Page 40 of All Our Almosts

“Sorry.” He hurriedly puts the coffee grinds back into the cabinet, then starts towards the front door. “I’ll come back later.”

I rush in front of him. “Woah. Slow down there, cowboy. Where are you off to?”

“Just—” His eyes flit down to my sleep shirt again, then back up at my face. “—giving you some space.”

He tries to sidestep me, but I block the way again. “Why are you being weird right now?”

“I just don’t want to get in the way of your date.”

“My date from last night? He’s not here.”

Andy scratches at the back of his neck. “Oh. He got up early?”

“I wouldn’t know. We went our separate ways yesterday after an hour of mind-numbing small talk.”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t try to move towards the door again, so I relax my defense and head back into the kitchen. “Yeah, it was bad. I used to think I was good at small talk, but last night it was not working. It was excruciating, like I could feel our conversation sucking the life force out of me.” I pull the orange juice out of the fridge, then pour myself a glass.

“So, he didn’t spend the night?” Andy asks, clearly still buffering. “I thought… with the shirt…”

“Oh this?” I glance down at myself. “This is my very own horrifically ratty sleep shirt. He definitely did not spend the night. He didn’t even walk me home from the restaurant.”

“Seriously?” Andy comes to join me in the kitchen, immediately assuming his role as breakfast chef. “Did this guy not have a dad? You know what, I didn’t have a dad, and even I know you have to walk the girl home.”

I laugh. “I know you do, Andy. You’re the guy who once came like a mile across campus in the middle of the night just to walk me home.”

“Don’t remind me about V&S guy right now. It’ll give me visceral rage.”

I snort at the forgotten nickname. “I think his real name was Ashton. Or Ash…ford?”

“Asshole,” he mutters.

“You know, I don’t even remember why we called him V&S guy anymore.” I take my seat at the kitchen table, swigging from my orange juice.

“You don’t?”

I shake my head. “I just remember we hooked up and then he told me I couldn’t spend the night, but I was scared to walk home alone so I texted NASA.” I shrug. “Everything else is a blur.”

“Well, I remember.” Andy pulls a cutting board and knife out of their respective drawers. “When I got to his building you were sitting on a bench in the lobby because you felt sick. And I asked how much you’d had to drink and if you ate dinner. And you said—”

Realization dawns. “Oh my god, no—”

I stand and rush towards him, trying to cover his mouth before he can pull my humiliation into the light of day, but I’m too slow. He twists out of reach, laughing as he recalls, “You said, ‘All I have in my stomach is vodka and semen.’”

And then I’m melting into laughter, collapsing against the countertop as my cheeks flame. “Oh god, vodka and semen—V&S! I do remember that. Oh, that’s horrible. That’s a really embarrassing story.”

“It’s embarrassing for him, not you.” He calmly lays the vegetables out on the cutting board, then starts to chop.

“It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

I grab a mushroom from his pile, popping it into my mouth. When I reach for a second he swats my hand away. “Would you let me cook? We both know what happens when you don’t have any food in your system.”

“Low blow, Walsh,” I chuckle. “Very low blow.”

So I hop up onto the counter and watch him work. Andy places a skillet on the stovetop, then starts chopping the onions and bell peppers, biting his lip with unconscious focus. Once the aromatics are in the pan, he turns to the spice rack, hand running through his hair as he considers his options.

I like this version of Andy—lazy weekend morning Andy. He’s usually so polished, but this morning he’s wearing a gray sweatsuit that’s at least as old as our friendship, with the sweater unzipped halfway to reveal a navy blue t-shirt from some race he ran ages ago.