I could not only see his dimples, but also the light stubble on his chin. I so wanted to touch it.
“Arabella?” I called into the bathroom.
“Almost empty!” she shouted back.
Then, even louder, “Oh! There’s another!”
Starbucks Boy chuckled.
“How old’s your sister?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s not my sister.”
“She’s not?”
“No. I guess I’m . . . uh . . . babysitting.”
“I’M HALF EMPTY NOW!” Arabella called out.
Deadpan, as if he hadn’t heard it loud and clear, I told him, “She’s half empty now.”
People were leaving the line, giving up. The lady who’d complained started to complain some more, saying there needed to be a time limit for restrooms, and minors should never, ever be let in on their own. . . .
Starbucks Boy turned on all the charm, and told her there was a bathroom in the Barnes & Noble two blocks away. She only huffed some more, said something about writing Bill Gates to complain, then stomped away.
And it was at that moment – that glorious moment – that the saints went marching in. Because it was at that moment – that wonderful moment – that Starbucks Boy leaned over to me and said, “God, my last boyfriend was just like that. ”
The tell.
“That must have been fun,” I said, my heart break-dancing.
“A blast,” he said.
Then he looked down at the door and asked, “Hey, where’s the key?”
“Um . . . in there . . . with her.”
Starbucks Boy seemed to be torn between amusement and concern. “You know, there isn’t another key,” he told me.
“No,” I said, “I didn’t know that.” Then I knocked on the door and said Arabella’s name again.
“Almost empty!” she called.
Starbucks Boy and I hovered there awkwardly. I could sense he was about to say he needed to get back behind the counter, and I didn’t want that to happen. Somehow it made it easier to talk to him when I could see his shoes.
“I’m Gabriel,” I said.
He smiled. “I’m Justin.”
Justin.
“Three-quarters empty!” Arabella announced.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“I have to wipe now!”
“Okay, Arabella!”
“Is that really her name?”
“Yup.”
“I can hear you!”
“Do you live around here?” Starbucks Boy – Justin – asked.
“Yeah,” I said. Then I added, “For the summer.”
“Cool.”
Yes yes yes yes yes.
Arabella had fallen silent.
Please may this not be a part of the History . . .
“So, Justin . . .”
“So, Gabriel . . . ?”
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“You wanna – I dunno – get coffee or something sometime?”
Justin smiled. “Not coffee. But yes.”
“Not Coffee it is, then.”
“Yes, Not Coffee.”
As Arabella emerged from the bathroom, hands freshly washed, Justin ran for a pen, then came back with his number on a napkin. Untrusting of napkins, I entered it into my phone.
“Tomorrowish?” Justin asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Tomorrowish.”
Arabella looked satisfied, but I couldn’t tell whether it was from what she’d just done or what I’d just done.
On the way out, she gave me a hint.
“You’re going to call him, right?” she asked.
And I said, yes, I was going to call him.
When we got to the first block, she took my hand. And for the rest of the afternoon, she rarely let go.
That night, Aunt Celia got a call from Elise. Aunt Celia’s side of the conversation went something like this:
“Hello, Elise. . . . Oh, it was fine. . . . Yes? . . . No! Already? . . . I see. . . . Yes, he’s right here. . . . That’s really amazing, isn’t it? . . . No, I’m sure he won’t. . . . I’ll make sure he does. . . . No, thank you, Elise. Talk later!”
Aunt Celia hung up, then shocked the heavens out of me by saying, “I hear you’re going on a date tomorrow.”
I still hadn’t called Justin – I figured waiting until eight was a good idea, for some arbitrary reason – but I figured that since it was going to happen, I could tell her, yes, I had a date tomorrow.
“You know,” Aunt Celia said, “Elise told me that Arabella was good, but I had no idea she was that good. Three days!”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Oh, you’re the fourth of Arabella’s minders to have been set up by her. It’s remarkable, really. Maybe I should start taking care of her!”
“She didn’t set us up,” I said – but immediately I started to wonder. I mean, I was sure I’d had something to do with it. But maybe not everything. . . .
“You’re not to quit on Elise, do you understand?” Aunt Celia continued. “The last girl, Astrid, did that. And that other girl – the one who ended up in India with her girlfriend. Poor Elise – she loses sitters faster than I lose umbrellas.”
“I won’t leave her,” I promised.
“And you won’t run off to India?”
“Just Starbucks.”
Aunt Celia grimaced. “Starbucks is so crowded, ” she judged. “But you do what you want.” She gestured toward the take-out menus and told me to order what I wanted for dinner. “I won’t be back too late,” she told me. “Nor too early, for that matter.”
I waited until she was gone before I took out my phone . . . and the green H&M wallet. I imagined myself filling it with lucky pennies and love notes and photobooth strips of Justin and me in playful poses.
“You’re such a goofball,” I said to myself.
I discarded the notion of waiting until eight and dialed his number. I already had my first line ready.
“You’ll never believe this,” I’d say. Then I’d tell him the whole story.
Except for the wallet. I wouldn’t tell him about the wallet.
I’d save that for an anniversary.
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