Page 31 of All Our Almosts

“Yeah.”

My heart sinks watching Andy retreat into himself. Sometimes I just want to shake him and tell him to say more, say anything, try harder! But I know that’s not fair, because he’s nothing if not trying. Still—it is literally, physically painful to watch.

I love the full version of Andy so much. The version that’s silly and pedantic and set in his ways and comfortable with silence, the version that snarks and scolds and listens closely to every word you say. I hate seeing him protectively offer up only a tiny sliver of himself to the rest of the world, like it’s the only part he thinks other people can’t hurt. I wish I could tell him that the full him—the real him—is the most likable and lovable person I’ve ever met, and that anyone who thinks otherwise can roll over and die.

But at the same time, if I’m being honest, there is a tiny part of me that feels special, knowing not everyone has a chance to experience him the way I do.

I wonder about that sometimes—whether it might really be just me. He’s had a lot of girlfriends over the years. Did they get to see every facet of him? Did Carly ever see him belly laugh over the misuse of the word “nonplussed”? Did Steph notice he always has to try out a recipe twice in private before he’ll make it for anyone else? Did he dismiss Nour’s insecurities with a look so earnest and piercing that it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them?

Maybe.

Or maybe they only saw glimpses of that Andy, my Andy.

In the most secret and unfair part of my heart, I hope they didn’t. I hope his full self is only for me.

“Been working on any projects lately that I should check out?” Owen asks, trying to mask the discomfort written all over his face.

“The last couple books have been thrillers,” Andy replies.

“Oh, yeah, cool. I could read a thriller.”

“Okay.”

“You should send me the title.”

“Sure.”

Then the silence starts to stretch.

And that’s all folks. That’s well above the quota of social discomfort I can handle here in the ninth circle of small talk hell. I place a hand on Andy’s arm and say to his brother, “Thanks for making it all the way out here. I know it’s a trek from the Seaport. Is your office there too or do you just live there?”

Owen looks relieved at the interjection, and I briefly hate him for it. He doesn’t get Andy at all.

“Live and work,” Owen replies. “It’s pretty nice actually. Less than ten minutes walking door to door, and the building has a pool and a gym and everything. I’m pretty sure it even has something called a ‘pet spa’. And lots of bars nearby. It’s great.”

“That sounds incredible. I don’t know if you heard but Andy and I are actually living together now.” I loop my arm through the elbow of the roommate in question.

“You are?” He sounds genuinely surprised, and looks to his brother for confirmation. Andy nods, then looks down like the eye contact was painful.

“You just moved recently?” Owen asks, looking back at me. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going great, his place is beautiful. Or… I guess it’s our place now. Definitely better than anything I could afford on my own.”

“So it was a financial decision?”

“Kind of.” I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t want to get into the whole sob story, but trust me, Andy really saved me.” Then I wink at Andy, trying to pull him back into the conversation with a taunt about his savior complex.

Andy places his hand over mine and squeezes—our signal.

“You know,” I say, turning back to the group. “I saw a sign that said they’re giving out free samples of their IPA. I’d be happy to grab some for everyone. Nolan, will you come help me carry them?”

“Sure… Soph is there a reason you’re being weird?”

“What? Shhh!” I pull him towards the bar. “We’ll be back soon.”

I wave quickly over my shoulder then cross the room with Nolan in tow.

“Ow, loosen the grip, Soph.”