Conversation flows light and easy as the tables fill up with everyone’s arrivals, and while no one actively greets Jack the way they do the guys, they don’t say anything nasty to her either. Which I guess is … something.

“Lemme know if you need some menu guidance,” Miguel says to Jack, the first person to speak to her all night, and I think I fall even more deeply into platonic love with him in that moment. “Not everything is as safe as it sounds.”

“Do tell.” She leans forward, eyes glittering, and a little ache forms in my chest at how alive she is from just being acknowledged here. “Is Maggie’s Super Combo Breakfast Platter not super after all?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” he responds in his booming announcer voice, then drops to a quieter tone so it won’t carry to the kitchen. “You see, while Maggie is excellent at pancakes and waffles, and no one can really screw up bacon—”

“That’s a dirty lie,” Zach pipes up. “Devlin’s mom may be super hot, but her bacon is god-awful.”

“That’s because it’s vegan, you fucknugget,” Matt replies, smacking Zach on the back of his head. “And stop talking about my mom being hot.”

“Is his mom hot?” Jack murmurs to me.

“Very,” I mouth, and she smothers a laugh behind her hands, disguising it as a cough.

“And no one can really screw up bacon,” Miguel repeats firmly, never one to allow his life lessons to be interrupted, “Maggie’s hash browns are always underseasoned and somehow manage to be both burnt and raw at the same time.”

He’s not wrong, and it truly is a mystery of science. But before anyone else can confirm or deny, Cara somberly says, “Robbie used to get the Super Combo Breakfast Platter,” and it shuts everyone’s laughing right up.

“Oh man, yeah, he did,” Dan Sanchez murmurs, and the rest of the table nods.

Jack’s eyes widen as she looks to me for help. “Guess it’s truly the breakfast of Alligator champions,” I say cheerfully. “Even if Maggie has not mastered hash browns.”

No one laughs except Miguel, and a couple of people toss glares at Jack. I claw my fingers into Miguel’s sweatpants-covered thigh, and he squeezes my hand. At least one person here knows everyone’s being utterly ridiculous. “Really, you should try the Western omelet,” Miguel suggests to Jack, as if changing her order will somehow sufficiently preserve Robbie’s memory. “That’s really good here.”

It’s not. Maggie puts in too many tomatoes and it always ends up a little watery. But Jack nods, and that’s the order she gives to the waitress.

“I’m gonna have the Super Combo Breakfast Platter,” Dan declares. “In honor of Robbie.”