Page 86 of All Our Almosts

Without any words to offer in response, I take his face in both hands and kiss him.

He leans us back against the footbridge’s stone barrier, his fingers threading into my hair as I cherish the warmth of each place our bodies touch. Traffic whirs, the river flows, and for a few minutes I let myself forget that tomorrow will come.

But later, when my nerves will rob me of precious hours of sleep, I will think back on that moment and deem the conversation incomplete.

Andy can’t commit to such a big change without taking time to think it through. Three weeks ago I was still dating Elliot, and now Andy’s offering to move across the country with me? It’s crazy.

(It is crazy, right?)

You can’t move across the country just because your friend is moving. Although we aren’t just friends anymore. Suddenly we’re something else. But that’s just the thing. It is sudden. And Andy never does anything without thinking it through. No matter what happens, I don’t want him to make a choice he’ll regret.

I don’t want him to regret choosing me.

26

I’m a panicker by nature. I can admit that about myself. Every year during finals I swore up and down that I would have to drop out because I’d failed all my exams, ruined my career before it began, brought shame on my family name, et cetera. And every year it was actually fine. So I get it, I have a history of overreacting. But this is not one of those times.

“Well, that’s it,” I exclaim as I burst through the apartment door. “I screwed up. I completely screwed it up. It truly and genuinely could not have gone worse.”

I throw my purse and coat on the floor, kick my shoes off haphazardly, and head straight for the fridge. There’s half a bottle of white wine in the door that I pop open, tossing the cork over my shoulder towards the kitchen sink. “Don’t mind me, I’m just going to drink this straight from the bottle and wait for death to come.”

From his vantage point in the corner armchair, I can tell Andy doesn’t believe me. His expression is completely unbothered, and frankly it’s a little annoying!

“What happened?” he asks, standing and coming over to wrap his arms around me.

“Andy, I’m not joking. I can tell you think I’m exaggerating and I’m not. I did a bad job.” I spin out of his arms like a petulant child, but he’s too mature to take the bait.

“It’s okay. Bring your bottle to the couch and come tell me about it.”

I stomp over to the couch, plop down as hard as I can, and take a big swig from the bottle.

“What happened?” he asks again, taking the seat next to me.

“God, it’s so stupid. I can’t look at you while I tell this story.”

“Here,” he says, pulling our bodies together so that he’s leaning against the arm of the couch and I’m nestled between his legs.

I take a deep breath, then start to explain. “You know how I told you I wasn’t sure what to expect really?” He nods into my hair. “Well, it ended up being a panel of three, which wasn’t that surprising, that seems like a pretty standard scenario. One was the professor I want to work with, one was a department administrator, and one was—get this—Jeff.”

“Jeff? That old jerk from the museum board?”

“Yeah, well apparently he’s a busybody old jerk because he’s on the Ashmore board too.”

“Fuck that guy,” Andy says automatically, squeezing me a little tighter.

I take another swig of wine, then continue. “When I saw him in the room I was a little panicked, but I tried really hard to remind myself that he actually likes me. I just don’t like him. But I felt pretty confident I could pretend during the interview and it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Andy’s thumb starts tracing a figure-eight along my ribs, calming and anchoring.

“I thought maybe he would ask me a question about why I made this career choice or something comparably asinine, but I was prepared for that kind of question anyway, so I figured I could handle it. But he didn’t ask any questions. Like at all. What he did instead was at the very start of the interview, after I was in the room but before anyone had started asking questions, he turns to the panel and says, ‘I think this one’s wasted her potential, but you’ll probably love her.’”

Andy noticeably tenses behind me. “He said that? Verbatim?”

“Verbatim. And intentionally loud enough for me to hear.”

“What the fuck.”

“And then he didn’t say a single other thing the entire hour. And every question that was asked felt like… like I knew the answer a minute ago. I knew it yesterday. But here and now, with him in front of me calling me ‘wasted potential’ I have no idea what the answer is.” Emotion wells up in my voice, and I quiet to a whisper. “I really screwed it up, Andy. I’m sorry.”