Page 63

For a while, we stay on the couch, just out of inertia, I guess. Where do we go from here? We try picking up our conversation, but it’s harder now. It’s almost like neither of us is particularly interested in what we’re saying.

Eventually we get up and join the others. I have another conversation with a girl I used to know, Tyler gets pulled into a game, and for a little while I manage to have fun again. But I find myself checking the time.

After a while, I tell Tyler I’m thinking about heading home and offer to get an Uber so he can stay at the party. But he insists on driving me, since he brought me here in the first place. He collects our coats, says goodbye to his cousin, and we head outside.

Outside, the cold air washes over my flushed face, cooling my skin after the heat of the house. Out here, the noise of the party gives way to the peaceful hush of a winter night. The street is deserted, with snow piled high along the sidewalks and blanketing the lawns. Christmas lights twinkle in the windows of neighboring houses, and the cars parked along the curb are coated in frost. Our footsteps crunch through the snow as we make our way to Tyler’s car. We climb into the Subaru, shivering while the heater warms up.

The drive home is a little strained. We talk about people from the party, then fall quiet, and Tyler asks if we’re okay. I assure him we are, but gently remind him that things pretty much fizzled out when I went away to university. We never officially broke up, we just gradually stopped talking, and I figured we’d both moved on. I think Tyler was hoping we could pick things up again while I’m home for Christmas, but I tell him I’d rather we stayed friends.

He seems disappointed, but takes it well, and by the time we pull into the driveway, the awkwardness has mostly passed.

“So we’re good?” he asks, as I unbuckle my seatbelt.

“Yeah. We’re good.”

He smiles. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

I give him a quick hug. “Thanks for tonight, Tyler.”

“Anytime, Soph.”

It’s almost one in the morning, but there’s a light on in the den, and I can hear the television.

I hang up my coat and pull off my boots, then poke my head around the doorway. Vince is stretched out on the couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, a glass of whiskey on the coffee table.

“Hey, Soph.” He looks over. “Have a good time?”

“Yeah, actually. It was fun seeing everyone.”

I sit down beside him, and he shifts over to make room. “What’re you watching?” I ask, nodding at the television.

“The X-Files.” He perks up. “Oh, this show’s great. It’s about two FBI agents investigating paranormal stuff. Aliens, government conspiracies, monsters. It was huge back in the nineties.”

Onscreen, a man in a suit is examining some kind of fetus in a jar.

I settle back against the cushions, while Vince fills me in on Mulder and Scully, and I get surprisingly invested in the mystery. It’s nice sitting here with him, laughing at the occasional ridiculous special effect and forgetting about everything that’s happened between us. Neither of us seems inclined to disturb the peace.

When the episode ends, Vince leans back on the couch, turning to me.

“Everything good with you and Tyler?” There’s something carefully casual about the question.

“Yep.” I think about our conversation in the car, how it felt like a final goodbye.

He nods, face drawn. “You going to see him again?”

I could tell him the truth, but after what Vince put me through, I’m not inclined to make this easy for him. “Would it bother you if I did?”

He takes a long, deep breath before answering. “I guess so, Soph. What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” I turn to face him, leaning back on the arm of the sofa and crossing my legs, pushing the fabric of my skirt down between my legs out of modest habit.

The beers I had at the party have left me pleasantly buzzed, and I feel wonderfully uninhibited. Boldly, I stretch over to the coffee table and pick up Vince’s glass of whiskey, raising it to my lips. I catch the flash of disapproval cross his face and I smile and down it all in one long sip. Then I put the empty glass down and settle back into the couch.

Vince says nothing. He raises his eyebrows but just watches me, waiting to see what I’ll do next.

“You know,” I say idly. “You can’t not be with me and not expect me to be with anyone else.”