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I am sitting at a table in a cramped little kitchen—even smaller than the one my mom and I share at home—and I’m surrounded by people all talking at once, laughing, debating in a good-natured way, obviously enjoying each other’s company, and we’re eating leftovers and drinking tea and having a grand old time except for one thing: Daniel politely excused himself a little while ago and hasn’t come back.
He’s not the kind of guy to do it for effect—he’s not pouting, hoping to make some statement—I think he’s just being honest with himself right now about the fact that he doesn’t want to be around me.
Which is a horrible, horrible fact, and not one I want to let go on for one more second. This is ridiculous. I have to fix it.
“Do you guys mind?” I ask. “I just remembered I need to ask D
