Really Good, Actually(86)

“Tough question,” Tom said. “I love the coast, but I’d say for me the jury is still out on sand.”

I decided the main thing was that he loved my friend and told him I was very happy for him and Amirah.

“Thanks,” he said. “What do you think, would you ever get married again?”

“She’s focusing on herself right now,” said Amy, appearing from nowhere in an expensive-looking boho minidress and steering me toward the balcony. “And I need to ask her something privately, so, back in a jiff!”

“Please don’t tell people I’m ‘focusing on myself,’” I said after she slid the door closed behind us. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“That’s literally what you told me you were doing.”

We stood outside, and I wished I’d brought my sweater; the weather was getting warmer, but it was still cold in the shade. Below us in the building’s brick courtyard, a woman was losing an argument with a fragile-seeming dog. Amy looked at me solemnly and brought her face close to mine.

“I saw on Spotify that you’ve been listening to that confidence boosting playlist a lot,” she said. “So, I wanted to remind you . . . it’s okay to not be okay.”

One of Amirah’s handsome cousins came outside to smoke, giving us a friendly nod of acknowledgment. I nodded back, then lowered my voice and moved closer to Amy, unwilling to let another person know about the playlist. I had tried to change my Spotify settings several times and had no idea how to do it.

I whispered, “Let’s talk about this another time?”

“You said you were trying to mean it when you said you enjoyed your own company,” she replied, so loudly, certainly much louder than necessary. “And I love that goal for you. You’ll get there!”

She smacked me, hard, on the arm, and the cousin looked over again. Amy grinned at him.

“My friend is taking a break from dating,” she said. “Bad divorce. I’m divorced too, but I’m not that disciplined!”

The cousin looked thrilled and introduced himself. His name was Sam. He was a hockey fan and sometimes-DJ and, body language–wise, seemed single. He worked in real estate.

“What a coincidence,” said Amy. “I’m looking for somewhere to live.”

“Fantastic,” he said. “I should give you my number.”

Sometimes it really was that easy. I told Amy I didn’t know she was moving. “What about the condo?”

“Greg got it, in the end,” she said. “I got sick of arguing and was like, honestly, take it. He did technically pay for it, so whatever. Plus, now I have a hot little down payment to live somewhere else!”

Amy shot another big smile at the cousin as I searched her face for hidden pain.

“And you’re . . . okay?” I asked.

“Yeah!” said Amy, seeming to mean it. “I feel like, you know, que será.”

“Totally,” said Sam. “That’s my philosophy one hundred percent.”

“Well, are you going to move in with Ryan?”

“Ryan and I broke up,” she said. “A few weeks ago. We were on very different journeys. God, I literally haven’t seen you in forever!”

Sam saw his opening and took it, stepping forward and angling his body in a way that cut me slightly out of the conversation. I left them talking about how the Leafs were doing (Amy had heard this would be their year) and found Amirah and the Laurens in the kitchen.

“Which cousin?” asked Amirah. “If it’s Daniyal . . . he’s a fuckboy.”

She was more approving of a match with Sam, though warned he had already been out with a former housemate’s cousin and a girl Emotional Lauren knew from work. I said I was glad to be taking a break from dating. There seemed to be an endless supply of single women in the city, and I didn’t feel like competing with them.

“Everybody’s so hot,” I said.

Lauren nodded. “They’re probably more mellow than you too.”

Amy joined us, flushed and excited and holding an ornate mocktail. “I’ve been working on a theory,” she said. “I think your thirties are honestly the perfect age. Like in a way being thirty-one is exactly like being twenty-six, except you’re smarter and hotter and you know a bit about tiles.”

I said I would probably enter my thirties on a single bed at my dad’s house.

Amy groaned. “Could you not be a downer for five seconds, please? Sam’s taking me to some viewings tomorrow, and it’s like a date, I think, so you can’t come, but I’ll send you pics.”

“Really?”

Amy looked confused. “What do you mean, ‘really’? Duh, really! We were gonna look at one-bedrooms, but I’m sure there are tons of twosies.”

“But . . . what?”

“Oh my god, bitch, let me be your roommate,” Amy said. “Or your landlord, I guess, which is a bit rando, but whatever.”

“Very rando,” I said, trying to be sarcastic and somehow sounding very sincere. I could not hide that I was moved; I knew this because Emotional Lauren started rubbing my arms.

“You need to move back to Toronto anyway,” said Amy. “The Kingston thing is such a bummer. The other day a friend of mine asked what had happened to you, and I swear I almost just told her you died. So, perfect, you’ll live with me—okay, he’s looking, he’s looking, oh my god, don’t cry, for god’s sake!”