Page 4 of All Our Almosts

“What? Don’t look at me like that. I’m allowed to have a preference. I just don’t like dating… conventionally attractive girls.” He says it like someone begrudgingly using a politically correct term, and it’s getting harder and harder to not take offense.

Look, I know I’m not a model, okay? And next to Lia I’m sure I look like a cave troll. But I try hard to keep a positive body image. And I think I’m… fine? Normal? To the extent normal is even a thing. I have straight brown hair (nothing to write home about), freckles (a controversially cute-or-ugly feature), hazel eyes (again, fine) behind glasses (okay, this one I acknowledge Elliot’s point on—maybe I should wear contacts more), and I have a body that I try not to criticize because that road only leads to unhappiness. But even with my reasonably acceptable body image, I don’t know what to say to that. I’m still coming up with a response by the time my mean friends take matters into their own hands.

“What the fuck are you saying, Elliot?” Andy snarls, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angrier. Then Lia asks, “Are you high?” in a tone that’s half explicit insult and half genuine question.

Color is rising on Elliot’s cheeks, and I can already see how this is going to go. It’s going to be ugly. They’re going to fight and leave hating each other more than they already do, and it’ll be impossible to hang out together after that. And God, I just wanted to have a nice night out! I can’t deal with the conflict. I just can’t.

“You know what,” I say, clapping my hands together. There’s a manic edge to my voice that I try to correct in my next sentence. “This actually reminds me of something I learned at work today. I have a friend who works in the museum’s biology department, and she was telling me that there’s an animal called a sea salp whose reproductive cycle alternates generations, so basically Generation A reproduces sexually, and then Generation B reproduces asexually, and then the cycle necessarily repeats forever. And the two generations have totally different anatomy and everything. So you know, it’s totally normal for there to be weird mating rituals in the animal kingdom. Humans aren’t the only ones. In fact, ours aren’t even that interesting.”

It’s not my smoothest work, but give me a break, I’m under duress.

After an awkward beat, Nolan says, “I’m sorry, I’m lost. In this metaphor, is Elliot the asexual reproduction sea salp, or is that you?”

“It’s not a metaphor! I’m just sharing something cool I learned today.”

I turn to my left, intending to smile at Elliot to show there are no hard feelings about it at all, when my eyes catch on Andy’s instead.

And in that one second of eye contact, I think Andy understands everything going through my head. It’s always been like that. We don’t need to spell things out with each other. Sometimes we just know.

“That’s actually really cool,” he says, holding my gaze as tightly as a physical touch. “Do the two generations look the same externally?”

Then Lia gets it—God bless her—and adds, “Yeah and what are sea salps anyway, are they like fish?”

I exhale for what feels like the first time in an hour, then tell them everything I know about sea salps.

And it’s fun. It helps. Really. It’s the perfect distraction from the flush I know is still riding high on my cheekbones. And Elliot, to his credit, lets me monologue for probably ten minutes straight before he says, “The alcohol bucket is empty so I’m going to get a beer from the bar. Anyone need anything?”

And you know what? I do need something. I deserve it, after that ordeal.

“Yes, a margarita please. Actually, do they have flavors? You know what, I’ll just come with.”

I don’t look back at my friends as we head for the bar. I don’t want to see them watching us.

We place our orders, and Elliot pulls out his phone to check work emails while we wait. I take the chance to fix myself up a bit, smooth my dress, make sure my makeup hasn’t smudged under my eyes. And I know what you’re thinking—it’s not because of what Elliot said. I look how I look, and that’s fine. I just don’t want to seem messy.

I finish running my fingers through my hair and finally dare to look back at the table. Lia and Nolan are hunched towards each other in rapt discussion, but Andy’s looking at me.

I give him a smile-and-nod. I’m okay.

But he doesn’t smile-and-nod back, just keeps looking at me with that deep crease between his brows, the one that’s always there when something troubles him and often there regardless.

“Hey, Soph.” Elliot pulls my attention back and I look up at him. “I just got an email from Umair and he needs the slides tonight so I’m gonna have to bail. Sorry, honey.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay, no worries.”

And between you and me? I’m relieved.

Not because I don’t want him here or because I’m still mad at him from before—which I’m not—but because the conflict will leave with him. Now everyone will just get along, and no one will expect me to do something I can’t or say something I won’t.

I carry my strawberry margarita back to the table and Elliot comes up behind me, explaining to the group, “I actually just got an email from work and have to bail.”

“That’s just fine,” Lia says with a sardonic smile. “Have a good night!” Her dismissive wave paints an unambiguous picture of her feelings on the matter.

Elliot ignores her, turning back to me. “I might be home late, so don’t wait up.” Then he gives me a quick kiss and heads out.

Mercifully, my friends seem to realize I don’t want to debrief what just happened. There’s an immediate and unspoken agreement to switch gears.

Step one: Nolan heads to the bar for a round of shots. Step two: Lia sprints to the karaoke sign-up sheet as soon as it’s out and signs us up for a slew of songs. But don’t worry, we’re polite about it. She always leaves a few lines of space between each song so other people can take turns too. Step three: somewhere between Nolan’s excruciating rendition of “Fergalicious” and my duet of “Summer Lovin’” with Lia, the night takes a turn for the better. Even Andy—after two “please don’t make me”s and three tequila shots—is successfully roped into a group performance of “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” and my own heart feels full.