Chapter 4 #2
“Emma.” He stays in the hug about two seconds longer than I would have, and I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with Harrison, even as Alexander leans in and gives him a hug that is notably shorter than mine and includes more back patting.
Everyone takes turns greeting everyone else, and then we make our way to a booth.
My rule of thumb when it comes to eating out with acquaintances is to always pick a seat first to avoid having to make an actual seating decision.
This strategy immediately backfires when Alexander scoots into the seat across from me, shooting me a glowing smile that does not even remotely distract me from the fact that Stephanie picks the seat next to him, which leaves Harrison to sit next to me.
His left leg bounces up and down as he settles into place, the soft fabric of his jeans wrinkling then unwrinkling as he rubs his hands down his thighs, landing on his knees, as if to stop his leg from moving.
After a moment, he withdraws his hands, and his left knee immediately starts bouncing again.
The urge to put my hand on his knee is so strong that I place both of my hands under my thighs and look directly into Alexander’s intense eyes instead of acknowledging anything happening to my right.
The waiter appears, and Stephanie orders a bottle of red for the table. He glances around as if to check whether any of us would like to provide input, but when we don’t, he quickly thanks us and runs off.
Stephanie jumps right in. “So, Alexander is a friend of mine from high school—”
“—an ex, actually,” Alexander pipes in, giving a good-natured chuckle. I hold back my cringe.
“Semantics,” Stephanie says, rolling her eyes. “But anyway, he just got hired by the consulting group I work for, so now we’re co-workers!”
“Serendipitous,” Harrison says. If I looked to my right, I’m 100 percent certain I would find Harrison smiling without dimples or eye creases. (I do not look to my right.)
“So, you just moved to Boston for this job?” I ask Alexander.
“Just last week, from Maryland. Stephanie is one of the few people I know in the area, so I had to reach out. Glad we could make this happen so I can make new friends,” he says, winking at me.
I shift my eyes away and take a sip of water to hide my face, even though it’s been years since a guy winked at me. Actually, I don’t know if a guy has ever winked at me unironically. I should be enjoying this, I think? But also, winking feels weird? Do I have the ick, or do I just hate dating?
“But Stephanie said you just moved here, too, is that right?” he asks me.
“Just yesterday, actually.”
Stephanie nods toward Harrison and me. “And you two were friends in college?”
An understatement if I’ve ever heard one. I can’t stop myself from making a list of all the other things he probably forgot to tell her.
Did he tell you I planned his twenty-first birthday party for him?
Did he tell you I met his parents before he even knew who you were?
Did he tell you I visited him in Paris when he studied abroad, or that we intentionally signed leases in neighboring apartments during our last two years of college so we didn’t have to leave the building to see each other?
Did he tell you we held each other when we cried and calmed each other when we were angry and laughed together when we were embarrassed?
Did he tell you he loved me, and I loved him back?
No. He definitely didn’t tell her that.
I choke out an mmhmm, which is exactly what Harrison does. We create a chorus of noncommittal mmms.
“No need to sound so thrilled,” Stephanie says, laughing.
Harrison shrugs, his knee finally still. “We knew each other. And then we moved to different places.”
Another understatement. I still do not look at him, even as I feel a pang of betrayal.
The next ten minutes are spent learning about Alexander’s cat, Stephanie’s recent family trip to Greece, and the team drama at their consulting job, which is highly dramatic but provides zero insight into what it actually is they do for work.
Harrison doesn’t say much, only jumping in when called for to offer commentary of five words or fewer.
I’m not much better, but it’s not like I have anything interesting to say.
Hey, let me tell you about my shitty new apartment!
Want to hear my middle-school-level literary analysis of Animal Farm?
What about my personal ranking of every horror film released between 1980 and 1989, starting with The Shining and ending with Gremlins?
I could also tell you about how I haven’t been on any interesting trips or on any good dates or had, like, any fun in the last three to four years!
And don’t even get me started on my vagina!
“Emma, what do you do for work?” Alexander asks.
I take a long sip of wine.
“I work at a coffee shop.”
“Which one?” Stephanie asks.
“Jo Jo’s? Nearby, on South Street.”
“OH!” Her eyes light up in recognition. “Harrison and I went there on our first date!”
I’m going to be sick.
