my chaos.
“Way too hot,” she says, with a no-no wave of the finger.
I put up my hands in surrender.
“Well, anyway. We’ll talk, Diya,” Seichi says. “See ya, Bosley! Good luck with the mission!”
“He’s so adorbs,” I say, stepping up to Diya as I wave to Seichi. “I can’t wait to see all your climate warrior babies.”
“Back to business,” Diya says with an eye roll. She reaches into her bag, then slaps a hefty stack of papers on the table. “Allow me to introduce you to… Marley.”
“Marley?” I echo, looking down at the Polaroid paper-clipped to the top sheet. It reminds me of a perpetrator’s file in a detective show. Except instead of a mug shot, it’s a selfie. Of Diya. Grinning beside a pine tree. “Meaning, as in Scrooge and…?”
Diya nods. “Pronouns are he/him. Naomi prefers the firs, and this guy is best in show. I selected him based on the following metrics.” She counts off on her fingers.
“Ceiling height, resources—i.e., the amount of water and time you and Naomi can offer—and the volume and approximate weight of your ornament collection. Oh, and the delivery system. In this case, the roof of Izaac’s Prius. ”
“Sound evaluation,” I say seriously, trying to energy-match Diya.
“Now, let’s do this, and tomorrow, we toast our success,” Diya says with confidence.
“Mmm, toast,” I utter, staring at the refreshment stand.
Diya snaps her fingers in front of my face.
“Bosley! Focus!”
“I’m with you!” I say. “Legit, though, cider for the road?” I nod to the urn.
“Are you seriously not full up on sugar after swimming in it?”
“That is a fruit, Diya!” I argue. “Gotta get my five a day.”
Diya gives me a look meant to challenge my understanding of basic nutrition, but then makes a Fine, go ahead gesture.
I set down my phone and grab my reusable, Cooper-branded KeepCup from my bag, then open the tap to fill my mug.
I’m about to take off, but Diya is back to her untangling and ready to get in a brawl with the netting machine, so I set down the cider for a second and step in to help.
I grit my teeth a little as I tear at a knot and finally get it loose, then stand back in triumph.
“Damn, B. You really are good at that,” Diya admits. “Thank you.”
“Seriously, what are you going to do next year when I’m not here to help you with this?” I ask. It was meant as a joke, but I quickly regret making it.
Cash, Izaac, and I try not to bring up the fact that Diya will still be here next year after we’ve graduated and gone on from Cooper and Connecticut. But ever since “someday” started to become “soon,” it’s been harder to remember that rule.
She shrugs, but she’s looking down at her mittens and I can’t see her expression. I sling an arm around her shoulder and try to course correct.
“Well, it’s a good thing I plan to come back here on weekends to see you,” I say.
Something awkward happens to her face when she looks up. “Yeah, ha, right,” she says. It feels forced, and I feel worse. I try to redirect.
“Anyway, at least for now we still have pancakes. We’re on for Pag’s tomorrow, right?”
“Obviously,” she says.
“Just making sure, seeing as so many of our traditions have been tossed out the frosted windowpanes this season,” I say pointedly.
“Your passive-aggressiveness is rivaled only by your pecan square production.”
“Damn, say that five times fast!” I say. “All right, I must seek Marley.”
“Go forth,” Diya says. “And know him better, man!”
I tip my hat, collect my scalding cider, and take off toward the Cooper Family Organic Farm tractor stop, prepared to meet my match.