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I took a screenshot of the post and sent it to the only person who would give me a thoughtful, rational explanation. Thea. I made sure to add a line of exclamation points for context.
THEA
Dinner tonight? Diner? Don’t freak out until we talk this over.
Okay.
I’d already started freaking out. My stomach hurt and I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.
THEA
Seriously, don’t freak out.
I checked the time. The hour in between my classes evaporated. I sucked down the rest of my coffee, dumping my phone and notes into my backpack to hurry across campus. My mind churned the entire way, reviewing what little I knew about Payton.
She liked Andy. Or at least, I thought she liked him.
I’d only gotten friendship vibes from Andy, but I’d remembered Payton’s face when we’d been introduced: faint shock coupled with a hint of betrayal. I’d registered the look immediately and remembered being thrown off by it.
Payton seemed like the type who dated foreign men with dubious royal ties and ivy-league frat bros destined for Fortune 500 board rooms. Maybe I had underestimated Andy by not placing him among those men, but Andy came from Franklin Notch, not Nantucket.
Maybe I’d misjudged the entire situation.
* * *
Thea pulled us through the crowded restaurant, avoiding prolonged conversations with well-meaning neighbors. She humored Gloria into giving us the table next to the kitchen, generally reserved for the front of house staff to fold napkins and rest between customers. Sensing the importance of the meeting, Gloria gave us the table without complaint.
With each passing hour that I didn’t receive a text from Andy, I slipped further and further down the rabbit hole of “of course Andy didn’t love me, he was just horny.” I’d poured over Payton’s timeline, searching for clues of what I’d clearly missed on our first introduction. Of course, I did that while blowing off my very real homework. Even though I wasn’t proud of it, I compiled an impressive, if slightly problematic, digital dossier of my findings. As soon as Gloria slipped away, I slid my phone across the table to Thea.
“I took screenshots of everything,” I said, shifting in my seat and unfurling the utensils to set my napkin on my lap.
Thea raised an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming with an equal mix of amusement and terror. “You okay, Nor?”
“I might be spiraling,” I admitted.
The more I delved into Payton’s life, the more I realized how perfectly she and Andy aligned. Yeah, maybe Andy’s family was “second beach house” rich and not “owns a skyscraper” rich, but they traveled in the same circles, had many of the same hobbies, and even vacationed to the same stupid islands, though not together. I’d checked that out thoroughly, of course.
Thea brushed her finger across my phone, her smile getting tighter by the second. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as she went through them all, going back to double-check a few before clicking the side of the phone and forcing the screen black.
“So, what do you think?”
She pursed her lips together and set her hands on the table, palms up. She waited until I put my hands on hers before saying anything. “Nora, my love,” she said, her voice low and soaked in concern. “That right there,” she gestured to the phone, “is insane. You’re driving yourself up the wall and I’m not sure why.”
Despite going to Thea precisely for her to explain away the picture, I tensed, attempting to pull my hands loose. “Did you even look at the picture? They were at a bar at past midnight and she’s all over him.”
“She’s sitting close to him,” Thea corrected, holding me firmly. “Besides, she looks hammered.”
I frowned, Thea’s vise-like grip preventing me from reaching and overanalyzing the picture for the millionth time. “She looks perfect.”
“Her eyes are glassy, that adorable dress is stained, and she’s got hives on her neck. This girl, while very gorgeous, is trashed.”
She squeezed my hand before setting me free to re-examine the picture. I pulled it up, looking at it again with fresh eyes.
“Her eyes are alittleglassy,” I conceded. She also had a slight flush on her neck, and the ruffle on her dress had a stain that looked suspiciously like wine. “But what about Andy?”
“Not sober, certainly not drunk either. He’s being friendly, though.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, real friendly.”
