Page 8 of All Our Almosts

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree, white-knuckle gripping my tears because I am not going to cry with everyone here. I’m not.

She doesn’t let go of me until the boys come back in with the final boxes.

One thing I love about NASA? Most of our boundaries were completely torn to shreds by about year three of our friendship. Nolan doesn’t even bother to ask if they can stay for dinner, he just opens one of Andy’s cabinets and asks, “What kinds of pasta do you have? Should I just make it from scratch?”

And boy, between the friend who’s letting me live in his lovely spare bedroom, and the friends with generations-old Sicilian recipes in their back pockets, I’ve got it made.

What do I bring to this friend group? Not much—I’ll tell you that for free.

With the boys getting to work in the kitchen, I pull Lia into my new bedroom to help me unpack. My room is right off of the kitchen, so normally the four of us would be able to chat at a normal volume through the open door, but Lia cannot exist with even a moment of silence so she’s already playing music on her phone with the volume on max.

“Hey Andy,” she calls, “can I have a cup?”

He brings her one, and she shoves the butt of her phone into it as a makeshift speaker. (Which works surprisingly well.) The sounds of rhythmic guitar float from the bedroom to the kitchen, mingling with the sounds of bags unzipping, packing tape tearing from cardboard, and frying pans clinking against each other. We fold shirts into drawers while the boys argue.

“Cayenne pepper and red pepper flakes are literally the same food, dude. They should be next to each other.”

“Nolan, I don’t know how to make this any clearer. It’s in alphabetical order, and C and R are not next to each other.” Andy sounds exhausted, like they’ve had this conversation before.

“Who alphabetizes their spice rack?” Nolan demands. “I would understand grouping them by like… flavor profile or country of origin, but alphabetical is insane.”

“Who groups their spices by country of origin?” Andy asks, incredulous.

“Yeah, Nolan,” Lia shouts over the music through the open bedroom door. “You’re telling us you don’t have time to wash your sheets but you have time to organize your spices by country of origin?”

“I wash my sheets!”

“Occasionally…”

I take it upon myself to pop into the kitchen and end the debate. “Andy, do you have a Sharpie?”

“Um yes…” He shuffles around in a drawer before turning to hand me one. I then pluck the red pepper flakes out of Nolan’s hand and scrawl a big “C” on the front.

“Cred pepper flakes. Yup, that’ll do it,” Nolan nods, placing them back on the shelf next to the cayenne.

And I know I’m in trouble even before Andy’s eyes lock with mine. I try to dart away around the kitchen table, but he lunges for me and he’s too fast. He fakes left and I fall for it, then his freakishly long arms are wrapping around my middle and lifting me straight into the air. I can barely catch my breath from how hard I’m laughing as he carries me away, depositing me on the couch in my room and pointing a finger in my direction. “You stay here. You’re banned from the kitchen.”

“Just tonight or forever?” I wheeze. “Does that mean you’ll cook all my meals while I’m here?”

He offers a wry look before heading back.

With dinner in the oven, the boys come into my room to help pull out the couch, and it doesn’t take very long before we’re all draped across it. It’s like we have a mutual gravity—being near them just makes me want to get nearer.

(And anyway, I’m pretty sure anything with mass does have its own gravity, so there.)

Andy is the first to sit on the pull-out couch AKA my new bed, perching himself in the top corner with his arms crossed. Lia lies across the middle, perpendicular to Andy and taking up far more than her fair share of space. Andy rests his socked feet across her calves, which does make her yell “Ew! Man feet!” but doesn’t make her move. Nolan sits on the floor, leaning against the dresser, and I arrange myself cross-legged in the space next to Andy and above Lia.

“I love those earrings, Soph,” Lia says—definitely not throwing out any compliment she can think of to make me feel better about the breakup. “Are they rubies?”

“Um… I don’t know.” I say, touching one. And I really don’t know what they are, but I do know I love them. Small, tear-shaped gems hanging from gold posts. I only realize I’m smiling after it’s started.

“Yeah, they’re rubies,” Andy says confidently from my left, which prompts Lia to jab, “What, are you a jeweler now, Andrew? Oh my god, you know what they look like?” She flips onto her stomach to look squarely at her brother. “They look like that ring of Nonna’s. The one you gave that girl on the second date and then she ghosted you.”

“Nolan!” I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s so classically him.

“Dude.” Andy shakes his head.

“Oh, that’s what we’re doing today, Lia? Okay, I’ll remember this next time Nonna wants to see pictures of your art.”