Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(61)

She begins to smile. “One starts with a C, right?”

“Or a D,” I tease.

“P.”

“See, we can spell.”

“Yeah,” she says, “screw our tutors who wrote poor language skills in our tenth grade report cards.”

I laugh at the memory, but the noise fades fast as she waves her wallet.

“Tell me your but,” she says.

“But,” I start again and then pause. I don’t even know what I planned to say. I confront facts: I’m not with Baylee. I have to let her go at the end of this.

And I have to accept that.

Even if it hurts.

“But…?” She frowns. “You okay? Luka?”

I force a weak smile. “We’ll split the bill next time. Sound good?”

Baylee doesn’t prod about my change of heart. She just nods and then shrugs. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

After we grab our food order, we stroll down the strip. No destination in mind.

I carry my jerk wings, eating and walking, and Baylee has a to-go bag hooked on her arm, all the extra food for later in Styrofoam containers. But she holds her beef patty, a golden pastry shaped like a squared crescent. Meat stuffed inside.

She groans in disappointment after taking a bite. “Shit.”

“Air patty?” I guess since I’ve seen that expression many times before.

“Yeah.” She flashes me the inside of the patty. I see only a small dollop of beef. “It’s like roulette trying to get a beef patty that’s actually full of meat.”

“The risk of ordering the same thing everywhere, you’re going to be disappointed at least nine times out of ten.”

“You think it’s boring, but it’s as fun as spontaneously ordering food.”

“Evidence?”

She raises the beef patty towards me. “This beef patty. It may’ve let me down, but I’ve uncovered a huge mystery about how it would’ve tasted in comparison to all the others I’ve ever eaten. That is exciting.”

I believe her because she says every word like it lives in the core of her heart. “Where does your millionth patty rank?”

“Low to mid-tier.” Baylee takes another bite. “Crust is really good.” She holds the patty out towards me.

I take a bite. It’s one of the better ones I’ve tried. I share a few jerk wings with Bay, which is why I picked her second food choice.

“How’s your aunt?” I ask.

“Happily married and in a successful career,” Baylee says, licking her fingers and tossing a bone back in the tray. “Also, very pregnant.”

“Wow.” I’m actually surprised. I forgot that people aren’t stagnant. That in five years, people do really move on, even if we haven’t. “She still hate me?”

“Aunt Lucy didn’t hate you.” Baylee passes the beef patty to me. “Trade?”

I nod and give her the tray of wings. “There’s no chance she liked me after we were caught though.” Her entire family thought were just best friends, not also boyfriend-girlfriend and having sex.

Bay shrugs. “She doesn’t like you, but only because she thought we were temporary.”

“Yeah.” I understand.

“My parents always liked you. Do you remember that breakfast where they invited you for ackee and saltfish?”

“I wouldn’t forget that.” I remember the moment really well. I didn’t know her parents for long, but at the kitchen table, her mom would discuss music of all genres for hours, and she’d recount all of Baylee’s embarrassing childhood stories. Most about toddler Baylee dancing without a diaper and accidentally peeing on the floor.

Bay claims she had an aversion to public toilets as a kid, and her mom loved to joke about it. I think she knew that Baylee wouldn’t be embarrassed. The stories only made her daughter laugh, which made me smile wider.

Her mother was fun and protective and lively. Baylee used to say that her mom, she wasn’t just the life of the party—she was the heart.

And we’d play Trivial Pursuit before dinner. Brenden won every time. I lost a lot, but her dad—he’d come in last place on purpose. I was sure he knew who the author of War and Peace was, but he didn’t want me to feel badly for coming up short.

He’s someone I’d be proud to have as a father, so I know why Baylee cherishes the hell out of him.

Baylee balls up the thin napkin. “I like those memories.”

“Me too.” I felt so a part of her world. Sometimes, painfully so.

I remember how her aunt invited me over for the same meal after Baylee’s parents passed away. Lucy didn’t ever learn how to cook ackee and saltfish like Bay’s mom. I sat at a table with Zhen, Brenden, and Baylee—and the silent consensus was that it tasted nothing like the traditional Jamaican dish.

Lucy cried while eating and apologized profusely for being a bad standin for their mom. It was one of the most gut-wrenching things I’ve witnessed in my life.

Yet, I remember Baylee and Brenden assuring their aunt that it was okay. That she tried, and they loved her for trying.

We stop at a crosswalk, a red handprint flashing on the pole, and we dump our trash in a nearby bin. I think about offering to hold her to-go bag of curry chicken and rice, but I hesitate.