Page 46 of Nacho Boyfriend

“Oh!” She shuffles over to the tiny sofa and picks up a plush gnome—this one in a blue hat. “Did you see my Hanukkah gnome? I named him Harry.”

“Please don’t tell me you named all your gnomes.”

“No. Just Harry.” She kisses him before setting him back down on the sofa. “He’s one of the friends I brought with me from Jersey.”

“Friends? Should I be concerned?”

“What for? Just don’t tell my father.”

“You mean your traditionally Jewish dad is not a fan of your Christmas obsession? Shocker. Or is the creepy gnome shrine?”

“They’re not creepy.”

I select one of the smaller porcelain statues and hold it up. It has beady eyes, bright red cheeks, and a murderous grin.

“Not creepy, you say?”

Olive twists her face. “Maybe that one is a little creepy.”

I shake my head and set the gnome back on the shelf. Mom and Abuela are waiting to be picked up, and I’d rather not get to the fashion district too late or parking will be hell.

“Come on,” I say, opening the front door. “I promise I won’t breathe a word to your dad if I happen to meet him.”

She snaps up her canvas tote bag, which she uses as a purse. There’s a dancing taco on it which looks hand painted, along with the words ‘I Could Give Up Tacos, but I’m No Quitter’ in a speech bubble.

“Oh, you won’t meet him,” she says, reaching for her keys. “He’s in Jersey.”

I roll my eyes and step outside. “I promise not to call him, then.”

“What if he calls you?”

“Olive, can we go now?”

“Sure, sure.” She touches the doorframe and kisses her fingers before walking out. Then she locks the door, but before she starts down the stairs, I touch her arm.

“Wait. Why did you kiss your fingers? Before you closed the door?”

“Oh!” She slaps her forehead. “It’s a force of habit. If you ever see a little box on a door frame, that’s a mezuzah. It’s like announcing to visitors, ‘This is a Jewish home. Keep your guilt in check’.”

“That pretty much describes my mom’s house,” I say. Except she has crucifixes over every door to inspire guilt.

Olive starts down the spiral staircase, and I follow her.

“My dad gave me a mezuzah as a gift before I moved out here, but it’s still hanging on Aaron’s front door frame. He didn’t let me take it when I moved out.”

“You need to go back and get it,” I say.

“Nah. It’s not like it’s a family heirloom or anything. I can get a new one if I want to.”

“But it’s not Aaron’s. It’s yours.” I don’t know why this is upsetting me so much.

Before she reaches the bottom step, she turns and digs a book out of her bag, handing it to me.

“For you.”

I read the title. “Love in the Time of Cholera? Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Our meet cute, remember?” She opens the front cover and points to the writing inside. “I wrote my name and number, just in case your sister asks to see proof.”