Page 72 of All Our Almosts

“Okay, you love karaoke exactly as much as I do. You just hide it well.”

“I’ll come, but I have never wanted to get up and sing.” We stand and walk to the skate return, reclaiming our boots from the rink employee.

“I never want to get up and sing either,” I protest, “but it’s part of the experience. Maybe the difference is I’m more susceptible to peer pressure than you.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “We also don’t like any of the same books.”

“Okay well there’s no accounting for taste.” I knock my shoulder into his and he rolls his eyes. “I still think we’re more similar than we are different. The differences are just the obvious stuff.”

“Yeah, the obvious stuff like one of us likes people and one of us doesn’t.”

“Okay,” I allow, “but we both like cats more than dogs.”

“I like cooking and you hate it.”

“That’s true… Oh! We’re both bad at keeping succulents alive.”

“Yeah, but I overwater them and you under-water them.”

“Whatever. Still counts.”

We leave the rink area and head into the surrounding park. Andy’s hand tentatively reaches for mine and our fingers lace together as we wander down the path, aimless, surrounded by evergreens and strangers and the yellowy light of the park lanterns.

Tonight has been disorienting and exhilarating and perfect. I keep oscillating between the feeling that I’m just out somewhere with Andy—my best friend Andy—and everything is normal, but then he takes my hand, or touches my cheek, and I’m hit with the chest-clenching, sweat-inducing, horrible, wonderful realization that we’re on a date. A romantic date. It feels like the edge of something that could either make me whole or break me into pieces.

“How do you feel about soft pretzels?” Andy asks.

“That depends…” I hedge, reminding myself to breathe and behave like a person. “Do you like them or hate them? I’m still trying to prove a point over here.”

“I do like them,” he chuckles, casually brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. Goosebumps explode across my neck. “But also, there’s a stand over there if you’re hungry.”

“Oh, yes please.”

The pretzel stand is small and dingy, operated by a gruff man in a Patriots hat who says nothing as he hands over two pretzels and about ten thousand napkins. There are open benches nearby, but we decided to keep moving to stay warm.

“Have you ever come to see the winter lights in Boston Common before today?” I ask between bites.

Andy nods as he chews. “I came with Carly once.” Then he cringes. “Sorry, I just realized I’m not supposed to talk about an ex on a date. I’m not used to censoring that stuff with you.”

“Don’t. It’s okay. That would’ve been like… four years ago anyway, right?” We walk a few steps more before I ask, “Since you were honest about Elliot before, can I be honest about Carly?” Andy turns towards me, listening. “I don’t want to say I didn’t like her, but I guess I never really made inroads with her? It seemed like she hated me even though I was trying so hard with her.”

“It’s not your fault. I think she could tell that…” He trails off and clears his throat. “I mean, I think she was insecure about how close you and I were.”

“That’s silly,” I say dismissively. “It’s not like I was single and trying to steal you. Wasn’t I with Adrian then anyway?”

“Adrian hated me.”

“He did not.”

“He did,” Andy insists, throwing his pretzel wrapper into a garbage can as we pass. “Remember when we went to the haunted house with Nolan and Lia and Adrian and Carly?”

“Yes! God, I still can’t believe Lia talked us into that. We were all scared shitless. I literally cried. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, well afterwards Adrian told me to stay away from you.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “What?”

“He thought we were getting too close in the clown room.”