Opposite of Always(22)

“Oh my God, we’re going to Detroit to see Mighty Moat, babe, are you hearing this?” Franny is jumping up and down on the chair now.

Jillian reaches out to calm him down. “Please excuse my boyfriend. I water him whenever I remember, but he doesn’t get much sun.”

Kate and I laugh.

Then Jillian asks, “So, my dear Kate, in your honor, tonight we’ve pulled out all the stops. We have shrimp-flavored ramen.”

“For me?” Kate says, laughing. “I’m okay with original flavor.”

But Jillian won’t hear of it. “No, no,” she says. “Only the best for our esteemed guest.”

Kate beams. “Well, thank you.”

“Natch,” Jillian says. She rips the ramen package open, drops the loaf of noodles into the water boiling on the stove.

“Can I help?” Kate asks.

Jillian grins, hand on her hip. “You’ve had ramen before, right? I don’t even need my help to make it.”

“How about I set the table?”

“I usually make the boys do that, but . . .” Jillian points to a cabinet. “Bowls are in there.”

“Sweet,” Kate says.

I look over at Jillian and then back to Kate. The only two women I’ve ever had real feelings for in the same room, about to eat shrimp à la ramen together, out of my crappy childhood bowls?

It’s odd, right?

And yet it feels oddly right.

Two hours later, Franny’s in vintage Franny Storytelling Mode, and our asses, if not laughed off entirely, are barely hanging on.

“So, then Jack’s standing there with his pants around his ankles and Mrs. Calloway’s face is on fire, and she’s coming at us with one of those big-ass push brooms you use to clean a stadium. Except she’s trying to decapitate us.”

“Stoooppp,” Kate says. She nearly spits out her Kool-Aid. “What did you guys do?”

Franny eyes me. “We did what young gentlemen do. We hauled ass, and hoped to God she didn’t call our moms.”

“Oh my God,” Kate says, cracking up.

Franny shakes his head. “Seriously, Jack didn’t even get his pants all the way up, but you should’ve seen his legs pumping. He ran like he needed exorcism.”

“The first and only time I’ll ever beat Franny in a footrace,” I add.

“To good times,” Franny says. He holds his cup out toward the center of the table.

“The best times,” I agree, tapping my cup against his, the girls following suit.

I disappear into the garage to scavenge for ice cream in the storage freezer, but when I return victorious (Double Choco Fudge Fantastic and Buckeye Bite Bonanza), Franny and Jillian exchange looks. Franny shakes his head, scoots his stool back from the kitchen island.

“Actually, Jack-O, we’re gonna take off,” Franny declares. “Seems I have a history paper to write.”

“Aww, no way,” Kate protests. “When’s it due?”

Franny winks. “Tomorrow. Morning. At, er, eight a.m.”

“Yet you’re the picture of calm,” Kate says, laughing.

“You don’t know this yet, Kate, but our friend Franny here is Lord of the Procrastinators,” I say.

“Only Lord? You’re really selling Franny short,” Jillian adds. She gathers the dishes from the table, and I load them into the dishwasher.

“Guys, we all know I work better under pressure.”

Jillian closes the dishwasher with her hip. “Well, considering that’s the only way you ever work, it’s hard to disprove.”

“Ouch, that’s cold,” Franny says.

“Awww, my poor baby,” Jillian says. She wraps her arms around his waist.

“Baby, love you,” Franny says. He leans into her and she nuzzles her nose into his chest.

“Gross,” I yell. “We eat in here!”

“Get a room already,” Kate says.

But it’s hard to imagine anything better than my two best friends in love. Hard to envision a world where they aren’t perfect together.

On their way out, Franny calls over his shoulder, “You kids have fuuuuun.”

Jillian turns back, offers an apologetic smile as she ushers him down the driveway.

I lock the door, then rest my back against it. “So,” I say.

I squint, presenting Kate with The Jack King Eye of Irresistible Seduction. A look that, to date, has netted me exactly zero dividends.

“So,” Kate repeats. “What should we do now?” Except Kate’s voice implies she may have a few ideas.

“Video games,” I suggest, probably too earnestly. “Or maybe TV? Do you like college basketball, because March Madness just started. Also, I could whip us up some milkshakes, or I think Mom has frozen cookie dough we could . . .”

“Jack.” She brings her slightly crooked index finger to my lips. “You had me at video games.”

And I’m not saying she wouldn’t have beaten me anyway, but I can barely concentrate. I keep staring at her from the corner of my eye, afraid she might be an illusion.

She annihilates me eight games straight. “You okay? It feels like you’re miles from here.”

“Guess I’m just thinking.”