“Gotwhat?” I’m half exasperated, half amused, a reversal of our usual roles.
Alex leans in, curls an arm around me, and lifts his phone for a selfie. “Smile, Ted?”
There’s just the slightest upswing in how he says it, an unsureness that I hate to hear. I lean in, pressing my temple to his, and smile wide.
The photo’s a little blurry. Our smiles are wide but our eyes look a little sad, smudged with shadows beneath them from not enough sleep and too much booze. In my black boatneck long sleeve, Alex in his charcoal-gray thermal shirt, we both look like we’re headed to a funeral, entirely out of a place in this festive, explosion-of-color bar on New Year’s Eve.
But something about the photo makes me smile. Because it’s honest. Because it’s real.
Because it’s us.
Alex hunches over his phone for a second, grinning while his thumbs fly across the screen. A second later my phone dings.
I reach for it on the bar and groan. Alex sent the photo to Lauren and me, then below it,HAPPY NEWSYEAR SIEVE FROM THEDA AND HER BESTEST FREND ALEC.
Lauren responds immediately.Who the hell is this and what have you done with Thea? Thea, if you’re there against your will, send the knife emoji!
Alex frowns at the text. “That’s rude of her. Why would she think you’re here against your will? I’m a nice guy.”
“You’re the nicest guy,” I soothe him.
I sigh as I type,Lo, I’m out with Alex, very much of my own free will. We’re both a little tipsy, and Alex got excited about sending you a photo.
My phone pings, a separate text from Lauren only to me.WAIT, THAT’S THE HOT CHEF?
Lauren’s been so busy with work, and I’ve been so busy trying to keep myself afloat the past the months, I’ve hardly managed to talk to her, and when I have, I’ve kept conversation to other partsof life. I already think about Alex too much. I didn’t need to bring it into my rare phone calls with Lauren, too.
His name is Alex, I type,and we hang out sometimes.
“Hang out sometimes?” Alex glances from my phone screen up to me. He looks completely stricken. No, worse. Gutted.
I drop my phone. “Alex—”
“I thought we werefriends,” he says, a little sloppily. “Bestest friends!”
“We are!” I’m panicking, because Alex is giving off strong vibes á la kid at The Bookshop who just dropped their hot chocolate and is about towail.
“Not according to your text withher,” he says, clearly wounded.
I grasp his arms, drag my hands up his shoulders, ducking to meet his eyes. “I haven’t told her about you because I didn’t want her to know how much I like you. Because I don’t really know what to do with how much I like you, Alex, so just talking and thinking about it more than I already do is not helpful.”
“Wait.” Alex blinks, then frowns, his brow furrowing with an adorably deep crease. “You reallylikeme?”
I swallow nervously. I hope that he’s as drunk as he seems, that he won’t remember any of this tomorrow. “Yes, Alex, I really like you.”
His breaks into a smile, wide and deep-dimpled. Utterly beaming. “I really like you, too, Ted.”
My phone dings with a text from Lauren. I steal a quick glance, but that’s all I need to read it and immediately want to puke.Hanging out with HOT CHEF and not a word about it?! You’ve been holding out on me, ma’am, and You! Are! In! Trouble!
“Ted,” Alex says.
I tear my gaze away from my phone and meet his eyes. “Yes, Alex?”
“Can we go home”—he hiccups violently—“and cuddle?”
I open my mouth to make up an excuse, a detour—anything to keep us from going back to his place and snuggling on the couch when we’re both varying degrees of intoxicated, sad, and lonely.
But then the song for whoever’s next up on karaoke starts to blast over the speaker, and after four notes, I know exactly what we’re in for. Listening to happy people sing happy holiday music was a downer. But there is something even more downer-inducing than that, and it is 100 percent Joni Mitchell.