Page 61 of The Design of Goodbye
“I don’t have to be. Where do you want to go?”
“Buzz?” I asked. “There’s one a few blocks down Main Street, if you don’t mind walking.”
“I don’t mind.”
We walked close to keep warm. Sometimes, our arms brushed. Sometimes, our fingers. I wished he’d grab onto my hand and never let go.
I wished Buzz had been miles away.
“Whatisthat?” asked Liam, breaking our comfortable silence when we neared Buzz.
He was pointing to a picture of Buzz’s infamous cinnamon roll. It was the size of a dinner plate and covered with cream cheese frosting, caramel, whipped cream, peppermint bark, marshmallows, and topped with red-and-green sprinkles shaped like snowflakes.
“It’s the CinnaMonster,” I explained. “They sell it during the holidays, so come back and get one soon. It’s only around until the New Year.”
He gave the picture one last longing look before we walked inside Buzz and out of the cold. It was crowded, a line of people snaking around a few of the tables. Liam studied the menu intently as we waited, so I was shocked when all he ordered was a black coffee.
“You’re not getting food?”
“I’ll eat later.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
He didn’t have time to answer because the barista handed him his change and a paper cup. Hastily, he dumped the coins in his wallet. Other than the coins and a driver’s license, he had nothing else.
Embarrassed, he stuffed his wallet into the pocket of his sweatpants. “I had some pretzels. I’ll be okay. How about I find us a table?”
“Grab the one in the back next to the fake tree. It’s my favorite.”
Was Liam’s family struggling so much financially he couldn’t even buy himself dinner? He worked more than any teenager I knew. He had to be hungry. In fact, he hadn’t said he wasn’t. The barista impatiently cleared her throat, and I snapped my attention to her.
“When you said you were starving,” said Liam when he saw me carrying two bags of food almost ten minutes later, “you meant it.”
“Some of it’s for you.” I set both bags on the table. “One is a turkey cranberry sandwich, and the other one’s ham and gouda. Your choice.” He stared at me, confused. “Pick one. I’m starving here.”
“Why’d you buy me food?”
“Will you pick one?” I sat down because he was seriously taking forever to choose, and my legs were dead tired from standing all day.
“I don’t know what gouda is, so I’ll pass on that one.”
“It’s a cheese. You should know this. You work at a grocery store.”
“It sounds like a disease.” He took out the contents of the bag—a sandwich, chips, apple, and an enormous cookie—and gaped at it like he couldn’t believe it was in front of him. “Can you tell me why you bought me food now?”
I unwrapped my sandwich, careful not to bump my injured finger. “I don’t like to eat alone. But,” I continued, “I mostly bought you food because you’re hungry. No big deal.”
But it was to him. “Thank you.” He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite before asking, “Where’d you learn to sew? You’re really good.”
I hated that question; it brought back too many memories. “Do you want to try my sandwich?” I asked. Gouda was dripping down the sides, making my mouth water. He stared at the sandwich, skeptical. “Scared of my germs?”
He chuckled softly. “No.”
I held the sandwich near his mouth. He hesitated before taking a bite.
He chewed slowly, focusing on the taste. When his eyes widened, I squealed. “You like it!”
“Guilty.”
