Page 13

In a few moments of weakness, I’ve clicked on his tagged name—careful to never like the photos, but just to see Henry’s own page, which I do not follow. Last I checked, he hadn’t posted anything since college, and even then, his profile was sparse. His tagged pictures aren’t much more revealing. The most recent one was a black-and-white shot in profile with the Hollywood sign out of focus in the background (which I will begrudgingly admit was a gorgeous photograph) from two years ago.

I forcibly shake the memory of his sharp gaze captured on film out of my head.

When the two men separate, Henry’s eyes fall to me, narrowing.

“Norah,” he says, his voice laced with disdain, but Trevor does not take note of his friend’s demeanor.

“I didn’t think you were gonna deign to come tonight, man!” Trevor pats Henry on the back. “It’s good to see you.”

“I was promised some world-famous latkes,” Henry replies, looking right at me.

“I made no such promises.” I shake my head, wanting to make that exceedingly clear. “I simply told you where the latkes would be.”

“Nor, they’re so fucking good,” Frankie says, finishing her last bite.

I feel a sense of pride, this being the first time I attempted them myself. Despite the oil setback and the infuriating neighbor who won’t leave me be, I did it.

“Come find me later,” I say, squeezing Trevor’s arm and averting Henry’s gaze. The last thing I want is to be stuck in another conversation with Henry. “I know you’re not drinking but I could certainly use something strong.” I take Frankie’s hand and drag her over to the bar.

“Can I get a whiskey ginger, please?” I ask the bartender. She nods, looking to Frankie as she starts to pour my drink.

“I’ll have a club soda with lime. But freshly cut. Not one of the ones that have been sitting out, touching everything, for hours.” The bartender gives her a look. “I know you have plenty, I approved the budget.”

My drink appears in front of me, and as I start to back away from the bar, I smack right into a classmate I can’t even place anymore.

Why does everyone I encounter from this town insist on spilling my drinks?

Luckily, the golden mixture splashes onto the floor instead of my person, though I wouldn’t have been mad if it had landed on the woman’s pale pink sweaterdress, if I’m being honest. When she just shrugs, I briefly consider not-so-accidentally pouring the remaining half of my drink on her shoes, but as soon as the thought enters my mind, I yell at myself because hello, I’m an adult.

This town really brings out the worst in me.

Frankie looks between me and our former classmate who I still can’t remember, her gray-green eyes wide.

“Bathroom. Now.” I grab her wrist and pull her toward the restroom.

“You gotta stop dragging me around, Nor. You’re gonna leave marks,” she says once we’re inside, rubbing her wrist.

“I’m sorry, it’s all just too much. I don’t think I can do this.”

Frankie places her drink on the sink and faces me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “You don’t have to talk to Henry. You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to. You got out, Miss Big Apple. That’s going to be fascinating enough for most of our classmates who’ve never even left our zip code. Plus, Trevor was definitely checking you out.”

“Why do you keep thinking everyone is hitting on me tonight?”

“Because you look fucking hot! And it’s obvious. Look, I love you, and I think any boy would have been lucky to have you back then, but I mean, come on.” Frankie takes my hand and twirls me around. “Back then, you looked angry all the time and were all frizzy. You figured it out. Enjoy it.”

I sigh, giving my friend a look, knowing she’s won.

“I’ll go distract Henry because I’m the best fucking friend on the planet, and you keep talking to Trevor.”

“Fine, but don’t act like hanging out with Henry is this great sacrifice for you,” I say, giving Frankie a once-over. “I know you can’t stand Trevor. Maybe I’m the one helping you out here.”

Frankie rolls her eyes, leaning her elbows back on the edge of the sink. “He’s just so much. Like a ray of fucking sunshine’s bursting out of his ass at all times. He still won’t call me Frankie either, even after all this time. You know I can’t stand being full-named. He’s a ridiculous excuse for a person. No one is that cheery. But by all means, if it’s working for you.” My best friend wiggles her dark, borderline severe eyebrows at me.

When we emerge from the bathroom, I see Trevor and Henry at the bar. Trevor turns around with fingers full of shot glasses. He gives me a head nod and we walk over to join them.

“I was just looking for you ladies,” Trevor says, genuinely happy to see us. “Fancy a shot of Jameson?”

I eye the brown liquid in those tiny monogrammed glasses. I’m not a girl who does shots. I like mixers, and too much ice, and sipping slowly through a straw. I don’t like the reminder of throwing back cough medicine when I was a kid. But Frankie raises her eyebrow at me, a clear challenge, so I extract one of the glasses from between Trevor’s fingers. His hands are large and rough, like he could toss me around.