Page 63 of If We Say Goodbye

A second later, my back pocket buzzes.

We spend the next ten minutes cleaning the kitchen and starting the batch of cookies all over. This time, they make it into the oven, and as soon as they do, Mom runs off to the bathroom to shower.

The whole kitchen smells like brown sugar and melted chocolate, making my mouth water as we wait for them to bake.

Jordy pulls out his homework, and we work through some of his math problems.

I pull out my phone to look at the picture again. I’m still in disbelief that it happened, and in a moment of thoughtless courage, I text it to Caleb.

Caleb:

Excuse me? Where was my invite?

My fingers hover over the miniature keyboard as my mind runs through a million possible replies.

Without warning, his contact picture covers my screen, and my phone rings. I jump, my phone fumbling in my hands like butter.

Jordy looks over at the screen. “His face scares me too.”

“Hello,” I say, pressing my phone to my ear as I chuckle at Jordy’s comment.

“Don’t move,” Caleb says.

My brows knit together. “Why not?”

“Because I’m coming over. You guys can’t have all of the fun without me.” He hangs up.

Apparently, Caleb doesn’t need an invite.

Jordy sighs. “He’s coming over, isn’t he?”

I nod.

He continues working on his math problem. “Boys these days . . .”

“Yeah . . .” My feet won’t stay still. They rock back and forth anticipating the doorbell.

“How much longer until the cookies are ready?”

I walk over to the oven to check. “Just a couple more minutes,” I say, turning on the oven light. The rows of cookies turn orange against the light. They’re still very doughy.

Taking chocolate chip cookies out of the oven is a science, according to my mother. She swears you have to take them out before they look like they’re fully done to avoid overcooking them, but this has got to be too raw.

“So, this is what you two have been up to.”

I spring up, whipping around.

Caleb stands with his back against the wall, hands in his pockets.

“You didn’t knock,” I say, holding onto the oven handle for support. I don’t trust myself to not fall over.

He laughs. “I told you I was coming over, so I figured I didn’t need to.”

Mom comes running into the kitchen wearing a robe with her wet hair twisted into a towel. She darts straight for the oven. “They have to come out. Don’t let them burn.”

She takes a pot holder in her hand and grabs the tray off of the rack. “Oh, good,” she sighs in relief. “They’re perfect.”

Jordy stands on the balls of his feet to get a better look at them while rubbing his hands together. “I can’t wait!”