Page 13 of Fun at Parties
He grimaces. “I’m having trouble getting ahold of Logan. It’s possible he mixed up his dates and thinks I’m coming tomorrow. But if I don’t hear from him soon, I’ll book a hotel or something.”
The relief that sprouts inside me is immediately washed away by guilt.Be friendly.“That’s silly. You can stay here if you need to.” There’s enough room; the fifth bedroom contains both a bedanda replica of the Avengers Infinity Gauntlet.
My pulse accelerates at the prospect of spending the night across the hall from him. I busy myself with the arms of my sweatshirt, unknotting and retying them.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Of course.” I open the front door. “See you later, maybe.”
When I get back later in the evening, there’s half a burrito in the fridge, and the door to the fifth bedroom is closed. It’s still shut the next morning when I poke my head out of my own room.
I make a cup of the green tea I brought from home and take it outside. The wraparound deck overlooks miles of trees and, near the kitchen, a fragment of the lake crowned with distant mountains. The air smells like lush pine. I don’t like fragrance, but I don’t mind this scent—I’d even say Ilikeit—because it’s real. The morning is cool enough that when I angle my face to catch the warmth of the sun, it feels decadent on my skin. I lean on the railing and listen to the birds sing, thinking, blessedly, about nothing at all.
I’m not sure how much time passes before Nate slides open the door and joins me.
This is fine,I think, and do the thing I would do if things were normal: I point to a squirrel that’s been dancing up and down the trunk of the tree nearest the house. “I know this is going to sound weird,” I say, “but thissquirrel is channeling the essence of Tom Holland onLip Sync Battle.”
Nate steps closer until he’s level with me, but not too close. Like we’re at the same bar but two stools apart. “Not Spider-Man, with all the jumping and climbing?”
“No.Lip Sync Battlespecifically. He doesn’t have Tom’s range, but he’s got charisma.”
His mouth turns down at one corner in his version of a smile. I’m not sure how his facial muscles got so confused, but it’s always been this way. I used to dream about pressing my thumb against that spot.
“Should I leave you two alone?” he asks.
I click my tongue. “I’d never be selfish enough to deprive you of the opportunity to watch the show.”
I am nailing this,I want to proclaim to all the trees in the Sierra Nevada. It’s a practice session for learning how not to care, and even though my palms are sweating, I’m absolutely pulling off casual and unbothered.
His eyes crinkle, and my stomach dives like a hawk. “I feel like we’re one joke away from ‘sex with a rodent’ territory,” he says.
I laugh and let the conversation settle into silence. Most people don’t like the quiet. They’ll do anything to fill it, even say things they don’t necessarily want to. But if you’re trying to make a sale, it’s an easy way to push a customer along. Holding out is a power play.
Nate’s index finger traces the grain of the wood on the railing.
I bite the inside of my lip.
He squints at the sun.
I sip my tea.
“We should talk,” he says.
My free hand clenches. “We’re talking.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”
“I’ve always been available to talk.” There’s sharpness in my voice. “Not sure why it has to happen now.”No,I think.That is not what a person who doesn’t care would say.The time for talking was two years ago. At this point, the right thing for us to do is move forward, not look back.
“No,” he says. “You haven’t. But you’re right, now’s probably not the right time.”
The right time has never existed for us.
“I don’t want to create any more stress for you,” he goes on.
Oh, god, hedoesknow about the breakup. But the last thing I need is his pity. “I want to get to the trail before it gets too hot,” I say. “If you’re gone when I get back, I’ll see you in Seapoint.”
The hike I chose for today is an eight-mile loop. Moderate-to-hard difficulty, the trail guides say. Hiking isn’t normally my thing, but I’m a professional fitness instructor, so I’m sure I can handle it.
