Kate in Waiting Becky Albertalli (best way to read books TXT) 📖

cabinet doors flung open, pans on every surface, Mom’s cheeks streaked with flour. “Wait, so how many people are coming to this?”

“Well. You said Anderson’s busy, right?”

“If by busy, you mean at home watching Tangled.”

“Hasn’t he seen it twenty times?”

“Twenty-two.”

Not that I’m one to judge. I’m closing in on that figure myself. Tangled happens to be the best movie of all time. It gives me legit Ella Enchanted vibes, but without the weird f-boy baggage. Plus, there’s Flynn Rider—the animated floppy-haired wiseass scoundrel boy of my dreams.

“Okay, so us,” Mom says. “Ryan, Ellen, and Ellen’s bringing her son.”

“So . . . five.”

“Mm-hmm. Oh, you’ll like Ellen’s son. We got dinner the other night when you were at your dad’s house. He’s a cutie. Looks just like his dad, and let me tell you, Paul is handsome. A total schmuckboy, but handsome.” Mom purses her lips. “Very conservative. He grew up right in Mentone, right by camp. But he’s turned into one of those Fox News Republicans. It’s very sad.”

“He went to camp with you guys?”

“Oh, no, he was a townie, and of course, that was this whole other thing. Ellen thought I was being a snob about him living in town, but it wasn’t that. No ma’am. I didn’t like the way he talked to her. Very condescending. I don’t know, it all seems so silly now. Can you imagine losing your best friend over a guy like that? I’m just so stinking grateful for Facebook—otherwise Ellen and I would never have reconnected. I’d never have known she was back in Georgia.”

I’m just so stinking grateful for Facebook. There’s a phrase never uttered by anyone younger than forty.

“. . . like no time had passed. It was remarkable. There’s just something about old friends. And her son, Matthew, is absolutely lovely.”

Every cell in my body freezes. “Matthew?”

Okay, that squeak you just heard? Was my voice jumping a full fucking octave.

Mom’s as oblivious as always. “Such a sweetheart. Oh, he was telling me some story about—”

Deep breath. “Is his name Matt Olsson?”

“Oh, that’s right! I forgot he’s a senior. You and Ry might have run into him at school. He’s—”

“Matt Olsson’s coming here?” I grip the back of my chair so hard, I can see my knuckles. “Tonight?”

“Any minute.” Mom exhales, glancing back toward the oven. “Oy. Okay. No good.”

“I’ll help. Sorry. Give me . . . one second.” I’ve already tapped into my text chain with Anderson.

RED ALERT RED ALERT My mom’s friend Ellen? IS MATT’S MOM

AND HE’S COMING OVER

COKE-AD MATT

IS COMING OVER

TONIGHT

“Kate! Can you get water on the table? And where’s your brother?”

I set my phone down. “Ice or no ice?”

The doorbell rings.

“Goddammit,” Mom says. She heads straight to the door, still in her apron, still flour-faced, and by the time I catch up, she’s hugging Ellen in the doorway.

Ellen, for what it’s worth, is like a clone of my mom. They even look alike—brown hair, big brown eyes, and they both have those hyperanimated, expressive faces. Ellen gasps when she sees me. “Is that Kate? Oh, honey. You look just like your Facebook pictures.”

“Oh. Uh. Thank you?”

“Look at those gorgeous cheeks. My God, Maggie. Your girl. And this is my son, Matthew. Matthew, Kate’s a junior—”

“We’ve met.” He smiles. “Hey, Kate.”

His voice. Saying my name.

The moms, the house, the soufflés, everything. All of it evaporates.

I am officially a puddle on the floor.

Scene 12

Mom keeps the mini soufflés and the hand-breaded chicken tenders and ditches all the other recipes—but she adds a veggie platter and a frozen pizza to the mix. It’s an absurdly un-kosher Shabbat dinner. The kitchen’s a disaster zone, with the exception of the gleaming, freshly mopped floor. And for once, the mop in question wasn’t Camilla’s tongue. Garfield family hospitality at its finest.

Mom pops open a wine bottle Ellen brought and digs out the candles, and we’re just about to light them when the front door creaks open.

“Helloooo?”

“That must be the escort I hired,” Mom says, she and Ellen just start cackling.

I catch Ryan’s eyes for the barest split second. “Mom, stop,” he says flatly.

Whereas I’m just sitting here loving the fact that Mom said “escort.” In front of Matt. You know what’s really awesome? Your mom and your crush’s mom talking about escorts.

Anyway, it’s not an escort. It’s Anderson.

“Heeeyyy.” He peers into the dining room. “Am I too late?”

“Oh, of course you’re not too late, sweetie. Ellen, this is Anderson Walker from next door. He’s Kate’s best friend. Look at you, boychick. I love that little bow tie.”

Anderson, you absolute thirst machine. This boy literally changed into a fresh button-down and bow tie and straight up waltzed in here for dinner.

“Got your text,” Andy says, eyeing me slyly.

“I can see that.”

And okay. I’m glad he’s here and everything, but can we just take a moment to recognize that he’s ditching Rapunzel and Flynn for Matt? Because he definitely wasn’t planning to ditch Rapunzel and Flynn for me. And, like, I get it. It’s just insulting.

“So nice to meet you, Anderson,” Ellen says. “I feel like I’m in the presence of Maggie and Ellen, the next generation.”

I almost choke on my water.

Back up a minute. Andy and I aren’t the next Mom and Ellen. Mom and Ellen are the opposite of friendship goals. They didn’t even talk to each other for two decades. More than two decades. I’m sorry, but the thought of meeting Andy’s kid for the first time as a teenager makes me want to curl into a ball and cry. And if I ever tell Anderson’s kids they look just like their Facebook pictures, just go ahead and kill me.

We add an extra place setting for Andy at the head of the table, and Matt’s directly to his right. So now they’re giggling together over something that happened in Senior D this morning. Apparently Noah Kaplan had to pretend to be a mime. I don’t really get what’s funny about it, but Matt and Andy seem to think it’s the height of