Page 94 of Old Acquaintances

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I’m quiet, a little emotional, when I respond, “Nothing.”

“That’s not the nothing face,” he says.

“Did your Ella itch tell you that?” I slurp my drink.

He smiles. “I remember Hattie telling me not to let you drink much or you’ll encourage everyone to go streaking.”

“She was projecting.”

We go back to being quiet. It burns in my chest, and I say to myself -you hate him, you hate him, you hate him- but the wave of emotion I feel just from a single look floods my brain. It’s almost how he used to look at me. In fact, it’s very similar.

Tucker locks his eyes on mine. “Are you happy, Ella?”

“I get by, just like everyone else.”

“I asked you if you were happy.”

I swallow. “I’m fine. Happy enough.”

“Are you…” He shakes his head. He opens his mouth again and closes it. He settles on, “Tell me five new things about you. Please.”

I straighten up in my seat. “You can’t ask me that. You don’t deserve to know.”

Tucker moves to sit in Callie’s seat beside me. “Maybe not, but I’ve never run out of things to say to you. Either you talk or I talk, but we’ve never been silent before. I don’t like it. I’d rather you make some dig at me or touch my crotch than be quiet.”

“I don’t say nasty things to you unless provoked.” My eyebrow lifts. “And you can’t put a spin on getting kneed in the junk. I never did that because I wanted totouch your crotch.”I drop my air quotes, and he grins.

“That’s how I like to think about it.”

I look away from his prying eyes, and Tucker sings, “So we’re just going to sit in silence some more?”

“Isn’t that the measure of comfortability? Being able to sit in silence.”

“I never wanted to be silent with you without wanting todosomething in that silence.” He draws a breath, mirroring my reaction to that phrase. “Ella, if we’re going to be cordial with each other, we have to be able to speak normally.”

“Did you just learn that word?” I grumble.

“I graduated college with a fucking 3.8 GPA, thank you very much.”

I linger in the quiet, now enjoying it, wondering what he would do if I didn’t respond. Would that collarbone come even closer? Would he put his hand on me just to rattle out a word?

I listen to the laughter of our friends out of sight. Splashing. Conversations from other tables. Tucker’s scratchy breath. The movement of him in my periphery becomes too much.Thisis why I never stayed quiet - I was afraid of what I would feel if I focused on it for too long.

I direct to him: “Is this for the baby?”

He laughs. “Why are you calling herthe baby?”

“They wouldn’t let me name her,” I whine, wondering if he asked as well. Little whatsherface - Willow - has the cutest pink cheeks, like Gracie, and the light blonde hair of Steven. “But she’s cute.”

He agrees, “She is. And I’d like to be in the same room as her aunt every once in a while, without worrying about voodoo dolls made from my hair.” He bumps my elbow. “How does that sound?”

I hold my arm closer to my body, out of his reach. “Like I don’t have enough crafting skills for that.” Our hands rest beside each other on the table. I say, “Okay. Fine. So…I started drinking matcha. That’s one new thing.”

Tucker smiles. I remember a time when I hated giving him what he wanted. Today I want him to keep smiling at me.

I continue, “I died my hair blonde for a little while.”

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