Page 7 of Let It Be Me

I stifle a laugh. “You know, if you tell them at the bakery counter you have a friend who’s a total loser, they’ll gladly write out a patronizing message for you.”

“This is better, don’t you think?”

I lean my head against his shoulder. “Actually, it is. Thanks, L.”

“No big deal. I was craving a good Italian meal and a supermarket sheet cake, so I had bad vibes flowing your way all day.” He gives me a wicked grin, and I’m reminded why Lorenzo has girls falling all over themselves before he even has a chance to open his mouth. “So tell me about the job.”

We pull out two forks and attack the cake, standing at the counter while I tell him about my new role between bites of tooth-achingly sweet vanilla frosting. “Fish facility care assistant” is my official title, which means I’ll be spending my hours feeding fish, testing water quality, and cleaning tanks and equipment. It’s as unglamorous as it gets, and I’m more excited the more I tell Lorenzo. I wonder whether this is how other people feel talking about their majors.

I’ve probably been speaking uninterrupted for ten minutes when I notice Lorenzo trying to conceal a smile. “You think the job is a waste of time, don’t you?” I ask.

“For me? Yes, it would be a waste of time. But that’s because experience with aquatic life isn’t really valued in the NFL. I think it’s perfect for you.”

“Because I have a bright future in pet retail?”

“Because you’re excited for it. No matter what you’re doing, you always go into it with enthusiasm.”

Right. Except school. I settled on food science thanks to a short-lived spark of interest, the fact I had a couple of friends in the program, and because it was the path of least resistance based on the credits I already had—the icing on the cake being my parents’ disapproval. It’s hardly a passion, but as long as I can prove my parents wrong and land a steady job after graduation, it’s good enough for me.

“Is that your nice way of calling me flighty?”

“Pretty much.” He lets the full smile come through, but his voice brims with an admiration I don’t deserve. It was worth the wait to deliver my good news in person. I focus on spearing another bite of cake so he won’t see what that smile does to me. “Besides, the more wacky shit you get yourself into, the better you make me look.” He winks.

I pinch his arm. “Stick with me, kid, and you’ll go far.”

“Have you told your parents yet?”

“Nope. Saving it a little longer.”

“They’re going to hate it.” He smiles.

“Like everything I do.” I shrug. “But they can bitch all summer long and I won’t hear a word because I won’t be there.”

Lorenzo puts me in a gentle headlock and drops a brief kiss on my head. “Proud of you.”

“For?”

“For trying until you got there.”

I flush with pleasure. If I could have one thing for the rest of my life, it would be Lorenzo’s admiration. “So should I start cooking? I need to run home and get my pasta machine.”

“It’s still here from last time.” He bends down to open a battered gray cabinet and pulls out my beast of a pasta machine. “I’ll be your sous-chef.”

I sort through grocery bags, going down my mental checklist of ingredients while Lorenzo sits at the counter, a cutting board, head of garlic, and sharp knife in front of him. “You got fresh Parm?”

“In the fridge.”

“Good boy.”

He picks up the knife. “How many cloves?”

“A lot.”

I’m quiet as I set ingredients on the counter, soothed by the slow, steady rhythm of Lorenzo’s knife thudding against the wooden cutting board. He’s the best with garlic, producing perfect paper-thin slices in the same patient, meticulous way he does everything. My style is more smash-and-go. His always tastes better.

“Can I use your phone?” I ask once I’ve taken inventory. “I want to double-check the recipe.”

“Let me guess: Yours is dead?” He slides his phone across the counter, and I cringe when I see the screen. His phone background is a rotating photo slideshow, and the photo of the moment shows me and him smiling around a campfire sophomore year of high school. I hate that photo. That was the year I fell in love with Lorenzo. “So I saw Dr. Halpert today.”

---