Before I had time to reorganize my ideas and straighten my expression, I was buried under a sudden, bursting flow of cheerful chatter.

“Oh my Goodness, you are absolutely gorgeous! I'm so happy to meet you! I thought Natei would never introduce us. It was about time, uh? How long have you been dating, three, four months? Four! Four, I remember, you guys had your first date on my dog's birthday. What a cute coincidence, right? Oh, dear! I'm thrilled you're here. I got here way too early and I was so anxious! Oh my God, you´re so adorable. She's so adorable, Natei!”

The mystery aura I had built around the elusive best friend shattered into pieces under the bubbly energy of this tiny person. He was very short, skinny, and covered in freckles. His curly ginger hair was even messier than Nathan's, and he shook my hands with the enthusiasm of a toddler high in sugar. 

He looked and moved like a cartoon character. And yet, I noticed he stared straight into my eyes. He had clear green eyes, which I would have thought very pretty if they hadn't been piercing through my face. The guy was all sun and rainbows, but I could tell he was analyzing me.

I blabbed a few pleasantries and looked for Nathan, to check his reaction. I had completely forgotten about him for a moment. I expected him to be standing at some distance, silent and motionless, as he usually was for the first half-hour of these introduction ceremonies.

I was surprised to see him standing right next to us, hands in pockets, a goofy smile on his face. He seemed relaxed, even amused; he only nodded to the constant stream of self-answered questions Eli sprouted on us. 

Even when we met his cousin he was awkwardly tense for a while. What was going on?

Eli took my arm and forced me out of my ponderings. He guided us towards Darcy's, a classic little coffee shop around the corner. 

“Let's go inside! I only managed to make a last-minute reservation because my friend Dana works here part-time and he pulled some strings. Today's Crème Brulée Day and the place is crowded,” he announced, with an air of triumph. “They usually make only one variety, but today's the third anniversary of the coffee house and they are serving three! Raspberry Crème, Vanilla-Chocolate and Cinnamon Fantasy. Cinnamon Fantasy,” he giggled, shaking his head. “Such a cheesy name, right? I love it.”

“Wow, you really like desserts, don't you?” I said, forcing a smile. I had never seen anyone so hyped about crème brulée (or anything, for that matter) in my life.

He stared at me in smiling confusion, as if I had said something strange.

“To be honest? Not really. But we gotta indulge Mr. Sweet Tooth here, right? He'd fade and die without his regular clandestine intake of sugar.”

I turned to my boyfriend and I spotted him standing on his toes, making the most of his height to look over the long waiting line and spot the desserts at a distance.

“You think they still have any Vanilla-Chocolate left?” he wondered, worriedly. 

“I asked Dana to save one for us if he noticed they were running out. Relax, sweetheart, you'll break your neck,” laughed Eli.

He let go of my arm, nudged Nathan playfully on the ribs, and went to the hostess to check out the reservation. 

I was so out of place, so confused by the atypical scenery. I went to Nathan and stood by his side. He didn't notice me. He was watching Eli. I cleared my throat loudly to catch his attention.

“I didn't know you liked sweet stuff so much,” I said. I hated how it sounded like a reproach. I hated that it actually was.

He turned to me, aware of my tone. He was serious again. His dull expression annoyed me deeply. He was like a child in a toy store a mere instant ago.

“I do, “ he admitted, with a weak smile. He felt guilty, for some reason. I could tell. His shoulders dropped and he stuck his hands in his pockets.

“You never order anything sweet when we go out.”

“I can't have much. I have to follow a diet. For basketball, you know. So I only have it when–,” he interrupted himself, hesitated, and looked away. “I only have it now and then.”

I was about to demand he expand the topic of his cheat days when Eli pranced back to fetch us.

“It's showtime,” he announced, smiling brightly. “Our table is ready.” 

We got into the crowded coffee house. The hostess guided us to a booth near the kitchen. It was not the most glamorous location, but it was a little bit more private than the rest of the buzzing place. Every corner was packed with people wolfing down desserts.

Our waiter hastily left three menus on the table and ran off, promising to be back shortly. 

“So, Natei, is Amanda Team Pastries as well, or do you force her into bakeries as you do with me?” asked Eli, looking at the menu absentmindedly. I got the feeling he knew it by heart.

I smiled and turned to Nathan, waiting for his answer, and so did Eli. Nathan looked up from the menu, flustered. He awkwardly emitted a couple of hums and uhms. It dawned on me he had absolutely no idea.

I stiffened in my chair. 

“I can't stomach sweet stuff,” I answered, glaring at him. “I thought you'd known at least that by now.”

He didn't answer. He just hid behind the menu, expressionless. Eli's smile weakened. I was so mortified. I had lashed out at him not five minutes after we got to the table. What was wrong with me? I always have perfect control over my emotions.

“I don't like sweet food either. Why don't we share a cheddar waffle? The serving portions here are huge; I can't possibly finish one on my own. They are absolutely delicious, I promise.”

