Dear Diary,
Jasper, if you’re reading my diary again, I have one word for you: thanks.
M.P.M.
through the door of Tome Raider that afternoon. “And you’re not alone!”
I was too incandescent with relief to mind being exposed as a pathetic loner. If the shoe fit, and all that.
Arden shrugged out of her coat, draping it over the back of a chair. “What’s on the menu, D?”
“Snow Queen meringues. A fluffy outside with glassy shards of spun sugar in the middle.”
Terry’s hand shot up. “Make mine a double.”
Doug paused on his way to the kitchen. “Did you bring posters for the show, Mary?”
“Uh, yeah.” My cheeks reddened as I extracted the flyers for Othello from my backpack. “You’re all invited to the dress rehearsal on Thursday. It’s friends and family night.”
“How cool.” Arden grabbed a flyer from the stack. “Very VIP.”
“It will be,” I agreed. “Doug’s doing the refreshments.”
“I’m trying something new,” he chimed in, returning from the kitchen with a plate of meringues. “I call them Desdemona’s Pillows. But just between us it’s basically a pastelito.”
Terry reached for a meringue. “My mom makes those.”
“Really?” Doug rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “I don’t suppose she shares her recipes?”
“Yeah.” Terry held a hand in front of her mouth to hide the chewing. “Why not?”
“Great! Would she be willing to email me? I can give you my address.” He patted his pockets, searching for a writing implement.
“Or maybe she could stop by?” Arden suggested.
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Doug demurred.
“We’ll set it up,” she assured him.
“If you’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble, that would be wonderful!” There was a definite spring in his step on the way back to the kitchen, Birkenstocks notwithstanding.
Arden watched the door close behind him. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“About the pastelitos?” It was hard for Terry to concentrate on other things when dessert was involved.
“About your mom. You’ve been saying she needs to get out more.” When Terry looked at her blankly, Arden jerked a thumb toward the kitchen door. “Why not him? He’s single, he’s like a big gentle bear, he can cook—she could do a lot worse.”
Lydia swiped at the corner of her mouth, brushing off meringue crumbs. “I thought we were getting out of the matchmaking business.”
Arden flashed her a look of bewilderment. “Why?”
“Because of . . . everything?” Lydia reminded her. “We can’t just assume people want to be fixed up.”
“Of course not,” Arden said easily. “We won’t assume anything. Terry can ask her mom first.” She bit into a meringue, catching the pieces that crumbled in her cupped hand. “Now that’s settled, let’s go back to that fateful night. What did we miss, Mary?”
“That’s not a very interesting story.” Picture me lying next to a pile of damp tissues: The End. “I’d rather hear about you guys.”
“I’ll go.” Lydia sat up a little straighter. “Pittaya’s a gentleman. Very nice hands. I might see him again. Not that I’m looking for anything serious.”
Arden took a deep breath, visibly restraining herself from demanding details. “Your sister slow danced with Jeff, to a fast song.”
“And I wasn’t jealous of either of them,” Terry assured me.
“That’s everything there is to know about us.” Arden inspected a meringue it as though all her attention was focused there, instead of on me, fooling exactly none of us. “Which leaves you, Mary. And your dance partner.”
“You guys don’t want to talk about that.” I hesitated. “Do you?”
The three of them exchanged looks. “Um, yeah,” Arden replied for the group. “Feel free to skip to the juicy part. What’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing.” It should have been a relief to report this with a clear conscience. Instead I felt a distinct hollowness in my stomach, despite the meringue I’d just inhaled.
“You ghosted on him too?” Lydia asked.
“It’s not like we had a relationship. He’s probably moved on by now.” I tried not to make it sound like a question. Lydia shook her head, meaning either no or I can’t believe how insipid you’re being right now.
“If I can quote Miles for a second, I’m noticing some inconsistencies in your logic.” Arden bit her lip. “It barely even hurt to say his name. Progress!” She allowed herself a small fist pump. “What I’m saying is, if he’s not a player, he’s not a player.”
“I think maybe he’s not.” This was a bittersweet admission, to say the least.
“Ipso facto, he’s into you,” Lydia summarized.
