“How we acted in the past isn’t relevant to who we are now. You don’t know anything about me anymore.”
“Sure, I do,” he says easily, too easily for my liking.
“Really, like what?”
“Well, for one thing, you still can’t hide your emotions to save your life. Like right now, you probably think you’re playing it cool but I’m definitely noticing an aggressive rage vein that’s pulsing in the center of your neck.”
I run my fingers across the front of my throat, then wish I hadn’t. How can an open-roof deck suddenly feel suffocating? “You wish you were affecting me that much.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious I am. You seem five seconds away from hopping the guardrail and rappelling down the building.”
“Trust me, after another five seconds with you, I won’t need to rappel. I’ll straight-up jump.”
Ryan seems like he’s about to grin, but stops himself. I gaze off to the side, spying a waitress making the rounds in the distance. My laser-focused eyes try to distinguish which appetizer she has on her tray, and I can tell from their shape that they’re the mini empanadas. I try to will her closer via telekinesis but it doesn’t work. A shame. I level a look back at Ryan with resigned defeat.
“Something else that hasn’t changed about you,” he goes on, “you’re still melodramatic.”
“Why are you so difficult? Why can’t we just have a normal verbal exchange like other former acquaintances would have?” I feel someone’s shoulder bump into my back and turn to see a group of Jason’s work friends. I take a small step forward to give them more space.
“Hey, I’m perfectly composed,” Ryan says. “You’re the one who can’t control your raging hate fire.”
I squeeze my little black clutch with both hands as I glare into his irritatingly green eyes. “You always did bring out the worst in me.”
“Aw, that’s sweet of you to say. Have you been holding on to that little nugget for the past ten years or was it a spur-of-the-moment thought?”
“Sorry if the truth hurts.”
“Yes, it does. Another lesson you taught me the last time we spoke.”
I say nothing as I wait for Ryan to smirk or flash a sarcastic grin. Neither arrives and I’m a little rattled by their absence. Jason’s colleague accidentally bumps into me again, making me move forward to keep my balance. I’m about to shift to the side to position myself more comfortably when Ryan’s fingers suddenly brush my wrist.
“Switch with me,” he says. He grips my hand and starts to pull me forward.
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” I adjust my stance to stand firmly in front of him but now there’s only a foot of space between us. I’m also trying to pretend I’m not entirely aware that he’s still touching my hand.
“Come on, let’s just switch.” He gives me another light pull and I decide to go with it, moving forward into his place while he takes my former spot. If Jason’s work friend bumps intohimnext, he’ll find a six-foot-two wall. Ryan doesn’t seem to mind, though. He never did. He used to do the same thing in college. If we were ever at a crowded bar, he always positioned himself in such a way to block any overly boisterous party guests from bumping into me. It was sweet back then, and, unfortunately, it still is now.
“Look, let’s both just take a break for a second,” he says. “It’s obvious neither of us is thrilled to see each other, but for Jason and Cristina’s sake, I’m sure we can make it through one night in the same room.”
“Fine,” I agree, suspicious but willing.
“And if you’re worried that I’m going to lose my mind and beg you to take me back like I did when I was a kid, rest assured, I’ve moved on.”
I’m not sure if his words are meant to cut, but I still feel a sting.
“Glad to hear it,” I say simply.
Ryan claps his hands together in front of him. “In other news, you look well.”
“Thanks,” I answer. As someone who uses all of their money to buy books instead of clothes, this little black dress was a splurge for me. It’s off the shoulder, smooth as silk and the boning inside makes me appear much smaller than my usual size eight. That made the price tag easier to accept. I was paying for skinny fashion sorcery.
I even got my hair and makeup done. My deep brown hair, normally pin straight, is curled into soft waves, and my makeup looks alluring but tasteful. The whole beautification process was genuinely fun until I told the makeup artist that I didn’t own foundation. The woman looked so offended, I half expected her to slap me across the face with a glove and challenge me to a duel.
“You also look...healthy,” I eventually add. Ryan’s eyes scrunch up at my choice of compliment, sparking me to go on. “And old. You look healthy and old.”
“All right,” he says, looking down at his impressive leather watch, “and our cease-fire lasted a whole ten seconds.”
“I don’t mean you look decrepit old, justolder. I look older, too. I don’t sleep enough and it’s making me age prematurely. I have a sound machine, but I haven’t started using it yet. Maybe that will help.”
