Page 59 of All Our Nevers

He doesn’t turn toward me, just keeps looking down at the crowd as he says, “They seem so happy.”

I follow his line of sight to the dancefloor. There’s a good group out there, but right in the center are Sophie and Andy, her cheek pressed to his chest. Andy reaches down to cup her face, then tilts her chin up for a soft kiss. They whisper something to each other, then smile.

They look so in love.

“Do you think it’ll last?” Owen asks, gaze unfaltering.

“Right now? Yeah, I do.”

“And what about not right now?”

I hesitate, but only for a moment. “I hope so. If it can work out for anyone, I figure it’s them. They’re perfect for each other.”

Down below us, Andy lowers Sophie into a dip. She laughs loud enough to be heard all the way across the hall.

“That’s the question then,” Owen says. “If it ever works out.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Maybe in theory. But in practice?” He lifts his glass to his lips, taking a sip before saying, “Evidence looks rough.”

I shrug. “Yeah. I don’t know.”

Owen twists to look at me. “Aren’t your parents still together?”

“They are, but I don’t exactly covet their relationship.”

“It’s bad?”

My head wavers from side to side. “No. I mean, I’m not worried, it’s just nothing I would want for myself. You know my grandparents set them up on their first date? Practically an arranged marriage, and it’s all gender roles and Catholicism in that house. More like a contractual obligation than a partnership.”

“So you don’t ever want to get married?”

“No,” I say with certainty. “Marriage is just a box people check to make themselves feel like they’re on the right track. Then they’re saddled with a person they slowly grow to resent over the next fifty years. Doesn’t really appeal.”

“You know people can get divorced, right?”

“What? When did that start?”

He knocks my shoulder sideways and I let him, bobbing back into place with a huffed laugh.

“Okay, no, I know,” I say. “But divorce is hard. Either you’re stuck with that person or you pay to get lawyers involved? I almost feel like it’s more meaningful if you don’t get married. Then you know you’re actively choosing each other every day.”

“I think you’re just a commitment-phobe, Commander Mercado.”

“Says the pot to the kettle,” I reply. “You don’t think marriages work out either.”

“Yeah, but…” His voice trails off, eyes still fixed on his brother on the dancefloor below.

“But what?”

“But my parents were fucked up,” he says. “I have an excuse.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you would run out like your dad did. That much you can control.”

“That’s a grave oversimplification.”

“Is it?”