“I’m not having dinner out,” Adam said.
Holden frowned. “Why?”
“I have better things to do.”
“Like what? Olive’s coming, too.”
“Leave Olive alone. She’s tired, and we’re busy.”
“I have access to your Google Calendar, asshole. You’re not busy. If you don’t want to hang out with me, you can just be honest.”
“I don’t want to hang out with you.”
“You little shit. After the week we just had. And on my birthday.”
Adam recoiled slightly. “What? It’s not your birthday.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Your birthday is April tenth.”
“Is it, though?”
Adam closed his eyes, scratching his forehead. “Holden, we’ve talked daily for the past twenty-five years, and I have been to at least five Power Rangers–themed birthday parties of yours. The last one was when you turned seventeen.”
Malcolm attempted to cover his laugh with a cough.
“I know when your birthday is.”
“You always had it wrong, I was just too nice to tell you.” He clasped Adam’s shoulder. “So, Chinese to celebrate the blessing of my birth?”
“Why not Thai?” Malcolm interjected, addressing Holden and ignoring Adam.
Holden made a whiny noise and started saying something about the lack of good larb in Stanford, something Olive would have normally been interested in hearing, except that—
Adam was looking at her again. From several inches above Holden’s and Malcolm’s heads, Adam was looking at her with an expression that was half apologetic, half annoyed, and . . . all intimate, really. Something familiar they’d shared before. Olive felt something inside her melt and suppressed a smile.
Suddenly, dinner seemed like a great idea.
It will be fun, she mouthed at him while Holden and Malcolm were busy arguing about whether they should just try that new burger place.
It will be excruciating, he mouthed back barely parting his lips, looking resigned and put-upon and just so amazingly Adam that Olive couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
Holden and Malcolm stopped arguing and turned to her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Olive said. The corner of Adam’s mouth was curling up, too.
“Why are you laughing, Ol?”
She opened her mouth to deflect, but Adam beat her to it.
“Fine. We’ll go.” He said “we” like he and Olive were a “we,” like it had never been fake after all, and her breath caught in her throat. “But I’m excused from any birthday-related outings for the next year. Actually, make it the next two. And veto on the new burger place.”
Holden fist-pumped, and then frowned. “Why veto on burgers?”
“Because,” he said, holding Olive’s eyes, “burgers taste like foot.”
* * *