Arden wagged a finger at me. “I had my suspicions a long time ago, after Terry told us how he chatted you up at that party. But then I figured, ‘No, if he was hitting on Mary, she would know.’ Since you’re all about hidden agendas.”
“Ha,” I croaked, for lack of a more cogent response.
“You haven’t talked to him at all?” Terry asked.
“Are you saying I should?” I’d assumed cutting off contact with Alex would be a condition of restoring their faith in me. The punishment must fit the crime.
“We want you to do what you want to do,” Arden said evenly. “As long as it’s the right thing.”
“But I messed everything up,” I reminded her. “Think about your list, and all the work you put into it!”
She placed a hand over her phone, which was resting face down on the table. “Actually, you didn’t go that far off course.”
With exaggerated slowness, Lydia turned to frown at her. “Say what?”
“First kiss,” Arden whispered.
“How was that supposed to be a group outing?” Lydia demanded.
Terry looked thoughtful. “Maybe if it was spin-the-bottle.”
“I didn’t say we all had to be there watching,” Arden retorted. “It’s just one of the milestones of a high-school experience, so I jotted it down. For Mary. Just in case. Totally optional, obviously. She didn’t have to kiss anyone.”
“Which brings us to the real question.” Lydia sat back, arms crossed. “What do you want, Mary?”
My hands knotted under the table. “It doesn’t matter. That bridge is burned. As in, ashes and dust.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Arden tapped the stack of Baardvaark flyers.
“Put on a thinly veiled dramatic reenactment of our story and see how he reacts?” I guessed, thinking of Hamlet.
Lydia frowned. “I’m pretty sure she means he’ll be at the play to see his sister. On Thursday.”
“Think of it as a do-over,” said Arden. “You say, ‘You know what, I’m kind of into this guy’ and we go, ‘Okay, interesting, tell us more.’ And we take it from there.”
I bowed my head. “Is that really how it would have been?”
“If someone said to you, ‘I have the hots for Alex Ritter,’ what would you say? ‘Ooh, that’s so freaky, I have no idea what you see in him?’ No,” Lydia continued, answering her own question. “You wouldn’t. Because we’re talking about Alex Ritter.”
“Actually, I did say that,” I reminded them. “To Terry. The first time we met.”
Arden patted my hand. “You’re special, Mary.”
Pushing her napkin to one side, Lydia leaned her elbows on the table. “What’s your move?”
“I don’t know.”
“What would a person in your books do?” Terry asked.
“One where they don’t all die,” Arden amended.
“I thought I was supposed to stop relying on books to figure things out.”
“Mary.” Arden’s tone was solemn. “You’re still you.”
“Don’t change yourself for a dude,” added Lydia.
“There is one thing,” I admitted. And it was pretty literary, in the WWJAD sense. “I’ve been writing him letters.”
“And?” Lydia circled a hand in the air. “What did he say?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
Terry sucked in a breath.
“I haven’t actually sent any of them. It was more for me—just to have a way to express things I was feeling.”
Arden nodded slowly. “A love letter. I like it. Old-school romantic.”
“It was really more of a long, detailed apology.” My wrist cramped at the memory. “Pages and pages.”
There was a brief silence.
“Yeah, no,” said Lydia. “That’s not going to work.”
“Think short apology, then straight to the sappy stuff,” Arden advised. “I don’t suppose you know calligraphy?” I shook my head.
“She’s still going to have to talk to him,” Lydia said. “Mano a mano.”
“That means hand to hand,” Terry told her.
“Huh. You get what I’m saying. The letter is like your deposition—”
“Only on beautiful stationery,” Arden cut in. “And maybe you should spritz it with a little perfume.”
“And send him something sweet with it, like cookies,” suggested Terry.
Lydia cleared her throat. “As I was saying, you can start with the letter, but you’ll still have to take the stand eventually.”
“And we’ll all cross our fingers the verdict goes your way.” Arden gave an exaggerated wink. “Because I’m pretty sure Mary checked off another item on my list.”
“Colossal screwup?” I guessed.
She shook her head. “First love-slash-crush. Because you really fell for him. Am I right?”
I nodded. Guilty as charged.