Page 54 of All Our Almosts

Lia emphasized a message

Lia emphasized a message

Lia emphasized a message

Lia emphasized a message

Andy: We did talk to Elliot and it sucked, but everything is fine now. We’re sleeping. Goodnight.

Lia: details!!! tomorrow!!!!!!

Nolan: Ya

Nolan: I’m coming over in the morning. 9:30?

Andy: Don’t show up here at 9:30. I won’t be back from my run yet.

Nolan: 10:30??

Lia: i cant do 10:30 i have to go to a cafe show!

Lia: ill be there at noon dont gossip without me

Andy’s pulling pancakes off the griddle when I trudge into the kitchen, still in my pajamas, idly scrolling through the texts that came in from NASA after I fell asleep.

Am I embarrassed about last night? Yes. Does my arm still hurt? Absolutely. Do I feel renewed determination to move on from my infatuation with Andy? One thousand percent. And I think I’ve even come around on a plan.

“Good morning. That smells good. Make any extra?”

“Of course I did.” Andy says with a bluntness that’s a bit extreme, even for him. He loads a stack of pancakes onto each plate and brings them over to the table. I reach across the table for the maple syrup, then pour on a generous amount.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Not really.”

“Worried about me?” I tease.

He responds with a flat, “Yes.”

All of a sudden, this conversation feels like more than I can handle before breakfast and caffeine, but I try one more time. “Did you… still go on a run this morning?”

“Yup.”

Okay fine. Eating in silence it is.

Our silence is usually comfortable, but this one decidedly isn’t, and I’m trying to figure out why. Either he’s just tired and grumpy in general, or he’s specifically mad at me for something that happened last night. Honestly, it could be almost anything. Last night wasn’t exactly a sparkling gem in the crown of my mid-20’s. And oh God… he punched Elliot last night. Like he actually punched him in the face. Maybe he’s just stressed about that? But it’s not like Elliot is going to press charges or come looking for him or something. Even still, drunk actions always feel worse in the sharp and horrible light of day, so I move in that direction.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“What are you sorry for,” he says—no question mark at the end.

“I just feel like I overreacted to everything, and made you get in a literal fight and then take care of me. So I guess I’m sorry for being such a mess.”

“It’s fine.”

“Andy, come on.” I toss my arms up in a helpless gesture. “Why are you being grumpy right now? Are you mad because I overreacted? Or is it something else?”

“Overreacted to what?”