RAE: Actually, question about next weekend. What exactly is going down for Tay’s bday? My mom is asking if I’m going to be staying with you or going home, and the Jewish guilt is REAL.

ME: My parents rented three hotel rooms in that fancy new indoor waterpark place. One for my mom, one for Tay and her friends, and one for us, if you wanna stay. I assumed you would, but you don’t need to.

RAE: … because Jack will be there

ME: We’ll see. He’s still not here. Did I say that already?

RAE: Would you kill me if I spent the night at home? I’ll come back in the am for breakfast.

ME: Yea ofc np. Who can resist a continental breakfast?

RAE: You know me so well. What time do we need to leave next weekend?

ME: As early as you can wake up?

RAE: You’re asking a lot of me now Chase Arthur. But I know how important seeing Tay is to you, so I’ll let you live. How’s 8am?

RAE: BTW I just involuntarily projectile vomited thinking about waking that early.

RAE: THE HORROR!

RAE: You owe me

ME: You love me.

RAE: Ugh I hate when you’re right.

ME: OMG HE’S HERE.

RAE:

Jack saunters up in fitted light acid-washed jeans and a tucked-in white button-down shirt embroidered with tiny red roses. He even gelled his sun-kissed blond hair, so it’s kind of messy and flips up in the front. His gray boat shoes really do me in, though.

“Wow,” I say. “I didn’t think you’d come, let alone looking like …” I swallow. “A damn snack!”

“Jack the Snack.” He licks his lips and does this thing where his head dips and his arm reaches behind his neck. He massages it sensually until he slowly looks up at me, all hazy bedroom eyes and soft lips and pink cheeks. “You look cute, too,” he says, reaching for my black-and-white geometric poncho with fervor.

I can tell he wants to kiss me, but he won’t—not so out in the open.

“Sorry I bolted earlier. My head was kinda fuzzy. Being in the clinic was a lot for some reason.” With his other hand, he pulls out his phone and shows me his test results. “Negative, across the board.”

I do the same. “Me too.” I want to be openly mad at him for ditching me, but this thing between us feels so delicate that even though I’m holding it in my hand, there’s a chance it could break with just a little bit of added pressure.

“I’m okay now. I just needed a breather,” he says. “You ready to go in?”

The waiting area of the exhibit is pitch-black, save for a string of dotted lights along the perimeter of the room and a bowl of neon fluorescent bracelets.