Page 54 of Everything But Mine

“We weren’t involved,” I say flatly. “We fucked.”

“For about as long as you lived there.”

“So?” I shoot back. “We weren’t exclusive, and we both took advantage of that. It was companionship and good sex. Nothing else.”

“Nothing else?” She gives me a look. “People get married for less.”

“Invite him. We ended on good terms. It’ll be fun to see him.”

Val whistles low. “You should figure things out with Eric before then. Especially if you’re seeing Esposito.”

“I’d be seeing him at a professional event.” I glance at her. “And, well, Simo’s good. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

She snorts. “Just keep it in mind, Amanda. Eric⁠—”

I cross my arms. “What’s with you today? I thought you weren’t on Team Eric.”

“I’m not.” She shrugs, slowing at a yellow light, then flooring it anyway. “I’m on Team What’s Right. And even if you’re just having dinner with Esposito, you and Eric should be crystal clear.”

“We are crystal clear.”

She glances sideways at me. “Yeah. Like seawater.”

As we get to the door of the apartment, Val tries to snatch the keys from my bag, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“You’re being absurd,” she mutters. “You live here.”

She gives me her spiel about how therapeutic exposure works better if you don’t chicken out halfway. Giving me the kind of side-eye look she reserves for unruly patients, she tells me that: “avoidance reinforces fear.”

“I’m not afraid.” It’s not a lie, more like caution and history. What she calls avoidance, I call learning from past mistakes. “I just don’t want to.” To-MAY-to, to-MAH-to. I hear her voice in my head.

She huffs to my left, but stops wrestling me for the keys. Once I knock, Eric opens the door after a brief beat. His hair’s darker, wet tendrils escaping from behind his ears. When his eyes find mine, his face breaks into one of those rare smiles that makes his cheeks dimple. I have to bite my lip, hold myself in place, until Val cuts us off, walking in without an invitation and nudging his shoulder. Then she swivels back to us.

“Neither of you told me he’d be here.”

“Who?” Eric and I respond at the same time. After he pulls me into the apartment, closing the door behind me, his hand lingers on the small of my back.

“DJ Mouthpiece.”

It’s not salsa or bachata this time. Diego has reggaeton blasting from the front room. Still, she stomps into the room.

“Val—” he says, arms opened. “Light of my life!”

“Why are you here? And turn that off!”

“Diego,” I say. “She’s in a bad mood already because I won’t present at her conference.”

He comes across the room and gives me a side hug. Eric’s hand falls from me—a bright smile on Diego’s face and a schooled expression on his.

“Alright.” Diego claps and rubs his hands. “We’ve got the right music.” Val scoffs. “We’ve got the people.” He points around to each of us. “Now, we just need food to think about logistics. Good thing I brought treats.”

He disappears into the kitchen, yelling something about beef empanadas.

“Do you always let him loose like that in your house?” Val asks Eric.

“He may not look like it, but I promise he’s house-trained,” he responds.

Val walks away and sits down on the armchair, crossing her legs. I sink into the couch. By now, this cushion has become my spot. Eric sits next to me, leaning slightly toward me, arms crossed. Everything shifts with his weight.