Page 68 of Shutout
“Sure.”
My cheek twitches. Is this a good thing? Being her best friend again? Or is this a deeper level in the friendzone?
But she wouldn’t have admitted to putting on her makeupwhile semi- or fully-naked before, so I’m confused. Like, any allusion to nudity was strictly off bounds before the Dark Age.
The only thing I know for sure, is that I can’t be apart from her for a second longer. The rest I’ll have to take as it comes. Thus, I say, “Yes, I’d love to come over again.”
Her expression softens. “For old time’s sake, right?”
No, for new time’s sake. Hopefully, by next year’s Thanksgiving I won’t be her best friend, but her boyfriend.
CHAPTER 24
OLIVIA
“Brookie, just how much coffee have you had today?” I ask as we walk up the steps to my childhood home. We stop by the front door and because no one in my family is the snoop I am, it’s okay to have a little chat here.
My former best friend turned friend that I wish would turn into my boyfriend rolls his shoulders—not against the cold, but like he’s about to throw down against an opponent’s enforcer. He even shakes his hands wildly.
“It’s not caffeine, it’s nerves.”
My eyebrows would shoot to the sky if they could. “Um, why?”
He lifts those brilliant green eyes of his, which today match his beanie. “You’re kidding, right?”
Our breaths blow puffs that almost look like clear cotton candy. We’re technically still in the fall, but we had the first snow of the year just last night. There are patches of white still hanging on the steps and the porch rails, and the grass is mostly frozen. It looks a little like Brooke’s eyes right now, green and glittering.
When it’s clear I’m still confused, he says, “I didn’t come last year.”
“And?” There’s an uncomfortable note in my voice and I jam my gloved hands in the pockets of my coat.
Brooke chews on his bottom lip. “I don’t think they’ll be too happy to see me if they know why I didn’t come last year. What if they kick me to the curb?”
Ah, so this is what my uncomfortable feeling was. Remorse.
I dig my face deeper into my scarf, looking up at him from under the black wool wrapped around my neck. His cheeks and nose are flushed with the cold, and there’s a crease between his eyebrows as he worries his lip. If he continues, he’s going to bruise it.
Sighing further fogs up the air. Fearing that he could vanish like my breath, I free a hand and grab onto the sleeve of his jacket. “That’s not gonna happen at all. They kept asking me about you last year. It annoyed Trent to death.”
His shoulders drop a smidge and a wide smile forms on his face. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep. So chill, okay?” I ring the doorbell.
“I’m chill. Why are you ringing the doorbell to your own house?”
“Because I said I was bringing a surprise.” I grin up at him and bump his shoulder with my fist. “Tag, you’re it.”
The door bursts open and my mother’s expression is a kaleidoscope of emotion. The first one is annoyance that anyone would dare ring the doorbell on Thanksgiving. After all, the actual people she expects to see all have keys to the house. The second one is confusion because she sees me first, and then a super tall guy next to me. And then joy breaks out of her pores. I wish I was recording the way she spreads her arms wide, eyes and mouth just as big as she squeals.
“Brooklyn!”
“Mama Estela.” He opens his arms, one of them flying over my head and thankfully not knocking me over.
I leave them behind to hug it out and step into the warmth of the house. It smells like pabellón criollo and maybe I’ve turned into a cartoon, but the scent carries me over to the kitchen. I find Dad right in the middle of stealing a forkful of the carne mechada, his face blushing at getting caught.
“Mija!” He quickly dumps the meat back in the pot and puts the lid back on it. After tossing the fork in the sink, he engulfs me in his arms. “How’s my baby girl doing?”
I squeeze him just as tight. “You mean your favorite and least problematic child?”
