The reply comes at once, with this emoji:??
And then:I’LL BRING THE DRINKS.
Feeling very clandestine, Nicola calls David a few hours later to see if he wants to come by for a drink soon.
“Sure,” he says. “What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. Casual drink, that’s all. You had me over, now I’m having you over.”
Nicola is such a terrible liar that even though she’s alone in her kitchen she blushes and her palms start to sweat.
“When?”
“How’s, let’s see—” She makes a big show of checking her busy calendar. “Six o’clock Monday?”
“Drinks on a Monday! You’re turning into a summer person.”
“But just you, okay? No Taylor.”
There’s a long, pregnant pause. Not too long: a pause in early pregnancy. Then comes David’s voice, smooth and affable.
“Taylor who?” he says.
Partway through Monday morning, it starts to rain. And not a gentle, forgiving rain either: angry dark sheets. After the string of perfect summer days they’ve had, it feels offensive to Nicola, or at least inauspicious. What is she supposed to do with her star-crossed not-lovers later, plop them on her wet patio furniture? She worries her way through her morning interning. Will Jack remember to show? It’s slow at the Institute, because of the rain, but it’s also chaotic, because the visitors they do have cram themselves into the inside space. Everything smells a little bit like wet dog, even thoughthere are no dogs present. The rain continues through lunch. At two o’clock she texts Jack to see if they should cancel.
DEFINITELY NOT,he texts back.I WANT TO SEE YOU.
“What’s so funny?” asks Liam, a fellow intern. “You’re smiling at your phone.”
“Nothing,” she says, dropping the phone into her pocket. “Just a reel.”
An hour later the rain slows, then stops altogether. By the time she bikes home at five, the sun is trying mightily to make a late appearance. The puddles on Beach Avenue send up surfable waves over her tires, and she has to shower when she gets home. At 5:40 she’s braiding her hair—no time for a blow-dry—when Jack appears. He knocks once, then comes right in before she tells him to. Is this kind of confidence obnoxious, or sexy? He puts a brown bag down on her kitchen table and kisses her on the lips. He smells like limes. Sexy, she decides.
“I brought craft beer, the makings for two different kinds of spritzes, and a bottle of champagne,” he says.
“You think that’s enough for four people?” Nicola asks, deadpan. Together they go out the back door and onto the patio. “The good thing about having basic furniture,” says Nicola, “is that it dries quickly.” She and Jack get to work with two dish towels.
At 5:50 comes another knock, and Nicola opens the door to find Juliana. Gone is the person from the library, the person from Ballard’s, the person who gives the fabulous parties and maneuvers around the fancy people, and in her place is a woman who suddenly looks very young and very terrified. She’s in a white sundress that makes her skin glow. Her hair is pulled back into a bun and she’s wearing lip gloss and no other makeup. But she’s almost shaking.
“Thank you for doing this, Nicola,” Juliana says. She squeezes Nicola’s hand. “Sorry I didn’t ask you myself, I just—”
“It’s okay,” says Nicola. “It’s no big deal. It’s just a drink.”
“Just a drink,” Juliana repeats. She follows Nicola through the living room and into the kitchen, her eyes darting around as though David might be hiding somewhere. “He’s not coming, is he? I don’t think he’s coming.”
“Chill,” says Jack. “He’s coming. Can I get you a drink?” Nicola sees that he’s set up a makeshift bar on her small counter; she has only four glasses, and they don’t match, but he’s lined them all up like very good soldiers awaiting orders. Juliana shakes her head.
“Well, don’t mind if I get started,” says Jack. He cracks open a porter. “Nicola?”
“Not yet, thanks.” Then she says, “Wait. Was I supposed to get snacks?”
“I’m not hungry,” says Juliana in a strangled voice. “Should I go sit on the patio? I’ll sit on the patio.”
“Whatever you want,” Jack says amiably. “The seats have been professionally dried. Please, take a drink out there. You’re making me nervous.” He opens the champagne and pours Juliana a glass.
When David arrives Nicola thinks, Third knock’s the charm! She opens the door and David says, “Hey, cuz. Sorry if I’m late. Am I late?” She can tell that David has taken care with his appearance; he’s wearing a blue polo that brings out the color of his eyes, and his face is scruffy in that carefully scruffy way that requires effort. (Zachary had tried this a few times but never managed to pull it off.)
David has the kind of good looks that require, or at least politely ask for, a second look. There’s something perfectly imperfect about his face. It’s almost symmetrical, except one eyebrow lifts a tiny bit higher than the other, and only one cheek has a dimple in it. These small asymmetries somehow make him even more beautiful than he would have been without them. If you look at the most famously good-looking people in the world you’ll find this to be the truth. Alexander Skarsgård’s cleft chin. Nicole Kidman’s high forehead.
