A very specific sweater.
Bright yellow. Oversized. Cartoon avocado on the chest. AVO GREAT DAY in sparkly iron-on letters.
I know that sweater. I watched Grant bring it back from his office Christmas party seven months ago.
It was a Secret Santa, from "just his coworker"Jessica.
***
Knox connected his phone to the venue's sound system about twenty minutes ago. He saidone song.Then the algorithm took over, and now Adele is on her third loop and nobody's turned it off.
And it looks like nobody's going to.
The bottle is empty. Arthur tried to pour from it about five minutes ago and got two drops and a sad dribble, which he stared at for a long time before setting his glass down and putting his forehead on the bar.
"Why, though?" he says into his arms. "Like—genuinely.Why?"
"You've asked that four times," Knox says.
"And I've gotten zero answers," Arthur says.
I've got my cheek on the bar top. It's cold and slightly sticky and smells like lemon cleaner. "No, I get what you mean. I mean, for instance," I lift one finger, then put it back down. "I'm a catch."
No one replies, so I continue.
"I have good hair. I own a business. I remember people's birthdays." I think about it. "I have very strong feelings about cheese."
"And we're a good pack," Knox says. He's two stools down, phone still face-up on the bar, Jessica's Instagram glowing like he's daring it to say something. "I cook. Arthur's funny. Mason..." He trails off.
"Mason what," Mason says. His eyes are closed. His chin is on his chest. He hasn't moved in about ten minutes and I genuinely thought he was asleep until right now.
"You're very..." Knox searches. "Protective."
"You're trying to sugarcoat the tackling," Arthur mumbles.
"I'm not," Knox says defensively. "I'm just trying to say Mason's approach to conflict resolution is very... hands-on."
"I'm right here," Mason says.
"We know," Arthur and Knox say together.
Never mind, I'll find someone like youhouuuu...
Knox's hand drops to the bar to do a slow, little two-finger sway to the chorus.
"The thing that gets me," I say, mostly to the wood grain, "is that I had a life. Before." I roll my empty glass between my hands. "In Chicago. Friends. A Tuesday-night trivia team..." I pause. "And I left all of that. Drove nine hours with a car full of houseplants and a loan I'm still paying off for a flower shop in a town where I knewone person, and that person—"
"Left," Arthur finishes.
"Dumped me," I say. "And took the apartment with him. Well, not literally. But he might as well have because I definitely can't afford that place alone, and now—"
"Wait," Knox says. He lifts his head. "You don't have an apartment?"
"I have a system," I say.
"What system?"
"Tonight I'm at Maren's. Next week, probably Luna's. After that—" I shrug. "I rotate."
