Page 31 of Drowning Erin

“I said she was annoying. She’s the most annoying girl I’ve ever known in my life.” But my eyes are glued to her too. I smell burning steak, but I’m unable to lookaway.

“A girl who looks like that can be as annoying as she wants,” says Rob. “Introduceme.”

“Not a chance. That’s not how I want to spend my afternoon.” More to the point, that’s not how I want Rob to spendhisafternoon.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll introducemyself.”

And with that he walks away, and my stomach drops again. Rob, unlike every other guy I scared off this summer, is not a douchebag. In truth, he’s far better for her than I could ever be. And now he’s got his Harvard MBA and his brand-new job with a salary so high I thought he was joking when he toldme.

It feels as if my life is still coming together, as if I have all the time in the world to go after the things I want. But as I watch Rob introduce himself to Erin, it occurs to me for the first time that maybe she’s one of those things. And maybe it’s already toolate.

23

Erin

Present

It’s been onlyfour days since my bike ride with Brendan, but it feels as if something has shifted inside me. Like hearing a song from high school and being catapulted back in time, I’m beginning to remember who I once was, the person I left behind in the process of becoming the person Rob wanted me to be. I’m angry at myself for letting that version of me slipaway.

Harper is sitting on my desk, eating the cookies I brought in and offering a far-too-detailed description of her date last night with a guy who hadn’t shaved (“He went down on me, and it was like someone was scrubbing my vagina with fuckingsandpaper.”) when Brendan texts, asking if I want to bike this weekend. Harper reads over my shoulder as I reply, having no concerns with privacy—her own or anyoneelse’s.

“Texting the new boyfriend, huh?” she asks with asmirk.

“He isnotmy boyfriend. As youknow.”

“Oops. I meant to say ‘texting the guy who you’ve masturbated to thoughts of for the past month’. Oh, wait, maybe that was justme.”

I bury my face in my hands. “I went to Catholic school, Harper. I’m still not ready for 90 percent of what comes out of yourmouth.”

“Speaking of groups of people who need to get laid, you’re still coming out with me Saturday, right?” Harper has somehow scored an invite to a private party for a bunch of the Broncos, which I honestly have no desire toattend.

“I’m not going out with you to getlaid.”

“Obviously,” she says, as if offended. “I was referring tomyself.”

“Since when do you like football,anyway?”

“I don’t have to like football to enjoy a guy with a perfect ass and a big dick,” shereplies.

So it’s going to be that kind of night. At least I know it’ll be a shortone.

* * *

On Saturday morningI bike with Brendan again. We stop at a restaurant for brunch on the way back. I’m not sure which of us suggests it, but I know I’m relieved. I’m fine with Brendan in public. It’s in private that my mind starts to gohaywire.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” he asks. “Romantic dinner, just you and Mr.Tibbles?”

“I’m going out, I’ll have youknow.”

“Cool,” he says, spearing a home fry off my plate. “I didn’t know the library had extended itshours.”

“To abar, asshole. A bar with men in it.Football players, to be moreprecise.”

His cocky smile dims. “Whatfootballplayers?”

“Broncos. It’s some party at a club Harper got us an inviteto.”

He looks at me warily. “It’s good that you’re going out but, you know…babysteps.”

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