I snort into my wine. “I was very theatrical in college. It was the bangs.”
“Or the combat boots. You were a menace.” He winks.
I nudge his leg with mine under the table, and Len startles in surprise and looks at me. Whoops. “You admitted to helping build the coffin, so don’t pretend you were innocent.”
“I wasn’t.” His voice is softer. Intentional. “Not then. Not now.”
I glance at him, and suddenly the restaurant feels smaller. Quieter. His gaze lingers on mine like he’s remembering all of it—me, Owen, the stupid fog machine I insisted on using for “atmosphere,” the black umbrellas we handed out even though it wasn’t raining. The laughter. The absolute absurdity.
And something about that memory, about us, then, makesme feel like me again. Not a widow. Not a mom. Not a ghost haunting the aisles of Whole Foods. Just a person, still strange and still here.
“Thank you.”
Noah raises his eyebrows. “For what?”
“For remembering the ridiculous stuff. For not looking at me like I’m broken.”
He leans in, elbow brushing mine. “You’re not broken, Birdie. You’re just rebooting.”
My stomach flips as a memory crashes over me, vivid and sudden. I'm twenty-eight years younger, back in the dim hallway of our college dorm a few minutes past midnight. Noah and I are whispering dares, stifling laughter, plotting our mission to rescue Owen’s backpack, launched into the old oak tree after too many Jell-O shots and too few good ideas. I can still feel Noah’s breath warm against my cheek, see the way his eyes flicked to my lips, how he looked at me like I hung the stars myself.
Something about the memory pulls at me.
I drop my hands and look at him, that soft, serious look in his eyes doing a number on my ribcage. For a moment, it’s just us. Just me and Noah. In this weird little echo of who we were before life handed us all its losses.
But before I can analyze it, Marin lets out a delighted cackle across the table, something about her date misunderstanding the word “fermentation”, and the moment snaps like a stretched rubber band. The spell breaks, but the warmth doesn’t leave.
Noah leans back with a slow exhale, like even he feels it.
Len pulls out a laminated cheat sheet of dad jokes from his wallet (I swear), and Viv is already halfway into her wine while explaining to her date that she doesn’t believe in monogamy unless it’s with carbs. He nods in full agreement before launching into an enthusiastic discussion about her aura, and Marin starts explaining to her date why she no longer drinks things she can’t pronounce.
Meanwhile, I pick up my wine glass and take a long sip,because if this is what dating looks like in your 40s, I might need a bottle.
By the time our dessert arrives, we’ve polished off three bottles of wine and enjoyed learning about Len’s latest dermatologist visit. I shove another bite of chocolate torte into my mouth and savor the way the tart raspberry coulis balances out the rich dark chocolate. It is utter perfection in a single bite. I must be making an embarrassingly blissed-out face, because Marin bumps me with her elbow, grinning.
“We need to use the bathroom.” Viv grabs Marin’s arm and hoists her up before shooting me a pointed look. “All of us.”
I try not to look back wistfully at my little slice of chocolate heaven as Viv tugs us all toward the ladies' room. But the second the bathroom door closes behind us, I hiss, “You better have a fantastic reason to have pulled me away from dessert. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted in years!”
“I pulled you in here to talk about dessert! That man out there is the final course. Not the cake.”
“Okay, yes, dinner was lovely, but I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Noah and Owen were friends for years, and we’ve been friends a long time. It might be better to keep it that way.”
“Friends don’t look at friends like they want to devour them like pieces of chocolate cake.” Viv raises her eyebrows in pure skepticism before sashaying into the stall and closing the door.
The bathroom lighting is merciless. Too bright, too reflective, and far too honest. I try not to cringe as I touch up my lipstick, feeling like a woman who’s acting half her age.
I tug at the straps of my dress, wishing it were a little looser. “Fine. There has been a bit of chemistry.” I shudder; even using the word sounds ridiculous. “I feel like I’m seventeen again. Do I kiss him? Do I wave? Do I fist bump?”
Marin is dabbing her lip gloss on, looking very serious. “I think you should be polite. Maybe a hug. A respectable, non-romantic hug. Never a fist bump. I’m not even sure what thatwould look like.”
Viv emerges from the bathroom stall looking horrified. “If you hug him, I will take your phone and text him your pap smear results to spice things up. Kiss the man.”
“Shouldn’t he kiss me? Me kissing him seems much too forward. And maybe he likes being in the friend zone. He’s been there for years. It’s cozy. He probably has a stack of comic books in the corner and his favorite chair dialed in. It would be tragic to move him now.”
“Girl. You have spent the last decade being appropriate. Let this be your Roman Empire moment. Make the first move. Kiss the damn mailman.”
We all go quiet for a second.
