Page 38 of All Our Almosts

“Oh.” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Right. Thanks again.”

Andy doesn’t move, just holds my gaze as he holds my body.

And maybe I’m just caught in the moment—on this day of highs and lows and closeness and almosts—but I forget to look away.

Andy has such nice eyes. Kind eyes. A bottomless dark brown. And so expressive. He’s always said more with his eyes than he’s ever said with his words.

The fogs of our breath mix in the air. My stare flicks down to his lips for just a second, and I marvel at the curl of steam moving between them.

Sometimes I wish I had a witness to moments like these. Some objective third party who could tell me what I’m seeing. Who knows everything about me and him and our friendship and history, and could tell me if I’m seeing something real or not. Because when I think back on the near-decade of our friendship, I have about a million almost-kisses catalogued there. Moments that were subtle enough to deny. Moments that never would have almost-happened if anyone else had been there. But no one ever was, and we never crossed that line, so the almost-secret was safe with us.

But is any of it real? Or is it just my naively hopeful heart?

Because I did ask him to cross that line once, remember. And he turned me down. It was a long time ago, I know, and people’s feelings can change over time. But if Andy’s feelings had changed, wouldn’t he have said something by now? I’ve already laid myself on the line—shouldn’t he realize the ball’s in his court?

Maybe not. He’s not exactly socially proactive. But without getting something from him, there’s no way I can take that risk again.

I pull back, putting a very reasonable foot of space between us. “Should we go back inside?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “let’s get you warmed up.”

10

A few hours and one hot shower later, I come out of my bedroom in a green cotton dress. “Okay, first date outfit. What do you think?”

I put my hands on my hips, waiting for his review. The dress is knee-length and flowy, maybe a little much for the restaurant I’m going to, but I figure that’s okay. My hair is just straight and down, and I put on a little bit of makeup and gold earrings.

Andy puts down his cleaning supplies and gives me his full attention. He scans the outfit from head to toe and back up again. Having two female best friends, he’s been asked for outfit feedback before, though this one is taking him longer than usual to form an opinion. I’m actually starting to worry by the time he says, “That’s a kind of fancy dress for a first date.”

“Andy! You’re supposed to say I look great and he’s going to love it. Is there something wrong with it? God… I don’t know what else I have. I’m going to FaceTime Lia.”

I spin on my heel to head back in the bedroom, but he stops me with a stuttered, “No I—I just mean, are you going somewhere fancy?”

“Well, not really.” I turn back to face him, leaning against my door frame. “But to be honest I really have to do laundry, and my other date night outfit idea was jeans, so that was an obvious no.”

“An obvious no,” he deadpans.

“You know, jeans are… logistically difficult.”

The quirk in his brow says he’s not following.

“I mean, if I don’t want to have sex then jeans are fine, because then I don’t have to worry about getting them off. But if I do want to have sex a dress is just easier. Not that I even know if he’ll want to, but if maybe he decides he does want to, then…” I shrug. “Path of least resistance. Whatever—don’t look at me like that! Was that a weird thing to say? Am I making this weird?”

Andy tries to contort his face back into neutrality as he says, “Sorry, yeah, no, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Actually, speaking of which, I meant to ask…”

God, this is awkward—it’s so painfully awkward—but I have to do it because I have to be a courteous roommate and lordy, maybe this is why women shouldn’t room with men.

I look down at my dress as I ask, “What’s the apartment policy on bringing dates home?” He doesn’t reply right away, so I dare a glance up. And he looks alarmed. I rush to backpedal. “I know that this is really your place and I’ve just been crashing, so if you’re not comfortable with me bringing someone back that’s totally fine. Really, I want you to be honest. It’s totally fine either way.”

“Oh, uh, no, it’s fine,” he stammers. “This—it’s your place too. You should, you know, treat it like home.”

“You’re sure?”

I’m staring at him intently now, but his features are schooled. No tick in his jaw or crease in his forehead to betray an unstated issue. He replies with a collected “I’m sure” and I have no choice but to take him at his word.

“Okay. Thanks.” I nod at him—and wow, even that is weird—then head back into my room to finish getting ready.