Page 54 of The Friendship Study

“Thanks.”

He takes it, then leans in, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “It’s good to see you,” he says, his voice deep in my ear. “Thanks for coming.”

“Y-yeah. Thanks.” I watch him walk away, my hand still raised to where it was wrapped around his biceps. He disappears back into the kitchen and I’m left staring after him, George staring at me. “I’m just going to go mingle,” I say, slipping away before he can say anything to me, like why I’m staring at our friendthatway.

Then, I’m pulled into the throes of the party. I haven’t been to one like this since high school, when the laughter was louder than the music, where there’s something different to do in every room. In the kitchen is a drinking game that involves a Ping-Pong ball and slapping plastic cups off tables; by the front window is a food table laden with picked-through veggie platters and chip bowls; a group of people sit around on the couch and chairs pushed into the corner debating whether umpires should be replaced with robots; Betty is nowhere to be seen but Jesse reminds people no less than three times to keep the front door closed for the cat.

And George was right. Jesse moves through the party with a drink in his hand, though I never see him take a sip. While he rarely smiles, he does talk to everyone and his face seems lighter, happier than I’ve seen it in a while. He looks like he’s having a good time and that makes me have a better time. It makes me happy.

“Are you here to party or to watch Jesse wear the shit out of that black T-shirt?” Brooke asks, leaning against the snack table next to me.

I choke on my carrot stick. “No,” I wheeze as she pounds my back.

She laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ve been hoping to catch glimpses of Trey’s calves all night.” She points to where he bounces around to a pop song. They’re pretty good calves.

“Nice.”

“How do you think it’s going?” she asks.

“How do I think what’s going?” My gaze snags on the back of Jesse’s broad shoulders in the middle of the dance floor. He’s not dancing, he’s more like the maypole everyone orbits around. I’m not exactly sure what the muscles are called that taper toward his waist but they sure are rippley.

“The study. Do you think it’s going well? Are they getting lots of good data off us?”

“It feels like summer camp for adults.”

“Right?!” Brooke takes a swig of whatever is in her red plastic cup. I’m realizing that Brooke might have had a lot to drink tonight. She shimmies her shoulders and bops her head to the beat. “If I’d known making friends was this easy, I’d have signed up for summer camp ages ago.”

“I never actually went to summer camp as a kid,” I admit.

She turns to fully face me. “What?”

“My dad was usually off in the summers so we’d just hang out.” I shrug. Dad Summer Camp consisted of library and museum visits and watching baseball either in person or on the old box TV in the sunroom with a never-ending supply of lemonade.

“We have to do summer camp stuff,” Brooke shouts. Maybe she’s not as drunk as I thought. She’s not slurring and her eyes are clear and focused. Brooke just might be an actual extrovert.

“Now?”

She rolls her eyes. “I guess not, but we should do something.”

“People go swimming at camp, right?”

She snaps her finger. “Day at the lake?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s do it.” Look at me. I’m doing so much belonging cultivation today.

The playlist rolls from one pop song to the next and Brooke sets her empty cup on the table. “I’m gonna dance. Want to come?”

I shake my head. “Have fun.”

I move through the party until I get to the bathroom and close myself inside. I splash water on my face and drink straight from the tap. I try to do something with my hair in the mirror, but it stays fairly straight and a little frizzy from the humidity. I could shoulder my way through the crowd and get myself a drink from the fridge, but I won’t. Maybe it’s wrong to want but tonight I hope Jesse wants to do...whatever it is we do together and I don’t think he’ll fuck if either of us are drinking. I make my way back into the party, two minutes in the bathroom offering enough of a reset, and find Jesse standing in a circle of his firefighter buds.

“Lu.” Jesse’s voice takes on a warm quality whenever he says my name. It feels like the sun coming out behind some clouds or holding my palms up to a campfire. “You remember some of these guys?”

“Firefighters,” I say.

He shoots me a finger gun. “You got it.” Jesse reintroduces me to everyone then puts his arm around my shoulder, like he’s claiming me. His hand is warm on my bare skin and I give myself permission to look up at him, once, twice and then no more because if I look too much the butterflies might fly right out of my eyeballs. Instead, I sink into the lines of his body, rest my arm on the kitchen counter behind him, my hand lightly gripping his T-shirt.

“Thanks,” he says after a moment.

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