Page 60

She was watching me holding Grace. I couldn’t make out her expression, but there was something distant about it.

I nodded over to the table. “Come sit with me.” I moved some files with my free hand and cleared a spot for her.

“I got us Thai food,” she said, setting down the bag she’d brought. “Oh, and before I forget to tell you, I can’t hang out on Monday. I just found out.” She looked at me and put her bottom lip into a pout.

I felt my face fall. “Why not?”

“A work thing came up,” she said, reaching into the bag and pulling out to-go containers.

I had to force down my disappointment. That was two nights that I wasn’t seeing her.

“Do you want me to watch Grace?” I asked, hoping she couldn’t hear the letdown in my tone.

She opened a container of fried rice and scooped it onto a plate. “You don’t have to. I was going to ask Yoga Lady.”

“I can do it,” I said, putting Grace down in her stroller and taking the chair next to Vanessa’s.

She shrugged. “All right. If you want to. I didn’t want to assume.” She finished serving my food and slid it over to me.

I looked at her while she was making her own plate. She wasn’t paying attention.

She’d dyed the ends of her hair last week for a video. They were blue and purple to match her sweater. It looked exotic. She had a little dimple on her cheek that came out when she smiled. Soft freckles along the bridge of her nose, long lashes.

Beautiful.

I felt that thing happening, that urge to keep looking at her for longer than was appropriate. It was something that I’d been dealing with almost constantly for the last week or so.

I felt like a teenage boy panting over some girl in my gym class. I wanted to touch her. All the time. When she sat next to me on the couch, I wanted to put an arm around her. I wanted to hold her hand at the grocery store, pull her onto my lap when she’d come see what I was working on at my desk at home. It was ridiculous how strong the impulse was.

I knew I was probably just projecting my own shit onto this situation, but the space between us always felt unnatural. Like we were both pretending that we wanted it there and it was an effort for both of us to maintain it.

Vanessa made videos about me. I didn’t watch them—I didn’t have time to. And Becky regaled me with the dramatic recap every time one posted anyway. Mostly Vanessa talking about what we did that day and gushing about how attractive I was—not that any of this mattered. Besides being flattering, it didn’t change anything. We were still just friends and that’s how it was going to stay for the foreseeable future.

I forced my eyes away from her and back to my food.

“So what am I supposed to wear on Sunday?” she asked, picking up her soda.

I was taking her out for her birthday. I had something pretty big planned.

She bit the end of her straw while she waited for my reply.

“Just wear something nice. Maybe the gray sweater dress,” I suggested, taking a bite of my noodles. I liked that dress on her.

I liked everything on her.

“Thanks for taking me out. I’d probably just be sitting at home if you didn’t.”

I found that very hard to believe. “What about your other friends? There’s nobody else who would have done anything?”

She shrugged. “Nobody local. I’ve got plenty of friends. It’s only exes I’m short on. I’m so single I don’t even have someone to drunk text,” she mumbled.

I smiled. “You can drunk text me.”

She snorted. “Good. It’s only a matter of time. Nice to have permission. I hope you like typos and crying emojis.”

I laughed.

“You know, you could have a boyfriend if you wanted one,” I said. “I still don’t understand why you don’t date.”