Page 72 of All Our Nevers

And you know what’s weird? The person I most want to whine to is… Owen. Because I know he would be just as cutting and critical as I am. Then he would probably tell me I’m hot and I’m right and come on, who doesn’t want to hear that?

I actually go so far as to reach for my phone to text him, but when I open our thread I’m hit with the sight of his last message:

Can we talk about last night?

Damn, this sucks.

I’m used to fighting with him and snapping at him and even wanting to leave a room I find him in. But I’m not used to wishing I didn’t.

The worst thing is that, in the hindsight of a new day, I can recognize that he did everything right. I wanted him to kiss me, and he did. I wanted him to stop, and he did. But it would be such a comfort to be angry. And if not with him then who? Myself?

It’s tempting. I’m embarrassed—mad at my body for the way it reacts, desperate to just be fucking normal. I’ve gotten better at giving myself grace over the last few years, but with Connor’s reappearance in Boston this year it’s like that progress has eroded to nothing.

And even through the swirl of anger and humiliation in my brain, I want Owen to call me. I want him to apologize, say he’ll never do it again, beg me for forgiveness. I want him to intuit my needs without any of the relevant context. Because I definitely, definitely don’t want to explain what’s really going on in my head.

I’ve accepted that I like the guy, and that I’m incredibly attracted to him, but can I trust him with the softest parts of myself? The damaged and broken parts?

I don’t think so. Not yet.

17

Owen

You like hot dogs, right?” Nolan asks as he hands over one he already bought, as well as a can of light beer that probably cost twenty-four dollars.

“I absolutely do. And…” I trail off before pulling a flask out of my back pocket.

Nolan’s eyes bulge like a cartoon character’s. “How’d you get that in here?”

This isn’t my first rodeo at Fenway Park. I tap the side of the flask with one fingertip. “Plastic. Metal detectors got nothin’ on me.”

His laughter booms and he gestures for me to hand it over. When I do, he throws back a big swig.

“Whoo, that goes down smooth. I forgot you’re a top shelf guy,” he says, patting me on the chest.

“Only the best for Andy’s best friend.” I raise my beer can in an offered toast and he meets it with a metallic click.

“Not just Andy’s best friend. You keep it up with these tickets and flasks and your brother’s getting dethroned, my man.”

“If these tickets were enough to impress you, I hate to say it but you might be a cheap date.”

We are—in fact—in horrible seats. Back of the stadium between first and second base. But that’s what I get for buying them the day before the game.

I was already planning to follow through on Amelia’s idea to get to know Nolan better at a Sox game, but when everything happened at the end of our date, I developed an ulterior motive. Maybe one of the people who knows her best could shed a little light on what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.

The Sox batter hits the ball and it looks great, but a Yankee far in left field catches it on a jump.

Nolan is on his feet in an instant. “No! Come on!”

I’m not a huge baseball guy. Couldn’t tell you a single Red Sox player’s name. But Amelia was right, Nolan is clearly in his element here.

“So, did I hear you’ve been hitting the dating apps recently?” I ask when he takes his seat again.

“Well…” he hesitates. “I was, but it’s pretty discouraging out there, man. I keep thinking things are going well and I mess up somehow. It’s almost like I need a dating coach. Or just some honest feedback. I must be doing something wrong, but I can’t figure out what.”

“You’re best friends with two women. Could you ask one of them?”

“My best friends are Andy’s wife and my own sister. I’m not gonna ask either of them to coach me on flirting.”