Page 22 of On the Edge

“It was fine, thank you for asking.” All of my dates are fine. I like going out and chatting with people, even though I never feel any sort of spark or attraction. Dates, for me, are more of a way to make friends. To not be alone for a few hours. Luke stares at me, waiting for more, and I try to come up with a way to explain it to him that he might understand. “I do not have bad dates, really, but I…I do not feel that anyone is my Max. I do not like anyone.”

Everyone stares at me silently for a protracted moment. I think if they all spoke German, I’d be able to clarify it better. It’s hard to find the correct words to explain that I’ve never been interested in sex or relationships beyond those of close friends. I try. I ask people out and go on dates, but I never feel anything. Going out to dinner for a date feels no different to me than going out to dinner with my brother.

It’s never bothered me before, and I’ve never really questioned whether there was something wrong with me. I’ve never before looked at other couples and wondered if I was missing out. But after spending time with Carter and Zeke, and now getting to see the way Luke is with Max, I do sometimes wonder if there is something absent from my life. I question whether I am fated for a life spent searching, only to wind up alone. Perhaps I willneverfeel something.

“What are you looking for? Like, a type,” Luke asks, lifting his head off of Max to look at me properly. “Hair color? Eye color? Height? Sex? Any preference at all?”

I open my mouth to tell him that no, I don’t think I have any preferences like that, when a picture of Atlas pops intomy head. Black hair. Hair so dark, it is the embodiment of a complete absence of color. The way his black eyelashes resemble makeup around equally dark eyes. The sharp-boned, narrow cast of his features.

“I like to look at black hair,” I admit. “But it does not mean anything. I do not have a type, in that way. And no, I am not so much interested in the sex things.”

Max’s cheeks turn pink and Zeke rolls his bottom lip into his mouth, biting on it. Luke gives a little cough, valiantly trying to fight the smile that is tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Uh, right, that’s fine. But I was actually asking if you had a preference in gender?”

“Oh. My apologies. No, I am not thinking that matters so much to me.”

Luke smiles and winks at me. He leans his head back against Max’s shoulder again, and the other man reaches up to play with his hair. I watch the gesture and feel that sharp pain, low in my stomach, that has recently been happening quite a lot around my friends. I turn to Zeke, because I think he will understand what I am saying better than anyone.

“I think I am mostly wanting someone that I might like to talk with, and maybe lie under a blanket with to watch hockey, and also touch my hair.”

Gamely, Luke reaches his arm out and threads his fingers through the hair on the back of my head, kneading my scalp gently. It feels amazing. I knew it would.

“Someone nice,” Max puts in, and I nod very carefully, not wanting to dislodge Luke’s hand. I wouldn’t mind someone nice, but again I think of Atlas. He always accuses me of being “fake nice,” which is funny because it’s one thingI appreciate about him. He never fakes being nice. He doesn’t ever pretend to be something he’s not.

The front door opens, and judging by the abject joy on Zeke’s face, it’s Carter who walks in. The thought of what his face must look like when he sees Luke’s hand on my head makes me smile. I bet he is glaring.

“Cranky’s here,” Luke announces. A tattooed arm swings into view, and Luke’s too tangled up in Max and me to dodge before he’s smacked on the side of the head. He drops his hand from my head to rub his own. “Ouch.”

“You earned that,” Max says, although he does lean over and kiss his temple. I turn around so I can see Carter.

“Hello, my friend. How are you this day?”

“Good. Hey, Max.”

That’s all the greeting we get, before he’s skirting the couch and saying a much more friendly hello to Zeke, whom he is always the happiest to see.

“We were discussing dating with Vas—” Zeke starts, but Carter raises his hand.

“I really don’t need to know about Vas’ love life,” he says, scowling. The timer on Zeke’s phone goes off, and he bounds to his feet, heading into the kitchen with Carter trailing after him like a huge, tattooed shadow. Luke nudges me.

“Come here,” he says, and scoots a little closer to me. Holding his phone out, he snaps a picture of us together. After a few minutes, his phone dings and he grins. “Got you another date. Might not be a love match, but you’ll have good conversation and she’d be game for some hockey talk, too.”

Max leans over to peek at his phone and smiles. “Oh, good call.”

I give them an inquisitive look, and wait for Luke to find something on his phone and hold it out to me. There is apicture on the screen of himself standing next to a small girl with a purple streak in her blond hair. She must be wearing Luke’s baseball jersey because it hangs off her small frame. Dark paint is smeared underneath her eyes and they are both flexing their biceps for the photo.

“That’s Margot,” Luke explains. “My ride or die.”

“Oh,” I say, not familiar with this, but thinking it’s probably bad if someone is dying.

“His friend,” Max clarifies.

“I asked if I could give you her number and she said yes.”

“Really?” I’m surprised. I do not think I am hideous, but I am not as handsome or interesting as others. Mostly, people’s eyes just slide right past me. Once, I was told I was like the white rice of SCU hockey players. I am not fun, like my teammate Nate, or good at making people smile, like Luke.

“Yeah, really. She said, and I quote,if that’s the way they make them in Germany, why are we all living here?” Luke tells me, grinning. “No pressure, but you can have her number if you want. She’s great. Super nice and smart, too.”

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