1
JESSE
In the absence of the busy, low-level chaos that usually fills Alex’s house, the solid clunk of the bottle he sets beside my plate is ominous. An unnecessary reminder of how he has me cornered.
With Alex’s wife Ellie and their three-year-old twins conveniently out visiting Ellie’s sister, the family dinner I’d been expecting has turned into a one-on-one affair; pizza and beers at the kitchen island. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m not sure I want to know what Alex is planning to spring on me, tonight would be just what I needed.
It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t officially named this evening for what it is. I know my best friend well enough to see it a mile away. This is an intervention.
One I probably desperately need, but that doesn’t change the validity of my trepidation.
Over the course of our ten years of friendship, Alex has staged more than oneinterventionon my behalf. “To get you out of your shell, Jess,” he’s always explained with a grin, before launching me into whatever situation his scheme of the day holds in store. Situations that have resulted in varying outcomes, ranging from landing me that perfect-as-could-beinternship under my favorite professor sophomore year, to the two of us getting mugged (and afterward, coming down with spectacularly miserable food poisoning) the infamous time he talked me into a night of club hopping through San Francisco’s Redlight District with some highly questionable acquaintances he’d made while in line for food truck tacos.
Usually, dinner with Alex’s family is my biweekly salvation. My big enough dose of real life to keep me sane through another fourteen days buried in the Suzzallo Library stacks, combing through texts on medieval witch hunts, trying to find an inspiration to give direction and spark to my so far lackluster, and currently totally stalled, dissertation.
Don’t get me wrong, my research fascinates me. You don’t pigeonhole yourself in an obscure and entirely useless field like mine unless you love it. Still, I’m well aware that, as Alex has been telling me with increasing urgency, I’m careening head over heels toward burnout.
Tonight though, it’s all I can do to choke down my pizza and hope that, under Ellie’s civilizing influence, whatever Alex has in store for me is A, tame enough for my very tame tastes, and B, escapable if not.
We make it through two slices each before he lets the ball drop.
“When was the last time you did something just for fun?” He narrows his eyes at me, pinning me in place with his characteristic Alex stare, like he can see straight through me into the cluttered spaces of my mind. “And don’t try ‘tonight,’ because this doesn’t count.”
I open my mouth, knowing he’ll tell me off for what I’m about to say, but he beats me to it with an exasperatingly smug grin.
“You can’t say every night after you’re done with god knows what you do with your books and your computer all day, when you ‘relax’with yet another book or ahistorydocumentary.”
“Like your idea of a good time isn’t binge watching hundred-year-oldTwilight Zoneepisodes,” I smirk back at him.
“Not the same.” He takes a long pull from his bottle—for effect I’m sure, not to buy himself time to think of what to say.
Alex always knows exactly what to say next.
Sure enough, “For one thing,” he raises a finger, rather menacingly, I can’t help thinking. “NothingI watch is related inany wayto my work. Second—” another finger joins the first.
Dammit. Somehow, I know this is where things are going to take a turn.
“—I have Ellie.”
It takes a concerted effort to ignore the mess of emotional scar tissuethatthreatens to rip open. Because now I know what he’s getting at, and it doesn’t matter that it’s been over five and a half years since Stephen…
“You want me to find a wife.” I raise my eyebrows at him, keeping my face straight and my voice as dry and unimpressed as possible; quite a challenge considering the sheer ridiculousness of the words and the fact that suddenly this conversation is stirring up that too familiar, longing ache in my chest.
My attempt at humor is pure self-defense of course. Armor against what Alex is about to say next, and even more against the danger of tipping over the edge into thoughts of what might have been if…
Of course Alex doesn’t take the bait and let me derail the conversation.
“Nice try,” he drawls back, as unimpressed as I’d attemptedto sound.
Bastard.
“I’m not telling you you need to find some perfect prince charming and settle down with him and a couple of kids in the suburbs—”
Thatdoes hit too close to home. Something Alex, the one who saw me through those blurred, broken weeks when just getting myself up and out of bed felt like more than I could face, should realize for Christ’s sake. Still, much as I love my friend, I’m well aware that tact isn’t his forte. Ellie either has some thick skin, or he saves up what little he has of it for her.
“It’s not like I’m trying to get you to stop focusing on your research. And obviously I’d never even think that it would mean forgetting about Stephen or anything like that,” he barrels on, “but Jess,” the joking falls away from his face and he huffs out a sigh. “I’m worried about you. When’s the last time you went out on a date?”
The answer takes me a beat too long because, dammit, I’m trying frantically to think backward in my head. It was summer…I think. Last June? No, that wasn’t last year. Maybe early fall the year before?
