Page 128 of Fun Together
“It’s just hard.” He sighs and it’s weighted. “When things don’t go the way you think they’ll go.”
I sit down next to him. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”
“Are you two . . . together now?”
“That’s another part of my fuck up.”
“How so?”
“We don’t have to talk about that. If it’s weird.”
“It’s absolutely weird, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I could see how you two would be good together.”
I feel a shred of hope, like this is his way of saying he would be okay with Faye and I being together. It’s a hope I’m terrified to have, because having his blessing means nothing if Faye herself doesn’t want to be with me.
“Too bad I scared her away.”
“What do you mean?”
“She overheard you and I talking about her after the party.”
Andrew grimaces. “Oh no.”
“And then I told her I was falling in love with her.”
“That was quite the speech you gave, looking deep into her eyes the whole time.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Let me guess. That didn’t go over well?”
“I basically called her a liar and told her that I couldn’t be her friend anymore.” I can’t stand even thinking of that day and how shattered her face looked when I said this to her. “I think I just got scared of losing her and overcompensated by just . . . telling her every feeling I have.”
“Faye likes time to process. Hope might not be lost yet. She looks at you—” he picks at his cuticles. “In a way she never looked at me.”
My chest tightens. If he saw this too, that means I wasn’t imagining it, the softening of her gaze when she looks at me.
“I really am sorry.”
“I know. And by the looks of you right now, I think you’ve suffered enough as punishment.”
I look down at myself, at the ketchup-stained shirt I haven’t changed in days. I need to shave. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. “I look like shit, huh?”
“Take a shower. Eat a good meal. Go for a run. It’ll be okay.”
I chuckle at his pragmatic approach to solving heartbreak. Looking up at the clear night sky, I feel emotional, and grateful for the people in my life. “Hey, I never got a chance to ask, why did you come back early?”
“Let’s just say Amsterdam wasn’t for me.”
“You mean the city or the girl?”
“Both, I guess.”
I think about the selfie Faye showed me, of Andrew and Emma smiling at the camera. “You seemed to be having fun. What went wrong?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I give him time. “Can I tell you something and you swear to God you won’t laugh?”
“Um . . . sure?”
He exhales heavily. “I think I’m bad at sex.”
I can’t help it, but I do bark out a laugh because it’s such an unexpected thing for him to say.
