“Of course,” he adds a second later, “I ended up pawning that camera after all and spending the money on dope. But the seed was there. And after I got out of detox I got a cheap phone and started taking pictures again. Once I’d moved to New York and could afford it, I bought a camera of my own.” He clears his throat and shakes his head, like he’s trying to get fog to clear. “Anyway. I didn’t mean to get all…Sorry. We were talking about you.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell him honestly. “I like to hear about you.”
He avoids looking at me, staring at one of the pieces of student art hanging on the wall opposite instead.
I press stubbornly on. “Listen, I was thinking I might try again and go to that Shabbos dinner thing this Friday night, withMichal. I think if someone came with me, I might stick to the plan this time. So…maybe you want to come with me?”
He’s still staring at the student art even though I’m 90 percent sure he isn’t really seeing it. No doubt he’s ruminating on all the reasons he should say no. But when he opens his mouth, something else comes out.
“Sure. Yeah. That sounds fun.”
And just like that, it’s a date.
Sort of.
16
Friday comes too quickly and yet, at the same time, not quickly enough. It’s like the universe can’t decide if I’m more nervous or excited—because as much as I dread the dinner itself, I can’t stop thinking about Wyatt. Who said yes. Who is going with me. On our sort-of date.
It’s not really a date, of course. This dinner falls well within the purview ofinstructional content—I’m only going for my capstone project, which Wyatt is helping me plan. And because Michal invited me. So I probably shouldn’t be reading too much into things.
I’m definitely reading too much into things.
Michal, when I tell her I’m coming, lights up immediately. “You’re going to love it,” she says, already flipping through her notebook to find a scrap of paper, scribbling down the address. “We have a really good group of people. Everyone will be so excited to meet you.”
I’m not so convinced.
“Um…listen,” I force myself to say because not saying would be a dick move, “I kind of invited Wyatt Cole. Is that okay?”
Both Michal’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like my professor Wyatt Cole?”
Ugh, die now.“That’s the one.”
She barks out a laugh, and instead of rescinding the invitation as I expect, she goes, “I mean, yeah. Bring him. I’m definitely not saying no to feeding challah to Wyatt Cole. He seems like he’d be fun once he got the stick out of his backside.”
I mean. She isn’t wrong.
“And is it okay if I take pictures?” I ask. “I’m doing my capstone project on different spiritual paths within Judaism and—”
She doesn’t even let me finish. “Yes, of course! That sounds like an amazing project. We’d be thrilled.”
So I guess that’s that, then.
My last class of the day ends at six, which is almost but not quite early enough for me to make it back to Astoria, get changed, put on makeup, and then fight either traffic in an Uber or the absolute mess of train transfers required to get from Queens to Brooklyn before sundown. I’d just stuffed a black dress and some Glossier in the pit of my backpack and hoped for the best.
But as I’m swiping mascara onto my eyelashes in the fluorescent light of the Parker bathroom, I’m not really sure why I’m so concerned. I don’t think anyone at this dinner will care what I look like. Michal’s seen me looking worse. And Wyatt…well, I might care what he thinks, but he’s seen me in a variety of humiliating states, so the shine has probably worn off there.
I find him in his office at six-thirty, backpack slung over one shoulder. My lips feel weird and dry beneath their layer of red lipstick. “Hey. You ready?” I ask.
Wyatt glances up from his desk and meets my gaze. For a moment it’s almost like he doesn’t recognize me—a moment that stretches on long enough for me to wonder if he’s already forgotten that he agreed to come to dinner tonight. If this, the dress andthe lipstick and the shoes with metal studs on them, is all just a bit too much.
Or if maybe, just maybe…
A coal flares in the pit of my chest, and I stare right back at him, refusing to look away even as that heat spreads like liquid through my entire body.
He clears his throat, one hand rising to grip the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sure. Ready whenever you are. Just—hold on.” He clicks at a few things on his computer, then finally pushes away from his desk to rise to his feet. His cheeks are slightly flushed, despite the healthy rattle of the window unit blowing cool air into the office. “Where is this place again?”
“Greenpoint.”
