Nine o’clock came and went, still no sign of Em. My stomach physically ached. What date took four hours? Unless they went back to his place?
God.I hoped not. Em was a grown woman, but fuck, picturing her with another dude pierced like a stab wound.
I put the tablet down and tried a puzzle with too many tiny pieces. Couldn’t focus. The half-finished outline on the coffee table mocked me.
I flipped through channels. Baseball game. Some cooking show. Rom-com halfway through where the guy chased the girl through an airport.
Hard pass.
I made a cup of tea I didn’t drink. Cleaned the kitchen. Double-checked Miles. Scrolled through my phone like a loser, staring at our last text thread.
Noah: You sure? I’m right by your favorite place.
Em: Toallty sure! Seriously, I’m good. See you later!
The little smiley face she’d added earlier that morning now felt like a punch.
Now she was out with some software engineer who probably had normal parents and no public job and zero complicated history with her.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and told myself to get a grip.
She deserved to date. She deserved to have nights out and people buying her drinks and telling her she was brilliant and beautiful and enough.
I hated that the guy wasn’t me.
A little after ten, I texted her. I told myself it was to check in, to make sure she was safe. Responsiblefriendbehavior.
Noah: Hope your date’s going well. Shoot me a thumbs-up to let me know you’re safe, please?
The message sat there. No bubbles appeared.
Maybe she’d left her phone in her purse. Maybe she was in a cab. Maybe she was making out with that guy in a dark corner of some bar, his hands on her waist where mine wanted to be?—
I shot up off the couch and started pacing.
“Sassy,” I said, because she was the only audience I had. “She’s fine, right?”
Her tail thumped before she rolled over, clearly tired of my bullshit.
I tried not to picture Em’s outfit. Tried not to imagine how that navy blouse would look under dim bar lighting, how that winged liner would make her eyes even bigger, how her laugh would sound over music.
Sometime around ten thirty, my phone buzzed. I grabbed it so fast I nearly dropped it.
Em:
That was it. One little thumbs-up. It should’ve been enough. She was safe, fine, still alive. The rational part of my brain relaxed.
The rest of me…not so much.
Just got back to his place? Still out? With him?
I put the phone down, anxiety and fear and worry all intertwining into a horrible combination.
“Okay,” I said to myself. “You are not seventeen. You are a grown-ass man. You’ll be cool. You’ll be normal.”
Sassy trotted over and parked herself directly in front of the door.
“Traitor,” I muttered, forcing myself to watch TV mindlessly.