Alexander asks the question I can’t bring myself to, and just for that, I think he’s the best date ever. “Remind me how you two met?”
“Funny story, actually,” Stephanie says, chuckling. I brace myself. “We met on a dating app.”
That’s not even remotely a funny story. Actually, picturing Harrison on a dating app makes the thought of eating Italian food utterly repulsive.
She takes a sip of her wine, evidently pausing for comedic timing. “So, we set up a first date. I was excited. After all, he seemed nice. He’s obviously so cute. He’s a pediatric nurse—which, talk about attractive.”
I thought that was attractive before you thought that was attractive, I think. I thought that was attractive before he even started the job.
“An hour before the date, I’ve just finished putting on my makeup, and I get a text from him.” She widens her eyes for dramatic effect. “Canceled. The date is off.”
I gasp because that seems like what I’m supposed to do. She nods appreciatively, but Harrison looks at the ceiling, his ears pink.
“I was disappointed, but then again, we’re talking about a man from a dating app at this point.
I’ve been burned enough times to learn to brush it off when things don’t work out.
” She purses her lips, and I pre-imitate her voice: but THEN!
“But then,” she says in exactly the tone I anticipated.
“He follows up the next day. Turns out, something came up with his mom that was unavoidable. And, I mean, come on—don’t you just love a man who takes care of his mom? ”
Does she love love this man who takes care of his mom, or is that just a turn of phrase?
“So anyway,” she continues. “He apologized profusely, then asked me if I’d be willing to give him a second chance. Something told me I should, and, well, I said yes!”
I said yes! I practice imitating her in my mind so I can accurately re-create this scene for Jo later tonight on the phone.
“We met at Jo Jo’s the next day. Harrison’s friend’s parents run it, apparently.” Stephanie directs her attention toward me. “Jo? Do you know her? Is that how you got connected to this job?”
“Yep,” I say, my voice unsteady to my own ears. “She actually just took it over from her parents. Last month.”
“No way. Small world! So, anyway—we had a delightful first date there. And it’s been, what, four months since then?” she asks Harrison, and he nods. She turns to me, like she’s letting me in on a secret. “How lucky am I, right?”
The waiter arrives with our food before I can follow up this rhetorical question with a comment that is inappropriate or tone-deaf or morose or all three.
As my plate is set in front of me, I immediately regret ordering the cheapest thing on the menu (a salad) instead of the hearty dishes everyone else ordered.
Stephanie clears her throat, and I’m momentarily terrified I’ve done something wrong, but when I look up, she’s staring at Harrison with wide eyes and pursed lips.
It’s the kind of expression that makes it clear you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t be witnessing, and I exchange a nervous glance with Alexander.
I finally dare to look directly at Harrison for the first time all night, and his jaw clenches.[*2] “It’s fine,” he says, looking directly at Stephanie with the same intense expression she has on her face.
The loss I feel in my gut over Harrison having a silent language with this woman—even if they’re using it to argue—is overwhelming, sending nausea coursing through my body.
We used to be able to communicate like that.
Now I can barely look him in the eyes. Sure, I can still interpret his expressions when I actually look at him.
He’s just not looking back.
“Why didn’t you just tell the waiter?” Stephanie asks.
“Because it’s not a problem,” Harrison says, carefully concealed frustration in his voice.
Alexander glances down at Harrison’s plate. “Wrong meal?”
Now that he says it, I do see it. Harrison ordered chicken parm, and this is definitely eggplant parm. It still looks delicious, and I’m about to say so, but Stephanie throws her hand up in the air and wiggles her fingers at the waiter.
“Sorry, excuse me. He ordered a chicken parm, but this is eggplant—would you mind bringing this back and asking them to remake the dish?” Stephanie asks.
The waiter mumbles his apologies, and Stephanie thanks him profusely.
Harrison just stares at Stephanie until the waiter grabs the dish, at which point Harrison also thanks him.
The table is silent when the waiter leaves.
“Well,” Stephanie says, unfolding her napkin onto her lap. “This is why Harrison needs me! Someone has to stick up for him if he’s not going to do it himself.”
Alexander chuckles, and Harrison says “Thanks” in a bland tone.
What chain of events led me from quitting my teaching job to sitting here at this table? What sin did I commit in a past life that led me to this hell?