I nodded once, then shrugged.
“Yeah. Well.”
Nia kissed her teeth, then shook her head in disbelief.
“Men!” Then she whipped back toward me, looking me up and down with concern. “Wait . . . You okay?”
“Oh my god, Nia, it was one day.” I ran a hand over the back of my head, into the close-cut crop of dense curls. “Am I really that fragile?”
“Do you really want the answer to that?” Nia said flatly.
“Maybe not,” I said.
“Thought so.” She peered around me at the stall. “’Kay, well, that’s actually a pretty decent excuse, and I actually need to go. Wait here.”
In my mind’s eye, I could see Michelle, arms crossed and silent, preparing her tirade—You and Nia are always leaving me out, and I get that you go back further than me, but we’ve all been friends since college and it isn’t fair to me—and winced. From her stall, Nia gave a long, satisfied sigh, clearly unconcerned about Michelle’s impending ire. Michelle never got after her for excluding her, most likely because Nia did not give a singular fuck. “Get over it, it’s not that serious,” she had said the one time Michelle had tried to confront her six years ago.
When we returned to the group, they were already piling into our seats. Neither Ricky nor Camila was anywhere in sight. I would have been more relieved if Michelle hadn’t been giving off fury in waves.
“You were there a while,” she said, flipping through the menu aggressively.
“Yeah, ’cause Angie had to take a dump,” Nia said. “Ange. Wanna split a Chunky Monkey with me?”
“I kind of wanted the apple blintzes,” I said. “But . . . I also want an omelet . . .”
“I’ll get the blintzes, you get the omelet,” Michelle said. She said it nonchalantly, but everyone at the table, save Diamond, knew that it was her way of settling a score that did not need settling. I pursed my lips, decided on a Santa Fe omelet, and had just started smiling hopefully at our waiter when I saw Ricky come through the door.
His hair was down today; that was the first thing I noticed. It had a subtle curl to it that hadn’t been as apparent the other times I’d seen him, and it fell across his face in a way that was both appealing and really fucking ridiculous, like he was trying to be Mexican Fabio or something. I’d probably been staring at an especially dumb lock for a full five seconds before I realized that he had come alone.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “Sorry I’m late.” He walked over to the empty chair across from Diamond.
“Where’s Camila?” Markus asked. Next to me, Nia snorted. I elbowed her under the table.
“Sleeping in,” Ricky said simply. He picked up the menu, flipped it around in his hands. “All the brunch spots in Chicago, and you guys go to Yolk?”
“What do y’all have against Yolk?” Markus said. “It’s delicious! The food is bountiful! There are many locations and reasonable wait times!”
“He’s mad because Angie said the same thing,” Diamond explained in a stage whisper. Ricky’s gaze flitted to me, and I looked pointedly at Diamond when I answered.
“I never said it wasn’t delicious,” I said. “I’m just saying there are a million other non-chain places we could have tried.”
“You mean you could have tried,” Markus accused. “I don’t live here! You think I can just roll up anywhere in Nashville and order red velvet French toast?”
“It’s Tennessee, Markus,” Michelle deadpanned. “They’ll probably deep-fry your red velvet if you ask.”
“First of all, leave Tennessee alone—” Markus started, just as the waiter sidled up to our table.
We ordered, giving Diamond the last pick so she could have more time to deliberate. Ricky barely glanced at the menu before making his decision, like, despite his protests, a true Yolk regular. Once the orders had been placed, the coffee poured, and the menus cleared, we settled back into casual conversation. I chatted Nia and Michelle up about an article I’d read online, only occasionally tuning in to the conversation happening on the other side of the table. Seeing Ricky here, among my closest friends, felt surreal. I felt like I was reliving our afternoon in the garden, but instead of feeling the heat of the sun on my face I felt the gust of an overzealous AC, and instead of feeling impossibly close to him I felt like there was an uncrossable chasm between us. Even their discussion, which was currently about a prank Diamond and her roommate had played on Ricky and his in college, sounded like it was echoing through a distant valley. Two people, sitting at the same table, with mountains dividing us.