Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(19)
Good question. I shrug. “Never made anything I’ve wanted to stare at every day. I move on quickly.”
“Wish I could relate. I feel like I’ve been dragging around the same ideas for years. It’s a good thing I’m a better reader than I am author; I think I’d lose my mind.”
“I’m a much better artist than reader.” She laughs again. “I can’t concentrate on a book I’m not interested in long enough to get to the interesting stuff. I try really hard and before I know it, I zone back in and I’ve been pointlessly scrolling for twenty minutes. But I don’t even remember picking up my cell phone. It’s infuriating.”
Halle doesn’t give me the weird look people give me when I try to explain how frustrating I find some things other people find easy. She just nods. “My younger sister has the same problem. We found it’s because she has ADHD. I help her a lot with her English homework because it’s her least favorite subject, and if she doesn’t want to read the book it’s a battle.”
Battle feels like the right word for how I feel sometimes. “It’s weird, because I can google something and accidentally end up tangled up researching a different thing but read everything that’s ever been said about it no problem. But the one thing I need to do is impossible.”
Halle chuckles, but I don’t feel like she’s laughing at me. I like how easy she is to talk to. “Yep, Gianna is the same. Getting her diagnosis has given her more resources and support, but I dread to think what school would be like for her if we hadn’t pushed her doctors. I spent a lot of time looking up ADHD, and some people go their whole lives not knowing that they’re neurodivergent. Sorry, oversharing.”
“It’s good your sister has support now. I’m going to spend the rest of the day looking up these cookies,” I admit, taking another one from the container. “They’re too damn good.”
“My nana once visited for an entire summer to look after me while my parents were at work and my brother was at football camp. She monitored every step of the process to make sure I perfected it. She said I couldn’t give out shit cookies and then tell people it’s her recipe.”
“Please pass my thank-you on to your nana.”
“Oh, she passed a few years ago. I live in her house, so I have all her personal recipe books and things. I think the cookies are the only thing I don’t completely ruin.”
“She’d be happy with her cookie reputation,” I reassure her, taking another bite. “You’re doing a great job. It’s cool you live there, though, and have her stuff. My grandma was a fancy restaurant kind of lady, so I don’t have recipes, but I do have a list of approved places to eat across the world.”
My mama stopped talking to her parents thirty years ago when their “strict, conservative values” meant they couldn’t accept she was gay, so even though they’re still alive I haven’t met them.
My mom’s parents were both career-focused people who didn’t have her until later in life and they both passed away before I was fifteen. They did everything to make my mama feel loved and included in their family since she’d lost her own. One of my grandma’s favorite things to do was to take us all to eat at her top-ranked places and show off her family.
“Oh, I love that! Also I’m not sure anyone has ever described me being a college junior and living alone in my nana’s house as cool. But I’ll accept the baking praise,” she says, pulling at the sleeve of her cardigan. “Thank you.”
“Why don’t you live with your friends?” I ask, and judging by the way her face sinks, I think that was one of those things I’m not supposed to ask.
“That’s a good question. A really good question, um…” I’m stuck between her telling me it’s a good question and her visible discomfort. I’m about to say she can just ignore it when she finally answers. “I don’t have any friends, really. Ones I kinda had don’t go to UCMH, but everyone dropped me when I split up with my boyfriend anyway.”
She looks embarrassed, but only a couple of years ago I didn’t have friends, either. Now, if anything, I might have too many. They’re hard to keep track of, but I think adding one more won’t hurt. “I’m your friend.”
Her eyebrow tweaks up. It’s an expression I’m used to. It means I’ve caught her off guard. I seem to be forever catching people off guard. “You’re not.”
“Yeah, I am,” I say a little harder.
“That’s not how people make friends,” she insists.
“How would you know? You just said you don’t have any.” The way she visibly flinches guts me. I move on quickly. “We’re friends, Halle. Friends do nice things together. I let you use my house for a book club and you brought me food. I’m not saying you should live with me or anything, but you’re not friendless.”
“Okay, we can be friends then,” she says, her shoulders dropping an inch as she relaxes a little. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable around me, and I do want to be her friend.
“Good. This weekend is our annual preseason party that my roommate said he was too old and mature to throw, so it’s obviously happening anyway. You should come, so I know you mean it when you say we can be friends.”