Her mouth twists. “That’s good.”
I clasp her hand across the table and squeeze. “He’ll never be you.”
She peers up. “And I’ll never be him.”
I pull my hand away slowly. “That’s… true. But I’m not sure what it means.”
“I know, Thea.” She smiles. “And now that I’m about to get out of here and we are solid in our friendship, I’ll illuminate you. The first day we met, and I asked if you wanted to grab a glass of wine?”
I nod.
She leans in. “I was hitting on you.”
I grip the table like the world just tipped sideways. “Oh my god.”
Lauren sets her chin on her interlaced hands, batting her long dark eyelashes. “Mm-hmm.”
“Oh my god,” I say again. “How did I miss that?”
“Well, sweets, it probably has something to do with what I figured out five minutes into our wine meetup—that you are extremely heterosexual. It didn’t even occur to you that I’d see you that way becauseyoudidn’t seemethat way.”
I set my hands on either side of my face, full-onHome Alone. “I feel like a jerk!”
“Don’t,” Lauren says. “I wasn’t hurt at all or even particularly surprised. I had meager hopes—with your worn-down bronze Birkenstocks, mustard-yellow stretchy overalls, wild hair, and ‘I like everybody’ energy—that you might be a delightfully chaotic bisexual, but it turned out you were just a delightfully chaoticstraight.”
“Lauren,” I say between my self-imposed squished cheeks. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Why?” she asks. She’s smiling, completely unflustered. I couldn’t feel more flustered.
“Because I might have hurt you—”
“I just told you that you didn’t,” she says patiently.
“Yeah, but I wasn’taware. Why wasn’t I aware of that?”
“Listen, I’ve been around enough to learn that there are some people who don’t pick up on the cues that other people are attracted to them,” Lauren says. “It’s nothing to be ashamed, of Thea. Honestly, it’s endearing. Also, very badass. Think of all the broken hearts you’ve left in your wake and you never even knew!”
“I need a drink.” I glance around. “Can we get some more wine? What kind of service is this?”
“The kind that isn’t rushed,” Lauren tells me, “and which starts with a small complimentary pour of blanc de blancs, which is lovely by the way.”
Wistfully, I watch Lauren sip the last of hers in its delicateglass flute. Mine’s long gone. I drained it the moment our server brought it by.
I sigh, meeting her eyes again. “I feel bad, Lo.”
“Thea, please don’t.” She sets down the flute. “I told you because I wanted it to be out there to be put behind us. And so you’d understand that, while I’ve known you long enough to recognize you and I would be aterribleromantic pairing—”
“Terrible? I’m a little hurt,” I tease.
She levels me with anI’ll indulge your nonsenselook. “Thea. I’m a controlling, neurotic, hypercritical, vain, deeply opinionated woman, and you are literally none of those things, besides a woman. We wouldn’t have lasted a week.”
“Okay, fine,” I sigh. “You’re right.”
“I always am,” she says. “What I keep trying to get at is that this new BFF of yours… I’m not sure I’m ever going to be one hundred percent happy about him. Even if he is the hot chef who pulled strings and used his in to get us this reservation before I left. Because, doomed romantic potential aside, Thea, I love you so much. And you’ve been my number one since the day I met you.”
My vision turns blurry as tears fill my eyes. “Dammit, Lo.” I take a slow breath, trying to steady my voice. “You’ve been my number one, too.”
She smiles as she reaches across the table, her shiny red nail polish, the delicate gold rings on her tan fingers, glinting in the candlelight. I take her hand and squeeze.