“I told her about you and your girl.” He unzips his backpack and fiddles with a paper bag inside it.
Curiosity gathers in my gut. “What did she say?”
“That you sound like a dum-dum.” He takes a deep breath. “And that misery loves company. Anyway… she gave me two of each of these books… one for me, one for you.”
He hands me the bag, crinkling against my hands. I expect it to be some generic self-help thing about grit or focus.7 Habits of Effective Boyfriendsor21 Ways to Be the Man You Should.Instead, I find three books stacked neatly, spines worn just enough to suggest they’d been chosen and used with care.I run my fingers over the covers, feeling the weight of the pages and the intention behind them.
Spot and Avoid Misplaced Affection.
Emotional GPS: Finding Yourself Before Finding Others.
The Shape of Need.
I flip one over, reading the back:When love feels like an answer, it’s usually a question you haven’t learned how to ask yourself yet.
I huff out a laugh. “Christ,” I mutter under my breath. The quote tugs at the empty space in my chest even though it shouldn’t. “Andrzej,” I say, trying to meet his eyes.
He’s staring out into the horizon, unfocused, hands shifting through the sand.
“Do you think this is going to help at all?”
He wipes his face with his sleeve, then combs his fingers through his hair. “I trust Amanda. And after reading a couple of chapters… I think you should give it a try.”
I turn the book to the front and trace the “s” from “shape” with my index finger. Beneath the title, there’s a faint line drawing of two hands almost touching, the space between them shaded in gold. The negative space hums, what’s missing draws you in first. The absence hums in me too—right where Robyn used to be.
Lake Michigan stretches out before us, vast and calm. I kissed Tessa back. I know that much. I’m almost ready to accept that there’s only one word for it. I still can’t make heads or tails of my reasoning. Ten weeks since that afternoon on the bench with Robyn, and the end of her program tightens around my neck like a noose.
We’reat this large bar in West Town. It’s got a huge patio with firepits and decorative caravans, but we’ve decided to settle at the bar, huddling stools together. A game’s on three different TVs, and every few seconds, the room flares with a collective groan or cheer. I’m sitting at a high-top with Andrzej and Elijah, pretending to care about whatever team’s losing. Andrzej is arguing for the hundredth time over White Sox being more Chicago than the Cubs. Our friend won’t agree with him, not today or ever.
Elijah snorts into his drink, watching Andrzej over the rim. His glasses catch the low bar light, short dark hair pushed up in deliberate spikes, beard trimmed to precision. There’s a gold band on his finger that glints whenever he gestures—a reminder he’s tempered, settled, and steady while Andrzej and I are still spinning out.
Except I wouldn’t have thought I wasuntil a couple of months ago.
The three of us were inseparable all through undergrad. We’ve been through late-night study sessions, shitty one-night stands, and seen Elijah transform into a respectable husband. We’ve stuck together through demanding careers and bad decisions. If Elijah weren’t in town for a wedding on his wife’s side, I’d have dodged this whole night.
“Tessa will be there, Andrzej,”I said four nights ago when we were figuring out plans, leaning back on my couch while the hole between my lungs spasmed from the lack of Robyn.
“So what?”He kicked at the leg of my coffee table, slouched in his usual way, one arm draped over the back of the couch.“Afraid being around her might be too confusing?”
I’d scoffed. Every time we talked about Tessa, his patience wore thinner, empathy turning to exasperation.
His fists land on the wooden counter, blue eyes wide. “Come on, man, that was clean!” he yells at the screen, thencurses in Polish, blond hair spiked, the dimple in his cheek flashing when he grins at his own outrage.
“I’m sorry to tell you, man”—Elijah claps him on the shoulder—“but you’re not on the field.”
Across the room, Tessa’s bent over the pool table, laughing at something one of the guys says. Her blonde hair catches the overhead light, and it’s easy to look away from her. Andrzej and Tessa have that ease with people, befriend them, confide in them. That’s only come natural with a few for me.
Andrzej’s saying something about penalties, stats, playoffs—I nod like I’m following. My chest constricts from the lack of Robyn and the weight of my bad decisions.
When I lift my gaze from my drink, Tessa’s squeezed next to me, hip cocked. Then she half sits, and her thigh presses against mine. I used to think this was confidence and closeness; now it feelsinvasive. She leans in to catch the bartender’s attention. My shoulder tightens, and I shift away.
“Dude,” I say, stretching over Andrzej and Elijah, lowering my voice. “She’s practically sitting on my lap. Can you please fucking make room?”
Andrzej turns his head slowly, his icy eyes flicking between Tessa and me. “Man,” he mutters, voice like gravel. “You’re a grown-ass man. Tell her she’s making you uncomfortable.”
Elijah sets his glass down with a soft thud. “I don’t get it, man. You won’t tell her to move, or I don’t know—sit literally anywhere else?”
“She sat next to me!” I whisper-yell, dragging a hand over my jaw.