I looked up at Eli. He was smiling warmly at me. I nodded, making an effort to smile back. His kind-hearted attempt to diffuse the situation irked me. I was beginning to feel a tad competitive. I didn't know why. Yet.

Our waiter returned and Eli placed our order. He also placed Nathan's order, drink included, without even asking. He even remembered to request an extra shot of caramel sauce in his milkshake. I wondered how many times they'd been there together before.

I took a deep breath, tried to focus, and got ready to salvage the lingering conversation, but I shouldn't have worried. Eli charged against the tense atmosphere with all the might of his untiring tongue. He spoke for the three of us, proving himself to be an even more efficient conversationalist than I was. I have to admit I was relieved. I gladly let him carry the weight of the exchange. I was more interested in watching.

Now that we were settled and the awkward introductions were done, I was burning to study their dynamics. Eli being such a chatterbox worked to my advantage. I was certain I could get valuable information from the little guy without much effort if I asked the right questions and steered the conversation in the direction I needed. I was used to this. Gaining control of interactions without saying much nor being noticed was something I was very good at. My father had taught me.

However, I soon realized my usual methods wouldn't work here. He wouldn't react how I expected. He wouldn't shut up. Not for a second. He constantly talked, jumping from subject to subject at a vertiginous speed, but as soon as I tried to direct his blabber to a determined point, he would naturally adjust the flow of discourse by plunging into a different but not entirely unrelated topic, and engaging Nathan in the conversation to prevent me from trying again.

He spent almost 20 minutes talking about their school adventures without mentioning the bullying even once. I heard the excruciatingly detailed story of the time he taught Nathan over 50 English words in one afternoon by playing video games, without disclosing why his parents never sent him to learn the language with a professional teacher. I noticed how firmly evasive he got when it came to talking about Nathan, so I thought the best way to subtly lure him into disclosing what I wanted was to ask him about himself. 

I only needed 10 minutes to understand they had spent pretty much their entire lives joined at the hip; Eli’s past would forcefully be linked with Nate's. But when I crafted some polite questions aimed at knowing more about his family, I was attacked with an inventory retelling of Nan Gertrude's English teacup collection and a commercial presentation of ol' Grandpa Walt's toy factory without hearing a single word about his mother or father. By the time our waiter returned, I was so exhausted I had lost the will to insist. 

He was Nathan's perfect match as regards revelations. Only the techniques differed. Nathan wouldn't say a word. Eli would say every word in the dictionary, except the ones you wanted to hear.

My stomach was in knots by then, so I wasn't really hungry, but I was still grateful when our food arrived. I needed a break from the tsunami of pointless, unwanted information that had just drowned every last spec of my curiosity. I had to admit Eli had won our first round, and maybe it was my overheated brain's biased perception, but I could swear he looked satisfied. As if he knew what I had been trying to do, and what he had done in response, and also that he had gotten his way. I took a glimpse at Nathan, to check if he was aware of the battle of wills that had just unfolded before him, but it was pointless. He was blissfully unaware of anything else other than the overly-sweet dessert and drink.

“Man, look at this,” he sighed, raptured. I wrinkled my nose. You could tell just by looking at it that the infamous Vanilla-Chocolate crème brulée had enough sugar in it to spontaneously give diabetes to anyone even standing in its vicinity.

“I know you only have stuff like this on cheat days, but I'd swear only this would be enough to mess up anyone's diet for good,” I exclaimed, as Eli handed me my half of the much more discreet cheddar waffle. “I bet your coach would have a heart attack if he saw you now.”

“You know what's worse?” chimed in Eli, pointing at Nathan with his fork. “Even if he had these decadent Vanilla-Chocolate things for every meal, every day, he'd still be in perfect shape. I swear, his metabolism is a work of witchcraft.”

“You're exaggerating,” complained Nate, smiling, without taking his eyes away from his plate. “Nobody could resist three daily rounds of this… absolute wonder, unharmed,” he added, pointing at the dessert with an enamored sigh of pleasure.

“Get out of here!” exclaimed Eli, laughing. “You'd lose muscle, and that would be all. I've never met anyone who eats as much as you do and gets to keep that body. It should be illegal.”

“You're just jealous.”

“Of course I am; who wouldn't be?”

This playful banter continued for a while until they both realized I hadn't said a word in the last ten minutes and went back to their food.

The rest of the afternoon was… odd. I felt like part of the audience of a movie, as if I stood watching the whole thing from afar. I witnessed their friendship unfold before me, revealing, yet hermetically closed. 

I was taken aback by their chemistry, almost overwhelming, developed over years and years of shared history. They had a million codes, inside jokes, and tiny rituals that engulfed them, and even though none of them were purposely trying to leave me out of the conversation, it was clear to me that there wasn't really room for anyone else.

By the time the waiter brought us the check, there were two things that were crystal clear to me:

Their relationship was not your usual childhood friendship.

And that was because Eli was evidently in love with Nathan.