Kissing in America by Margo Rabb Read Free Book Online Page B

out because his dog died. The Undead was not sympathetic.”
    â€œSilas?” I pictured the three-legged, sixteen-year-old dog that he’d had since he was two. I couldn’t believe Silas was dead. I thought of everything he’d told me—how Silas slept at the foot of his bed every night, and how even when Silas lost his leg—he was hit by a car—he just went on so happily as if nothing was ever wrong. He was able to walk and run again, though a little strangely, and he slept with his head in Will’s lap while Will studied. Will had told me that without Silas maybe he’d never have gotten over his dad’s leaving them, his brother’s death, everything.
    I stared into my mug. “I should go see him. Today. I should stop by the bakery. He told me he works there on Saturdays.”
    â€œReally? To say you’re sorry about his dog?”
    I nodded. “It’s what you’re supposed to do. Like a shiva call.” We’d never sat shiva for my dad—we’d barely survived the funeral, and my mom decided sitting shiva would be too much. We never even went to synagogue anymore. My mom didn’t want to see our rabbi and be reminded of my dad’s death and funeral every time we went.
    â€œPeople sit shiva for dogs?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t know. They should. If it had been my dog, I’d want him to come.”
    She looked skeptical. “Are you sure it’s a good idea? What about Gia?”
    â€œShe leaves in three weeks. She’ll be doing her photo shoot in Greenland.” In my mind, I watched Gia drift away on an ice floe with a crowd of hungry walruses. “Anyway, I’m not going to do anything with him. I just want to tell him I’m sorry.”
    We studied a little while more, but all I could think about was going to the bakery. I’d visited the bakery’s website dozens of times but never had the guts to go in person before. Finally, I gave up studying and told Annie I was going to head over there.
    â€œMaybe he’ll give you some free cupcakes. You can pretend you like them,” she said.
    I’d never liked frosting—I loved cookies and chocolate, but cake and cupcakes with their thick layers of too-sweet buttery goo weren’t my thing. Still. “I know I’ll like his cupcakes,” I said.
    â€œAnd his man frosting,” she said.
    I hesitated. “I don’t even know what that is.”
    â€œMe neither.”
    â€œWell. I’ll tell him that you asked about his man frosting.”
    â€œHe’ll love that. Thank god you have me here to give you romantic advice,” she said.
    I packed up my backpack and stopped at home—my mom was grading papers, and barely noticed I was there—and grabbed a copy of an Edward Gorey book called Amphigorey that had once belonged to my dad. Not cartoons exactly, but dark and funny and perfect. I said good-bye to my mom andtold her Annie and I were headed to the library—but she just nodded and went back to work.
    The whole subway ride I could barely focus on anything but seeing him. I couldn’t read. I kept staring out the window of the 7 train and the 1 train, into the dark tunnels, and dreaming.
    I got off at the 96th Street station. I walked a few blocks. I froze for a second when I saw it on the corner.
    Sugarland. Its polka-dot awning fluttered in the breeze. A little blue bench sat in front. Inside, its turquoise-and-chocolate-brown walls were decorated with framed black-and-white posters of old New York. I was the only customer. A chime rang when I stepped on the front mat.
    Will poked his head out from the back.
    â€œIt’s you,” he said, and smiled. He was hauling a sack of flour. “Just one sec.” He stacked it in the back room and dusted himself off.
    Will’s muscles glimmered with a light coat of man frosting as he placed a forty-pound bag of flour in the corner.
    He looked sincerely