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Crumbs. “I do.”
She smiles.
“Have plans, I mean. I’m sorry.”
She frowns, a pouty face. It’s so outside the realm of experience I’ve had with Miranda, so unlike the polished idea of Miranda I’ve always upheld in my head. It reminds me of me. And suddenly I want nothing more than to tell her yes. Yes, I will hang out with her. Yes, let’s get dinner, drinks, catch a film. Yes, to cultivating belonging.
Except I have Jesse’s party.
“Maybe next week?”
She perks up. “Rock on,” she says, throwing up her index and pinkie fingers.
“Great. Cool. Good.”
“See you soon,” she says, and the minute she rounds the corner to the elevators I bounce up and down, my sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. I have a friend date.
“Yes yes yes yes yes.”
“What are you doing?” Audrey asks.
I turn quickly to find her watching me with her eyebrow cocked. Usually her smiles are ready to draw blood, but this one could be generously described as tentatively amused.
“Celebrating,” I say. “Miranda and I are going out for dinner next week.”
“Ah.” She doesn’t smile but her dimples make an appearance. “Cool. Well, have a good weekend.”
“Do you want to come?” I ask. I feel myself tipping onto my toes, an old twitch from when I was a kid and exceptionally nervous. “Do you want to join Miranda and I for dinner?”
Audrey tucks her hair behind her ear. “OK. Text me when you know the details.”
She turns to go and instead of having any chill at all, I yell, “I don’t have your number.” Which is how I find myself leaving campus with dinner plans and Audrey Robbs’s phone number burning up my phone like a hot potato.
“Belonging,” I say to myself as I pass my tree, dragging my hand across the rough bark. “I can belong here.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lulu
Jesse told me to come anytime but when I turn onto his street, ten minutes past, there’s already nowhere to park in his driveway or out front. I have to parallel park four houses down, which is exceptionally difficult when I factor in the fact that I cannot parallel park. Music pumps through the open windows and I check my phone again to make sure I didn’t arrive later than I thought, like maybe I drove through a wormhole on my way here and it’s actually midnight.
But no. 7:11pm.
I knock but when no one answers, I let myself in. The house is packed. There must be people here who aren’t a part of the study.
“Lulu’s here,” a voice yells and a cheer goes up from the crowd. My face flushes as I wave at the mass of bodies dancing on a makeshift dance floor where Jesse’s couch and coffee table used to be. Someone has brought a spinning disco ball with lights and it sits precariously on the edge of his mantel. A Ping-Pong ball sails into the living room, chased by George, who smiles when he sees me.
“You made it!” His face is flushed red and the collar of his white polo shirt is crooked and he has a pink stain on his chest.
“There’s so many people here already,” I whisper, then repeat myself when he can’t hear me.
He laughs. George smells certifiably flammable and it’s not even eight o’clock. “What did you expect? A party for millennials has to start early so everyone can go to bed early.”
“Do you think Jesse is OK with all these people in his house?” I ask.
George winces but nods as he scans the room. “Don’t worry about him. Jess knows how to party.”
“Hey,” Jesse says, appearing out of the congregation in the kitchen like we summoned him. “Do you want me to put that in the fridge?” He gestures to my bottle of pinot grigio.
