Page 48 of All Our Almosts

“I agree!” chimes the high-voiced girl again before flushing her toilet. “Get back out there!”

Then the low-voiced girl, now washing her hands at the other sink, adds, “Yeah, you look hot. You should do it.”

Their encouragement is sweet but I can feel myself blushing already at just the thought. “Oh my god, I am not going to walk up to a stranger and ask him to dance.”

“Well no, don’t ask him to dance. This isn’t the eighth-grade formal,” Lia gibes. “Just make eye contact, vibe check, and then grab on for the ride.”

“Lia, my love, that only works for people who look like you. And honestly I’m kind of tired of always being the person taking initiative and trying so hard.”

“She doesn’t have to do anything she’s not ready for,” Rayna tells her girlfriend.

“Yes, she does,” Lia insists, then turns to me. “Yes, you do. Trust me.”

Both bathroom ladies agree with a hearty “Yes, you do!” Then the low-voiced one leans towards Rayna, asking, “Did you say you have a foundation line?”

14

Nolan and his roommate Jaiden are standing next to our table, engrossed in making some kind of secret handshake like the children they are. Andy is sitting in the booth, boxed in by a curvy brunette woman with a hand resting on his bicep. She’s chattering away and he’s barely nodding. From anyone else it would be a pitiful approximation of politeness, but for him it’s pretty good.

Lia, Rayna, and I approach and Andy seems to sense us coming, straightening up and catching my eye immediately. I shake my head at him with a teasing smile. (This isn’t my first experience watching women flirt with Andy, as you know.)

The brunette follows his gaze, then her eyes dart between us—to Andy, then me, then Andy again. But Andy doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s cracking a genuine one-dimple smile as I approach—a smile I doubt the other girl got even a hint of. The surety of it sparkles in my chest.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says to me, rising from the booth. “I didn’t realize…” Then she slinks off towards the dancefloor, not even finishing her thought.

There’s a beat of processing between the group before Lia bellows, “Damn, Soph! Effortless cockblock!”

Jaiden roars in laughter as Lia slides into the booth, but Nolan looks serious as he says, “Lia, can you not?”

“What?” she returns. “I’m not allowed to point out when they’re doing that anymore?” She waves her hand in a vague circle at us.

“No,” Nolan replies sternly, expression unreadable.

Mercifully, the opening notes of “Get Low” shatter the bizarre moment, and our entire group runs to the dance floor, abandoning our first round of empty glasses on the table. (Andy tries to stay behind, but I don’t give him the chance because his hand is already in mine.)

We order drink number two.

Lia and Rayna disappear almost immediately, recognizing some art friend in the crowd.

We order drink number three.

Nolan convinces Jaiden to be his wingman—a role that’s more strategy-heavy than any of us foresaw. They spend a full ten minutes huddled together like football players until Jaiden stands upright, pats Nolan’s shoulder twice, and the pair heads off towards the bar.

That leaves Andy and me to our own devices along the edge of the dancefloor. Lights strobe and bass blares and the average age in the room is about five years our junior. I’m starting to think about drink number four, so I lean towards him and ask, “Should we get absinthe?”

He leans in towards my ear to be heard over the music. “Why absinthe?”

“You said we’re doing college nostalgia tonight, right? I think that’s what we drank the first night we hung out, just the two of us.” I pull back just far enough to check his face for recognition. “Remember?”

He watches my mouth, lipreading over the boom of the crowded bar. He seems to understand the question, but his expression remains locked, almost uncannily neutral.

Only then does it occur to me that he really might not remember. That the night that’s seared into my memory might have been utterly forgettable to the person I shared it with.

I mean, that makes sense. There’s always some woman throwing herself at Andy. Why would the night I did it stand out? Especially since he wasn’t interested. But even so—even just as friends—my heart sinks at the realization that our first night out wasn’t as special in his mind.

I’m about ready to open my mouth and brush it off with a friendly You probably don’t remember, but trust me we drank absinthe and it was great! but then he nods, and takes one step closer, and bends until his lips just barely graze the shell of my ear.

“It was a great night,” he says, just loud enough for me to hear over the music. One hand rests on my waist, but it’s light, tentative. “Do you—” He hesitates, and I feel his fingers curl more ardently against my ribs. “Do you remember all of it?”