“What season are you on?”
“Three.”
“Ahh, we’re getting into the Jess era.”
“Yup,” he says. “But I’m more of a Logan guy.”
I gasp. “Logan?Logan?No. Absolutely not. He’s the worst!”
“But he’s the only one who really fit into her life. The only one who was on her level.”
“What?” I ask. “No, Logan was so entitled and spoiled. He wasn’t right for her at all and—” I pause. “Wait, does this mean you’ve seen this before? Nikhil, are you…are you rewatching this?”
He lets out a breath, something between amusement and embarrassment. “Like I said, it’s a good show.”
I shake my head, pressing play. The familiar theme song washes over me, immediately putting me at ease, providing comfort. The snappy, fast-paced dialogue is the exact kind of distraction I was hoping for, keeping my mind busy for a while. But the second there’s a lull, a wandering thought intrudes:Why did Nikhil and I never watch this together? How did I not know he was a fan? What else is there about my husband that I don’t know?
I startle, jumping slightly.
My husband. Every time I’ve thought those words there’s been a bitter taste in my mouth. My husband. The guy standing in the way of what I want. The guy who won’t sign a simple piece of paper. The guy who drives me up the freaking wall.
But just now, the words didn’t taste bitter at all. They were tentative. Wondering. Soft and unsure. More than anything, they werecurious. I’m tempted to try to find out all the things I don’t know about him. The things I maybe never knew about him.
“When did you start watching this?” I ask.
“Umm. I’m not sure. Couple years ago? Whenever they added it to Netflix. I never saw it when it was on TV the first time.”
“And what exactly do you like about it?”
His brows scrunch. “Why?”
“I’m just making conversation.”
He looks at me skeptically, but eventually gives in. “I like the small town. The way everyone knows each other. And how everything’s walkable. The diner and the dance studio and the inn. We don’t have that here.”
I don’t say anything for a moment, and his shoulders stiffen. “Why? What do you like about it?”
“Oh, I like that part too. The small town and sense of community. I do. I don’t know if I’ve ever thought that much about it though. I usually think about the relationships and the family dynamics. And the pop culture references.”
“Those are fun.”
“Yeah. It’s just…I guess where I live, it’s pretty walkable, but it’s not like the show, you know? When I’m walking to work, when I pass by people…it’s not like anyone knows who I am.”
His eyes aren’t on me anymore. They’re fixed on the screen. But I can tell he’s not really watching.
“That sounds a little lonely,” he says.
My throat constricts. “Yeah. It can be,” I admit softly. I hadn’t meant to say it, but it’s the truth. I’ve lived in D.C. for six years and lived in the same area that whole time. But outside of work…I don’t have much of a social life. My friends from law school are pretty much all over the country. There are a few in the city and we get together for drinks occasionally, but they’re not the kind ofpeople I’d turn to if I was feeling down. Or if I needed something. I’m not sure I have many friends like that left at all.
After I took the bar exam the first time, my closest friends had planned a group celebratory trip to Vegas. Most of our classmates took big international vacations for their “bar trips,” during that period of time when we’d all finished studying but were waiting to get our results back, but those classmates were all headed to lucrative corporate firm positions. They could afford it. The public interest students were on a budget, and a long weekend in Vegas was already stretching it a little too far.
I’d asked Nikhil to come with me, not having any idea things would end up the way they did. After we’d woken up married, we’d extended the trip, staying behind when my friends went back home, turning it into a minihoneymoon. Not that my friends knew that. I hadn’t told them about the wedding. And when I failed the bar, I didn’t tell them about that either. They’d started their brand-new jobs and I’d lied, saying that I’d be working remotely. That I had a family emergency. That I wouldn’t be moving to D.C. just yet.
As time passed, the lies only piled up. When I finally moved to the city, I couldn’t confide in them. Couldn’t tell them that I was heartbroken. Couldn’t explain why I wasn’t in the mood to go out. The distance between us only grew until we became the kinds of friends whose main form of social interaction is watching each other’s stories on Instagram.
“It can feel lonely here too,” Nikhil says, his words halting and tentative. “Everyone in the neighborhood is nice, and I’ve gotten to know all of them better over the past few years, but…sometimes it feels like something’s missing.” He glances my way, and for a moment something wild and unsure breaks across his face.
It makes my lungs constrict, all the oxygen stuck in one place.