But each time, I stopped myself, not letting myself go there. There, I had learned, would be the end of everything I had built. I just had to get through the next two years of school, and then I would be packing up our apartment and getting Gran out of here.
As Ashe held the door open to an all-night diner and I walked in from out of the cold, I was going against every rule I had set.
Fifteen minutes, I promised myself, and then I’m out of here.
Things were over between us before they even had a chance to start.
A waitress saw us come in and pointed to the large dining room. “Sit anywhere. I’ll be over with menus in a minute.”
I led us to a booth and slid most of the way in while Ashe took a seat across from me.
“This place has the best pie,” he said, eyeing the counter, where there was a display case, several pieces sitting on plates inside. “Are you a fan?”
“Of pie?” I shrugged. “Sure.”
“What’s your favorite kind?”
I crossed my legs under the table, my hands resting on top of them, fingers clinging together. “I’ve only ever had pumpkin.”
I thought of the pie Gran used to make for the holidays every year before her hands hurt too badly to bake. That dessert would be our treat for the whole week, and we’d split a piece each night. My stomach would feel so full from the thick creaminess that when it was time to go to bed, I would almost instantly fall asleep.
Ashe rested his arms on the table, and even though we were separated by a few feet of Formica, it felt as though our bodies were touching. “What? Only pumpkin?”
“I’m not much of an experimenter when it comes to food.”
Conversation.
It could be my worst enemy at times, like now, as he opened boxes he didn’t even realize were closed. Ones I’d moved into the attic of my brain, taped multiple times with several inches of dust resting on top. Where most attics were full of clothes and keepsakes, mine overflowed with memories.
Moments that I didn’t care to revisit with him—or anyone.
“We need to change that,” he said right before the waitress came to our table, placing menus in front of us.
“Just coffee for me, thank you,” I said, handing back the large, laminated sheet, not needing to be tempted by any of the descriptions when I’d spent money on the food I had at home.
“Same,” Ashe replied, “and a slice of every flavor of pie you have.”
“We have six kinds,” the waitress said.
He smiled at me. “Then, we’ll take six pieces.” When the waitress left, he said, “You’re going to be an experimenter tonight.”
I took in the light blue of his eyes, wondering how difficult it was going to be to avoid him in the future if he continued pulling stunts like he had tonight. “You’re too much.”
“I want to see your expression when you try them. I assure you, there are much better flavors than pumpkin.”
“But that’s such a classic.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t good. I’m just saying there’s better.” He spread his arms out a little farther, making it feel like he was now on top of me. “I want to know more about you, Pearl. I’ve seen the girl onstage, who poured her heart out. I know you’re a theater major and you share an elective with Dylan, you don’t drink and you work in a bar, and you study for fun.” He smiled, and it was the most beautiful sight. “But where are you from? Why did you choose BU? Why theater?”
My hands began to heat as I rubbed my linked fingers together. “I’m from Boston; I’ve lived in different sections of the city my whole life.” I took a breath. “BU has one of the best theater programs in the area, and acting is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
The waitress delivered the coffee, and I watched Ashe mix cream and sugar into his, whereas I left mine black.
I held the cup, staring at the dark drink. “Painters empty their emotions onto a canvas. Writers craft words. I take on personalities that are so far from my own.”
His lids squinted, as though he was processing what I’d just said. “Why are you always running?”
“Time works against me.”
“Has it always been that way?”
I sighed, my brain gazing at all the boxes, the years before I had moved in with Gran. “Yes.”
The waitress returned to our table, her tray covered in small plates. “Blueberry,” she said, setting down the first one. “Apple, strawberry, peach, peanut butter, and cherry. You didn’t ask for ice cream, but I brought some anyway—on the house.” She placed a soup bowl between us that was filled with scoops of vanilla. “Have fun.”
I laughed as she walked away, gazing at the buffet he had ordered. “My God, Ashe.”
He picked up his spoon. “Let’s start with the blueberry.”
He faced the point of the slice toward me.
I cut off a small piece. “Mmm.” As I chewed, the tartness of the fruit slowly unraveled, the sweetness coming in next. “I like it.”
“Now, with ice cream.” He took a spoonful and added it to his second bite.
I did the same, the vanilla cutting some of the sweetness of the blueberry, making it taste even better. “Wow.”
“You’ve really only ever had pumpkin? I thought apple was a staple in most people’s homes.”
“It probably is,” I said, moving to the next plate. “Just not in mine.” This one happened to be the apple, and I chewed the large chunk, the buttery crust exploding with a rich cinnamon flavor, like the topping I sprinkled on Gran’s oatmeal. “This one is excellent too.”
“Agreed.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Do you live in the dorms, or do you have a place off campus?”
I swallowed the apple and went in for more. “Off campus.”
“In which part of the city?”
While thinking of a way to dance around his question, I moved on to the cherry. The minute it hit my tongue, I responded, “Not for me.”
“It’s not a flavor I really like either, but I wanted you to try it.”
He moved that one off to the side. I hated to see any food wasted, but it was too sweet to take another bite.
I dug my spoon into the edge of the peanut butter, and as soon as it dissolved in my mouth, I couldn’t stop myself from moaning.
“Sounds like you have a favorite.”
I nodded, covering my lips with the back of my hand. “This is amazing. Rich but perfect.”
The strawberry and peach were also good, but neither was as tasty and delicious as the peanut butter, so that was what I returned to. I took some ice cream with me and loved that bite even more. As I chewed, I felt his eyes on me, and I was sure he was waiting for a response to his previous question.
I set down my spoon, needing a break from the sweetness, and took a drink of my coffee. When I finally glanced at him, I took a few seconds before I said, “I live in Roxbury. It’s where I grew up—well, mostly grew up.” The corner of a box was eyeing me, and I shoved it away. “I live with my grandmother. She has crippling arthritis that’s made her disabled, so I take care of her. We take care of each other actually.”
“That wasn’t easy for you to say.”