I sit down at the table with my grandmother, and try not to act as nervous and excited as I am.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” she asks, like she doesn’t know exactly what’s on my mind at the moment. 

“Well, like I said before, there was this really cute boy and after my shift ended I sat down and talked with him for a while. He’s so nice, and his name is Oscar. I got his number, Nana, and he goes to Hamilton! With me! He likes musicals and he has two moms and an older sister and also a cat. I wonder if he’s gay? He ordered an iced coffee, and I know I shouldn’t assume anything or endorse any stereotypes, but he ordered an iced coffee! In 47 degree weather! It was raining! And he likes musicals! And plants!”

After a moment, probably making sure I’m actually done, she says, “Well, he sounds like a very nice young man.” A pause. “You said you got his number? You should text him. Hang out with him more. That way, you’ll kill about four birds with one stone. You’ll spend more time with him, find out if he is gay, figure out if you actually like like him, and, well, I think that’s it.” Another pause. “But three birds is impressive nonetheless.”

I chuckle, “Yeah, gotta really optimize that bird-to-stone ratio.”

And just like that, we fall into our easy banter, and after a while she gets up to reheat a truly devine-looking pan of lasagna.

And all the while, the gears in my head are turning, thinking up ways to hang out with Oscar some more.