As Good As it Gets

You're sitting in the gelato store, working your way through three scoops of dark chocolate truffle, blackberry, and strawberry cheesecake gelato. You check on your iMac and this strange e-mail seems to have arrived in that old account you used to check all the time. You lean back, read it and smile. Last week you went to the Winter Training, and you just flew back up to Cal. You just smiled at yourself in the mirror while reading this. You call up Beks to the room and blab to her about it. And Grace. And then you guys go out and make some chocolate lava cake. All school worries have slipped off your shoulders. Essay? what essay? Spanish Revoltion? Huh? Who was Leonardo da Vinci? You love history, but sometimes it's just way too much. You smile. And decide to treat yourself today, and rush to a great Ethiopian restaurant and scarf down some of the most awesome food ever. You spot Eric and your heart isn't pounding in your chest anymore like it used to. You make up. Laugh at your silly teenage antics. He's a senior now, you know. You laugh at how much everything's changed. Tell him that yeah, you would've gone out with him had he asked. Laugh at the way we used to act around each other. Ask him what he saw in me that first day I shook his hand. Ask him about the girlfriend. Tell him that yes, I still don't have a boyfriend, and I still don't date. Yes, still asexual. He laughs, and you guys know that even though you aren't *together*, you're great friends. Who understand each other. And can communicate better. And you hug and snuggle into him and think that patching up things is fun. And you should do it more. You agree to meet at Chez Paniesse or whatever its called next week. And you agree that he's paying for it. Yeah, maybe your heart is beating a bit faster. Maybe you are kind of jealous. But you've gotten over this hormonal thing in the last two years, this absurd jealousy, and tell him about it -after all, we're telling each other EVERYTHING, and I mean EVERYTHING, now. He laughs. You're kind of hurt, and he says he feels the same. Nostalgic. And that's what it is. Thinking about the what if's. Maybe we'll just make this Ethiopian restaurant thing a weekly or fortnight-ly thing. To catch up. Yes, he understands you so well - and its only been two hours since you've reunited. But we knew each other so well before, so it makes sense. You smile, and you part. You go back to the house, grab a slice of chocolate lava cake Beks made last night for her small group - but they had as leftovers - and then brush your teeth and sleep. They wake you up to play ping pong. You dress a bit warmer - just sling over a jacket and put on a bra - and go downstairs to the Student Center in your Poland T-shirt (the thin material covered by the jacket) and your grandma pants. You play for it. And then you play settlers with everyone. And then axis and allies and then they kick us all out and we go back to bed. You wake up at 10 the next morning - or Beks wakes you up - and you fall on the futon, sleeping as she makes omeletes. Her turn. You talk, you eat. You go back to bed. And they call you back down for games. Eric texts you good morning - or afternoon. You tell him he's hungover and needs to stop partying. He offers to take you out, but you decline, and offer to take him out to coffee. Maybe that'll sober him up. You go out once you finish your last game, and meet him at Peet's for coffee. You talk. Find out he got drunk out of his mind last night. You sigh. And scold him. And then offer to take him to your small group. He says ok, surprisingly. And when he drops you off at the house at night, along with another serving one, you go back to bed, smiling. You can expect scandal tomorrow, but oh well. There's cleaning tomorrow morning so you should be sleeping, but instead, you go online and - Write me back.