Mrs. Fletcher(69)
“Nothing against Eve,” Julian assured her. “She’s really nice.”
“Eve’s great,” Amanda agreed. “Everybody loves Eve.”
*
Sanjay really needed to go. He had work to do, a big problem set in CS and a dense chapter in his Architectural History textbook. Sitting in a coffee shop listening to someone else’s problems was not a productive use of his time.
“This totally sucks,” Brendan said. “I don’t know what to do.”
Sanjay wasn’t sure how to respond. He had no experience with a situation like this, and absolutely nothing of value to contribute, which made it even crazier that he’d gotten himself stuck in the role of advisor.
“Maybe you should apologize,” he suggested.
“I already did,” Brendan said. “She won’t even answer my texts.”
The worst part of it was, Sanjay didn’t even like Brendan, or any of those other guys he’d met for dinner his first night of college. His roommate, Dylan, was okay, but the rest of them were jerks. It would have been fine with Sanjay if he’d never spoken to any of them ever again.
But then he’d walked into the art show after dinner, and had seen Brendan’s portrait up on the Call-Out Wall. It seemed wrong to publicly shame someone like that, and Sanjay thought Brendan should know about it. That’s what he would have wanted if it had been his own face up there, not that it ever would have been. The problem was, you incurred an obligation when you made yourself the bearer of bad news. You couldn’t just stand up and walk away whenever you felt like it.
“I didn’t even do anything,” Brendan muttered. “She punched me in the nuts, and I’m the bad guy?”
“She punched you?”
Brendan shrugged, like the details didn’t really matter. “You wanna get drunk? I got some vodka back in my room.”
“I don’t drink.”
“We could smoke some weed.”
“I don’t do that, either.”
Brendan looked perplexed. “What do you do? I mean, for fun. On the weekends?”
“My sister’s a senior,” Sanjay told him. “She has a car and she drives home every weekend to see her boyfriend. I usually go with her.”
“So you hang out with your buddies?”
“They’re all away at school. I just do my work and watch movies with my parents. They like having me there. And the food is way better than the crap we get at the Higg.”
“Sounds pretty chill,” said Brendan. “I haven’t seen my mom since the day I got here.”
“I bet she misses you.”
“Yeah. She just sent me this.”
Brendan picked up his phone and did some swiping. When he found what he wanted, he held up the screen so Sanjay could see his mother’s text and his own reply.
I miss you
Miss you too
Sanjay nodded. “Moms are the best.”
“Totally,” said Brendan.
He stared at the phone for a few more seconds before putting it back in his pocket. Sanjay took advantage of the lull to scoot his chair away from the table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, rising from his chair. “I really need to go to the library.”
“It’s cool,” said Brendan. “Do what you have to do.”
*
Sometimes, Eve thought, a casual gathering like this just sort of gelled into a spontaneous party, which was, by definition, better than a party you had planned, precisely because no one saw it coming. It was a tribute to the people involved, the chemistry of their individual personalities combined with a collective desire to salvage something from what otherwise might have seemed like a wasted evening, not to mention a big assist from the pitcher of margaritas Amanda had whipped up in the kitchen, using a jug of cheap tequila and a pre-made, neon-green industrial mixer that was tastier than it looked.
It was a conveniently small group—maybe a little too small—and they all seemed to be vibrating on the same wavelength, cracking jokes and laughing a little too loudly, toasting Margo for her excellent scarf collection, Dumell for service to his country, Amanda for the alcoholic beverages, and Julian simply for showing up, representing the millennials. There was a palpable sexual charge in the air—you couldn’t have a decent party without it—mostly generated by Margo and Dumell, who, as the night went on, had graduated from hand-holding and whispered endearments to a full-on make-out session on the couch.
Eve knew it was rude to stare at the lovers, but she found it difficult to avert her gaze. Ever since she’d been aware of herself as a sexual being, going all the way back to middle school, she’d been aroused by the sight of people kissing in public, and the familiar effect was intensified in this case by the fact that Amanda was sitting only a short distance away in the wicker chair, and their eyes kept meeting in the awkward interludes that occurred while the happy couple was going at it. Most of these glances felt completely innocent—two friends rolling their eyes, sharing a moment of amused solidarity—but a few of them went deeper than that, lingering moments of silent, searching connection that made Eve wonder if a door she’d thought was closed might have swung open again.
I should kiss her, she thought, even though she’d vowed never to go down that road again, never to embarrass or expose herself the way she had that last time. I bet she’d let me.