Page 47

Phoebe followed Jonathan back to the living room. Eddie the golden retriever was curled up on a plaid dog bed in front of the fire.

Jonathan resumed his perch on the arm of the sofa, next to a group of people that Phoebe guessed were cousins. He waited for a pause in the flow of their conversation before introducing her.

It was strange how Phoebe had to stop herself from draping her body across Jonathan’s lap. She’d done exactly that at countless parties in the past. Her arms would loop around his neck and he would sling one arm casually around her waist as they chatted with their friends. Sometimes she would rest her cheek against his, just because. But now, of course, that would be an extremely weird thing to do. She backed up against the mantel of the fireplace instead, next to Eddie, nothing more than an onlooker as Jonathan caught up with his relatives. He’d introduced her as “an old friend from college.” Nothing more, nothing less.

Which was totally fine, because that was what they were. They hadn’t dated back then. And Sharon had forbidden any work talk. So they were simply old friends.

As his cousin Mina regaled the group with a story about the house she’d just bought outside Orlando—“In Tampa, you couldn’t even get an old shack for this much, and I’m getting three bedrooms!”—Jonathan gave Phoebe a look. She raised her eyebrows at him with a little shrug. He tilted his head toward the spot next to him on the couch. Phoebe took the hint and sat down next to him.

After Mina showed a few pictures of her new house, she said, “So, Phoebe, tell us what Jonathan was like in college. Overachiever? Party boy who barely passed his classes?”

Phoebe was disbelieving. “You know him, right? I mean, you are family?”

Mina exchanged a look with Jonathan’s sister, Alice. “Yeah, we know he wasn’t a party boy.” They laughed at the thought.

Now it was Phoebe’s turn to give Jonathan a knowing look. He shook his head in mock embarrassment.

“He was actually a ton of fun in college. We met at his roommate’s birthday party. But after that, we took a lot of classes together, and Jonathan was the most—” She searched for the right word. “He was just excited to be there. He was so enthusiastic. It was like a breath of fresh air, really, compared to my other friends who complained about the schoolwork getting in the way of their social lives. I remember in this one class, History of the Pacific Northwest, most people were just there for the history credit, but Jonathan always did all the reading and was so curious about everything. The professor finally asked him why, and Jonathan said, ‘I might want to write a screenplay about this topic someday.’ Needless to say, the professor loved him.”

“Okay, that does sound like JJ,” Mina said. Just then, one of the older aunts set out a tray of little bowls of Korean banchan along with assorted crackers and clementines. Everyone oohed and started loading their appetizer plates.

Phoebe and Jonathan hung back on the couch. “JJ?”

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

“I just can’t believe you have a nickname I never knew about.”

“What does your family call you?” As he asked the question, Jonathan poked her gently in the thigh.

She looked down at his hand and said, “Tater Tot.” She paused. “Short for Potato.”

“Potato?” Jonathan roared with laughter.

“Don’t ask.”

“Oh, I’m asking.”

“Ethan was two when I was born, and he thought I looked like a newborn potato baby. He called me Potato. The end.”

“Okay, Tater Tot.” Phoebe punched him on the arm; he grabbed her wrist firmly to stop her from doing it again. As he laughed, he stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb and said, “All right, I won’t call you that. Hungry?”

Phoebe nodded, feeling surprisingly bereft when he let go of her wrist. It was just because that was the kind of closeness she’d been used to having with him back in the day. That was all.

A few minutes later, they had eaten their fill of spicy cucumbers, glazed potatoes, and soy-marinated eggs. Jonathan’s dad went around the room with an old-fashioned camcorder, asking everyone their name and what they thought of the food so far. Phoebe felt flustered, imagining the family watching the grainy video footage years from now, none of them able to remember who the pale girl with short brown hair was.

The cousins dispersed around the house, and Sharon called out a fifteen-minute warning.

“Prosecco?” Jonathan offered Phoebe a flute of sparkling wine.

“Cheers.” They held eye contact as they clinked glasses and took a sip. The bubbles went to Phoebe’s head in a deliciously festive way.

“Can you show me your room?” she asked.

“My room?”

“Have your parents turned it into a home gym or something?”

“Actually… no.”