“Thanks,” I say. “You guys really don’t remember? I dated him all summer, his dad was in the NFL, and they had a second home in Italy?” I try to jog their memories, but they just look at me with blank stares. “He broke up with me at the end of the summer because he was actuallylivingin Italy and never once mentioned that he was only home for the summer until the day before he was leaving?”
Still nothing.
“Super-Catholic guy who would ask me to take Plan B after each time we slept together even though we used condoms, and once put one in my parents’ mailbox?”
“Oh my god,him?” they say in unison.
I roll my eyes. I’m glad we remember only the important things here. “Yes, him. And he doesn’t even remember who I am. Did you see him just now? All ‘How was everything?’” I say in a tone meant to be his. “I mean, who does he think he is?”
“The owner of this restaurant—” Dani says.
“Ugh, whatever,” I cut her off. “Just tell the boys I started my period or something and text me when Marco goes away.”
Annica leaves the bathroom, but Dani hangs back awhile longer. “Are you okay?” If Dani had a catchphrase, it would be that.
“I’m fine.” I saw Marco, he’s alive, he owns a restaurant. Whether or not he has the journal page in his possession, it no longer seems to matter.
She gives me a sad smile before leaving the bathroom, and I need another drink. I text my mom to say we ran into some old high school friends, and we’ll be out late. She responds and tells me to stay out of trouble.
If only.
Dalton is getting off work when we wrap up with dinner and invites us back to his place for a party. He lives right in downtown North Winwick, close to the small college that makes up half of the city. From the view of his living room window, I can see Marco’s restaurant. I catch Dalton up on the real details ofwhy I bolted from the table since he had to stand there and also awkwardly watch me run away.
“Oh, gross, he really doesn’t seem like that kind of guy,” Dalton says. “And he’s thirty, so what was he doing with a nineteen-year-old while he was, what, twenty-eight?”
Asher opens his mouth, likely to make a professor joke, and I cut him a look that saysdon’t you dare. “In his defense, I told him I was twenty-four at the time,” I say.
“At least he comped our whole meal after you ran to the bathroom,” Annica says. “He thought the food made you sick.”
“Yeah,” Charlie says. “Do any other exes of yours own restaurants? We can go try that again but order more this time.”
“Aren’t you guys listening? He didn’t even recognize me! I was that insignificant in his life. Meanwhile I wrote a whole—” I cut myself off now.
Annica hears it of course. “Wrote a whole what?”
Dani talks over her. “With a face like his, he’s probably dated half the planet, probably can’t remember any girls at this point.”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” I say, pouring one shot, two shots, three shots’ worth of vodka into a red Solo cup.
Dalton manages to fit more people into a one-bedroom campus apartment than I ever thought possible. Annica has been really hitting it off with him, and now they’re partners in a beer pong game against Dani and Charlie. Asher is in the corner of the room whispering in the ear of a brunette, who laughs and bites her lip. I stand leaning on the kitchen island, looking through my phone. I want to talk to Wes. More than that I want to be friends again.Part of me wishes we never did what we did last summer because then he might even be here right now. And we’d laugh and tease each other the way we used to, with that unspoken thing between us. I open Wes’s contact and start typing.
It’s officially been a week since you kissed me in 157.
I wish you wouldn’t avoid me so we could talk about it.
This weird thing between us. I just miss the way things used to be. I miss you—
“I wouldn’t send that if I were you,” Asher says, grabbing another beer from the fridge after peering over my shoulder. It makes me jump so hard that I drop my phone on the counter. I pick it up and delete the message I typed out. “Wes, Sam, and Jake are all at Ray’s right now with Marissa’s friends.”
“Good to know.” I go back to watching the beer pong game from the counter.
“You know, with your track record, I’m starting to think Wes is a little too young for you anyway,” Asher says. “The restaurant owner, the professor...”
“It’s better than what I can say for you. That girl you’re cozying up to is in high school.”
He scoffs. “No she’s not—she goes to college with Dalton.”
“Is that what she told you?” She could very well be in college. I don’t know her; I just want to rattle Asher back, since he seemsto love constantly doing it to me. I want to see his face fall with disappointment and replace his constant smug facade, just once. He looks back over at her, assessing. I raise my eyebrows at him. “Creep,” I say, before taking a sip of my drink and peeling away from the counter toward the couch.
