The wedding, and everything tied up in it, feels far away. Or maybe it’s the version of myself who’s scared of everything—most of all my own feelings—that is far away.
Eitan clears his throat. “Never mind.”
I push down the swelling in my chest.
Skip is unusually deflatedduring dinner. He doesn’t even try to hype up his campfire burgers. Penelope sits with her ankle propped up, in a seating arrangement that is rather throne-like. Josh dotes on her like a queen.
I chew on a store-bought black bean burger, sandwiched in a Hawaiian roll. Andres sits next to me, and I try to keep a conversation going.
It’s surprisingly easy, given I feel nothing when I look at his generically handsome model face.
Everyone has started drinking again, but this time I have nothing to lose by staying. The prospect of being surrounded by drunk people is less intimidating than being alone in a tent with Eitan.
“¡No mames!” Andres shakes his head. “There’s no way.”
“Hand to God.” I hold my hand up. “The bouncer at Amelie performed a citizen’s arrest on the spot. The entire crowd got in between the girl and this dude. It was the most beautiful thing I think I’ll ever witness in my twenties.”
“The one and only time I went to Amelie, I walked in and a girlimmediatelythrew up on me. I was wearing white.”
I laugh so hard I’m in danger of snorting.
Andres can’t help but laugh too, despite trying to look serious. “It was really gross!”
I wince. “Yeah, that’s unfortunate. But, hey. At least it’s safe for women. And that light up dance floor was my favorite.”
“You got any plans to go back?” Andres asks.
It’s a cracked door. An invitation, even, to flirt back. To make a plan to hang out.
I hesitate for a second. “I think my club days are over. But there’s a cafe that hosts open mics on Armitage I found recently that I like. More my speed.”
“Oh, word?” Andres nods. “We should go some time.”
I blush, hugging myself. “Yeah, uh, it would be fun to get a group together to go.”
“For sure,” Andres says, not missing a beat.
My gaze wanders to Eitan, who’s sitting on the other side of the campfire, watching us. He stands, disposes of his plate, and stomps to our tent.
Andres says something I don’t catch because I’m too busy watching Eitan leave.
“What?” I return to the conversation.
“I think you should put him out of his misery.” Andres smiles, all-knowing.
“Misery is not the issue,” I say darkly.
“What is the issue then?” Andres asks. What a fabulous question.
“Well,” I start. “I—” Andres waits, patiently. Frustratingly. “He says he’s interested in…something,” I confess. “But he’s said that before. There was a—moment. A couple weeks ago. It didn’t end well. It’s impossible to know what’s going to happen. That’s the issue.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way.” Andres rests his hand on his fist, contemplating. “But isn’t that true about everything?”
I purse my lips at him. “He just feels bad for me.” Even saying the words, they feel wrong. Untrue. Inadequate.
“Trust me.” Andres turns and I follow his gaze. Eitan pokes his head out of the tent seam, catching us watching him. “That’s not what he’s feeling.”
Andres stretches and yawns theatrically. “I’m heading to bed. Night.”
