“So, it’s just physical?” she asks while I take a deep gulp. I swear I hear the water sizzle as it hits the bottom of my stomach.
“Definitely,” I insist, not sounding definite at all. “He’s trying to evict me. Fire me. Destroy my friends’ jobs and stomp on Agatha’s legacy.” I rub the spot between my eyebrows and shut my eyes. “But he’s also incredibly thoughtful, funny, and scared of his own cat, and when we talk, I completely forget that he’s ruining my life! It’s theworst.”
“So, you mean definitely not just physical,” she says with a smirk.
“Did you even hear what I just said?”
“Didyou? You obviously like each other, Gracie.”
“I mean, I like him, but I don’tlikehim,” I say, wondering how many middle schoolers uttered the same sentence today.
She gives me a flat, disbelieving look.
Quickly, I say, “Jude has openly admitted to being a walking red flag who doesn’t do relationships. Even if Larkwood wasn’t at stake, that’s not what I’m looking for.Henryis who I’m looking for.”
I twist my hands in my lap, unable to help noticing the lack of conviction when I say it. But trusting my gut hasn’t worked out for me in the past, and I’m not about to try again when all it seems to do is clap out the nameJude, Jude, Jude. So instead, I tell her, “It’s the first time I’ve felt open to dating anyone since Calvin, but I’m afraid I’ve already ruined my chance with him by kissing Jude.”
Sofia brings her legs up so that she’s sitting cross-legged on her chair. “Gracie, you haven’t even been on a date with this guy yet. It’s not like you signed a contract to be monogamous with him. It’s not ideal that they’re best friends, but you have every right to play the field, and honestly, youneededa superhot kiss. Jude might not bethe guy you build a life with, but at least he broke you out of your slump.”
“So, you don’t think I should tell Henry about the kiss before our date? Jude said he wanted to speak to him first, but I feel like I should address it, too.”
“Hellno. You are a free agent, allowed to kiss anyone you want, anywhere you want, anytime you want, until you both decide to be exclusive.”
“But they’rebest friends.”
“Then let thebest friendswork it out on their own. You can’t beat yourself up for being so hot that you’ve got competing suitors vying for your favor.”
“You make it sound a lot more romantic than it is.”
“Gracie, this ispeakromance! What do you think the chances are of turning this into a why-choose throuple situation?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows at me.
I laugh, which definitely wasn’t on my Bingo card tonight, and in my gratitude, I throw my arms around her. She hugs me back and says, “It’s going to be okay, you know. Even if you lose Jude, Henry,andLarkwood, it’s going to be okay. You’ll move back to Providence! I’ll have my best friend back!”
I sit up to look at her. “What are you talking about? You still have me.”
She lowers her eyes to her lap and says, “I mean, yeah, but it’s not like before, when you lived in the city.”
At this, I take a better look at her. I came in tonight so consumed by my own troubles that I didn’t notice the purplish tint beneath her eyes and the strained lines around her mouth. “Sof, is everything okay?”
She lifts a petite shoulder but doesn’t meet my eye. “I’m okay. There’s just been a lot on the plate.”
“With work? With Sasha?” I ask, realizing I haven’t checked in with her for too long. Her roller-coaster relationship with Sasha (a tortured artist who calls her his muse but insists on space every time she hints about exclusivity) is a perennial source of heartache for her.
She rolls her eyes. “Sasha went to Joshua Tree last week. He’s probably trading portrait paintings for Quaaludes in a nudist colony somewhere.”
“That tracks. And how are you feeling about him leaving?” I ask, knowing she’s probably hurting more than she’s letting on.
“Honestly, I hope he stays out there,” she says quietly. “I know I always say it’s just casual, but there’s this part of me that’s always secretly wishing he’ll grow up and pay his studio rent on time. That and, you know.” She gives a bleak laugh. “Love me.”
It’s so reminiscent of my own dashed hopes for Calvin that my heart breaks, knowing she’s been suffering from similar disappointments. I lean my head on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. You know I’ve been there, and it’s the literal worst feeling.”
“At least Calvin had the decency to break up with you face-to-face,” she says dully. “I got an IOU on a greasy pizza box and an abandoned studio filled with masturbation paintings.”
“Fuck that guy,” I say, anger broiling under my skin.
“Yeah,” she agrees, but without any of the heat I want from her. “Fuck that guy.”
“I wish you had told me. I could have, I don’t know, secretly rubbed lilies all over his paintbrush satchel. They give him massive sneeze attacks, right?”
