Lame, Nolan. Super lame.
I pick up my water glass and take a big drink so I can’t say anything else that’ll make everyone at the table look at me like I’ve just stuck the butter knife up my nostril.
Sarah puts a hand on my knee under the table. It’s warm there, and I feel another burst of courage. “Ian’s being modest,” she says. “He actually sort of rescued me that day in Econ class.”
“Rescued you?” Dana’s head tilts with intrigue, and I remember how good Sarah is at this. We had a group of friends in college who’d go camping together, and Sarah was always the designated storyteller. Sitting around the fire with twigs crackling and imaginary bad guys prowling the woods, she could spin a story packed with excitement and emotion and suspense that had everyone on the edge of their seats.
I notice it now as Walter moves forward a bit in his. “How did Ian rescue you?”
“Well, I moved from this really small town to go to college in Portland,” Sarah says. “I didn’t know anyone, and I was self-conscious about whether I belonged there at all.”
“The classes were huge,” I put in, resting my hand on hers and giving a small squeeze. “Several hundred in each lecture hall.”
“So it was easy to end up feeling lost,” she says. “I was sitting there at the front of this big lecture hall with hundreds of people around me, but no one was sitting down near me and I started wondering if I smelled bad or something.”
That gets a laugh from around the table, and Sarah tucks her hair behind her ear and takes a sip from her water glass. “My paranoia started spiraling,” she continues, “so I’m sitting there before class begins and I start thinking about how I’d never have any friends and maybe I should just drop out and go back home and work in the diner where my mom’s been a waitress for the last twenty years.”
My memory floods with the image of that day. Sarah sitting there with her dark hair flowing around her shoulders, lonely and nervous and so incredibly beautiful. Sunlight streamed through the windows to her left, and I swear to God she looked like an angel.
“She was wearing this bright yellow sweater,” I blurt. All eyes swing to me, and I have a flash of panic that I’ve said the wrong thing.
But Sarah squeezes my knee, so I keep going.
“It was cool back then for everyone to wear gray or black, but there was Sarah in this bright yellow sweater.” I swallow hard and keep going. “I remember thinking, ‘Whoever that girl is, she’s lighting up the whole room. I need to sit by her.’”
“Wow.” Sarah blinks, and for half a second, I see surprise in her eyes. “I—that’s right. I’d forgotten about that sweater.” She recovers her composure so fast that I’m guessing the others didn’t see it at all. Didn’t realize I’d never told her the reason I sat beside her that day.
Why the hell didn’t I?
“That’s sweet,” Dana says. “So did he talk to you?”
She’s addressing Sarah, not me, which is a relief. Letting Sarah shine is the best way to go for all of us.
“He did,” Sarah says. “He asked me where I was from and what I liked about school and how I was liking my classes. By the time the professor started talking, I was feeling more at ease, and I ended up staying at Portland State until I graduated.”
“I love that.” Dana smiles, and I feel like I’ve won a fucking medal. “You’re a good guy, Ian Nolan.”
“He is a good guy.” Sarah beams, and I put an arm around the back of her chair. It feels good there, and I think I could get used to this whole fiancée thing.
Walter is busy conferring with the waiter about the wine list, but Trevor looks intrigued by our conversation. “So if you started dating way back in college, how come you’re just now tying the knot?”
“We were actually just friends in college,” I say. “Study buddies.”
“Ian had a long-distance girlfriend, and I always seemed to be dating someone,” Sarah adds. “So we really were just friends.”
“But you hoped for more, Ian?” Dana Peschka’s question socks me right in the chest, and I need a few breaths before I can answer.
“Can’t say the thought never crossed my mind.”
Sarah blinks at me. I have to glance away, to scan the other faces around the table. There’s that expectant look again. Like they’re hoping for more. Expecting more intimate details in this get-to-know-you chatter. I’m at a loss. I’m no good at this sharing stuff.
Sarah squeezes my thigh under the table. “I was so homesick that first term,” she says. “Ian went out of his way to make me feel more comfortable. We lived in the same dorm, and he was one of the only guys on our floor to have a microwave in his room.”
Dana laughs. “That’s a hot commodity in college.”
“Right?” Sarah takes another sip of her water. “I was too broke to afford the fancy organic frozen dinners all my friends were buying, but I insisted I loved Top Ramen better anyway.”
“They are pretty great,” I put in. “I actually still dig the chicken mushroom flavor.”
