Again, But Better

Shane
GET THE HELL OFF MY PROFILE,
ASSHOLE.
Leo
Whoa, calm down, you don’t curse.
Shane
I THINK I JUST DID.
Shane

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ONE MORE COMMENT AND I’LL
BLOCK YOU.
A new notification pops up. Another post on my wall for the
world to see.
Leo Primaveri
BITCH.
A tear sears down my cheek. 
Delete.
I storm through
Facebook. Leo: 
Block.
Alfie: 
Block.
Angelo: 
Block.
Anthony:
Block.
I return to the kitchen ten minutes later. Babe’s still here.
She looks up from her laptop as I settle back into the chair
across from her. She must have picked it up for me.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, pushing a dark curl behind
her ears. She’s wearing adorable gold Mickey-shaped studs.
“Yeah, it’s fine. I took care of it,” I breathe. Babe rises from
her seat, comes behind my chair, and wraps me in an awkward
hug.
“I don’t think he saw,” she says quietly.
She saw
. My face burns.
Babe sits back down and tells me that her older brother is
constantly making fun of her obsession with Disney. She tries to
make me feel better. “Pilot’s been in class. We don’t have
smartphones here; he probably didn’t see.”
She’s right. She’s probably right.
I throw myself into proofreading the “That Time I Lost My
Passport” blog post about Rome. Babe lingers with me. I’m
pretty sure she’s just waiting for Pilot to get back, so she can
ask him about Paris. Now, there’s the added bonus of finding
out if he saw the stuff on Facebook. He finally strides in at 4:00
p.m., a few minutes after I publish the Rome piece.

---

12. Has He Heard?
“Hey!” Pilot greets us. Normal inflection. Good sign.
We 
hey
back casually. At least I try to. I think my eyes are
a little too wide to really pull it off. He’s carrying a store-
bought frozen dinner that he pops out of its cardboard box and
throws into the microwave before dropping into the seat at the
head of the table. Babe and I are seated on either side of him.
“So how’s it going?” Babe asks tentatively.
“Good, good! I got my internship confirmed this morning
so that was good,” he answers normally.
“Me too!” I interject.
“Nice!” he adds with a grin/head-bob combo. He’s wearing
a red-and-black plaid shirt with a black T-shirt layered
underneath. I nod, relaxing slightly.
Babe smiles at me like 
see, we’re fine
before turning back
to him. “I’m trying to plan a trip to Paris for this weekend!
You want to come?”
Pilot glances at me and then back at Babe. “Uh, yeah, I’m
down. Who else is going?”
“Shane and me and my friend Chad—so far!” The room’s
slowly filling with the delicious smell of Italian food as the
microwave defrosts Pilot’s meal.
Pies makes a Soprano-esque frown-approval face and nods
his head. “Sign me up. Sounds like a party. We can take the
Eurostar train, right?”

---

I turn my attention back to my computer screen, a tiny
relieved smile crawling up my face.
“Yes!” Babe beams. “Yes, we can. Great. I’m going to look
up the things we can do and get everything planned, and it’s
going to be so much fun. I’m so excited! It’s gonna be epic!”
She gathers her things and 
whooshes
out of the kitchen.
The microwave beeps. Pilot gets up to grab his lasagna and
slides back into his chair. “So, we’re going to Paris,” he says
casually, digging into his food.
I look up for a second to make eye contact. “Apparently.”
He nods, his lips quirked up to one side. I turn back to my
computer. When Pilot finishes eating and leaves the kitchen, I
blast Ke$ha and give in to a brief celebratory he-didn’t-see-
the-posts-and-we’re-going-to-Paris dance party.

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