Page 27 of All Our Almosts

“Just say what you were going to say, Sophia.”

I tuck my knees up in front of my chest. “Are you sure about that? Because I was going to ask you how many people you’ve had sex with, but then I realized I kind of don’t want to know the answer.”

“You don’t?” he asks earnestly, and the question makes my temperature spike about a million degrees.

“Not… I mean… not because I’m like… jealous or something. Oh, Jesus.” I drop my face into my palms, hiding from myself. “I totally made this weird. I swear I didn’t mean it like Tell me how many girls you’ve slept with because you’re mine and they need to die, I just meant—”

“I didn’t think you did,” Andy tries, but I can’t stop talking.

“—like as a friend I was curious, because I’ve heard every single hookup story that Lia has ever had and I feel like that’s a best friend thing, to talk about that stuff, but then I realized that it’s not really our dynamic and I shouldn’t be asking for that amount of detail.”

“It’s not our dynamic?”

“Clearly! Look at me!” I point to my face that’s 700 degrees Fahrenheit and fluorescent pink.

“That seems like a you problem, not an us problem.”

Andy leans forward, casually picking up another piece of pizza from the coffee table, and his nonchalance is making me insane. I need to steer this conversation back to safer waters or I will physically die. So I do the first thing I can think of: without warning, I lunge forward and take a huge, messy bite of the pizza in his hand.

“Hey!” He shoves me back onto my half of the couch, laughing as he attempts to protect his slice. “Get your own, weirdo.”

I fall back against the couch cushion, giggling around the cold glob of cheese now hanging from my mouth.

Tension dissipated. Mission accomplished.

When we eventually press play on the movie again, I split my attention between the big screen on the wall and the small screen in my hand. Patrick (34, consultant, likes travel and working out) starts the conversation by commenting on a picture of me in a bookstore carrying a stack of three huge novels to the register.

Patrick: i love this series

Me: Oh awesome! I’m reading it now. I’m almost done with book two and am really mad at Merenia for the whole secret message thing. No spoilers please!

Patrick: let me know when you get to the end, the cliffhanger is torture

Me: Ahhhh ok will do!

Me: Also I have to ask, do you actually call your cats Bumpkin and Rumpkin or do they go by nicknames?

Patrick: usually they get called b and ru, unless my niece is over, she named them, i think it confuses them when their real names come out

Me: They are so cute! I’d love to meet them someday

Patrick: wanna come over now, i’ll send my address

And look, I’d be the first to admit I’m mostly looking for a hook up right now, but even by those loose standards, it’s an abrupt proposition.

Me: Maybe we should meet for drinks to get to know each other first. Are you free next weekend?

Patrick: how’s next friday

8

I wake up the next morning feeling… good. Lighter than I have in recent memory. After all, I have two reasons to be excited now: a brewery trip with my best friends today, and a perfectly low-pressure rebound date next weekend.

I get out of bed mid-morning and check my phone for the weather. Shockingly, Boston in late February is still—as Nolan says—“colder than a yeti’s ballsack,” so I throw on jeans and a fitted maroon sweater. Standing before the mirror, I pull my hair into a high ponytail and pop in my contacts. And you know what? For the first time since the breakup, I actually feel pretty good about my reflection.

I pick up my favorite ruby earrings from the top of the dresser, rolling them over in my hands a few times. I don’t even notice I’m smiling until I’ve secured the second one in my ear.

Spoiled as I’ve become with Andy’s cooking, I’m a little disappointed when I don’t find him in the kitchen this morning, so I decide to keep breakfast simple, grabbing a box of Chex from the cabinet and sitting down at the long wooden table to eat it dry. I’ve just shoveled the first handful into my face when I hear the bathroom doorknob turning.