Chapter 7 #2
"Yeah, it was insane. We had people convinced they were butterflies and time travelers."
"Right? That time traveling couple were hilarious. Took them until after lunch to come down." Bethany laughs. "These small-town festivals are wild."
The bar is loud and crowded, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs and craft cocktails with names like "Smoke & Mirrors" and "The Last Word." Bethany orders some special with gin and elderflower. I get a beer. We find a high-top table near the window.
"So," Bethany says, leaning in conspiratorially, "have you met anyone interesting yet? Any prospects?"
There it is.
I almost mention Reid. Almost. But I know exactly how that conversation goes — she'll say it's cute that I have a work crush, warn me not to get too attached because I'll probably be moving on soon, and I'll spend the rest of the night defending a choice she doesn't think I'm capable of making.
So I don't mention him.
"I'm focusing on settling in," I say. "Making friends, figuring out the city."
"Laine." Bethany gives me a look. "You've been here three months. You must have noticed if there are any cute guys around."
"There are cute guys everywhere, Beth. Doesn't mean I need to date them all."
"No, but you need to date some of them. Otherwise, what's the point?"
The point of what? Living somewhere? Building a life? Having a job and friends and a fiddle leaf fig that depends on me?
I take a sip of my beer and swallow the response I actually want to give. "I don't know. I'm just taking things slow."
Bethany raises an eyebrow. "Slow? You? The woman who once hooked up with that doctor in Nashville after knowing him for three hours?"
"That was different."
"How?"
Because I knew I'd be gone in a month, so it didn't matter. Because nothing I did there would follow me to the next place. Because temporary people get temporary treatment, and I was the most temporary person in every room I walked into.
"I don't know. It just was."
Bethany studies me like I'm something furry under a microscope. I don't love that look. "You really are different here."
"Good different or bad different?"
"I honestly don't know yet."
Before I can figure out how to respond, Bethany's attention shifts over my shoulder.
"Oh my god, don't look, but there's this incredibly hot guy at the bar who's been checking you out for the past five minutes."
I immediately turn around. Of course I do. There's a guy leaning against the bar — dark hair, nice smile, button-down that actually fits him properly. He catches me looking and raises his beer in a little salute.
"I told you not to look!" Bethany hisses, grinning.
"You knew I was going to look."
"True. He's cute, right? You should go talk to him."
I shrug. Yeah he's attractive, but I'm not in the mood. And the idea of someone coming back to my apartment — my home — feels wrong. When I was in temporary apartments or long-stay hotels, it didn't matter who passed through. But my apartment isn't temporary. I bought a couch. I have a fig.
Your standards for who enters your home are: must be more committed than a houseplant. The bar is literally on the floor and you're still not interested.
When I get up for the bathroom, cute bar guy intercepts me.
"Hey," he says. Up close he's even better looking. "I'm Matt."
"Laine."
"Can I buy you a drink, Laine?"
Nice voice. Friendly eyes. Expensive cologne. The kind of guy who probably works in finance and has strong opinions about craft beer.
"Sure," I say. "But I'm here with my friend."
"Bring her over. I've got friends too."
So that's how I end up spending the next two hours at a table with Matt and his buddies — Tyler and something that starts with J that I immediately forget. They're nice enough, attractive enough, successful enough. The kind of guys I used to be happy to spend time with. Happy to flirt with.
Matt's charming in that practiced way that means he's done this before.
Lots of eye contact, lots of questions about me, lots of casual touches on my arm when he laughs.
He buys our drinks and tells funny stories about his job in marketing and asks about nursing like it's the most fascinating career in the world.
And I'm bored out of my mind.
"That must be so rewarding," he says when I mention working in the ER. "Helping people, saving lives."
"It is," I say. The work matters, but it's also just work. I'm good at it without being a saint. Reid understood that without me having to explain it. Two hours in a diner and he never once made me sound like a hero for doing my job.
Stop comparing. That's not fair to anyone.
"What about you?" I ask Matt. "Do you like marketing?"
"It pays the bills." He shrugs. "But I'd rather be traveling. I've got this list of places I want to see — Thailand, New Zealand, Iceland. Just waiting for the right opportunity."
He talks about travel like it's exotic and adventurous. Like wanting to see the world makes him interesting. I've been to all of the places on his list. Travel stops being romantic when you're doing it because you don't have anywhere else to go.
Don't be a snob about it. He's allowed to want things you've already had. Not everyone grew up in fourteen countries.
"What about you?" Matt asks. "Ever think about traveling? Seeing the world?"
"I've done some traveling," I say. "I'm more interested in staying put these days."
"Really? Why?"
Bethany jumps in. "Laine's going through a domestic phase. She's very into routine and yoga classes."
A phase. Like nesting is a disease I'll recover from. Like wanting to belong somewhere is a symptom. Matt laughs like he agrees, and I'm so done. Not hurt. Just — tired. Tired of trying to explain my choices to someone who's not at all interested in understanding.
"That's cool for now," Matt says. "But don't you want to see what's out there? Experience new things?"
He has no idea how much I've done. I've done enough bucket items to fills most people's buckets four times over.
But I just smile and let him buy me another drink.
Around eleven, Bethany suggests we all go to another bar. Matt's immediately interested, his friends are game, and everyone's looking at me.
"I think I'm going to call it a night," I say.
"Come on," Bethany says. "It's still early."
"For you maybe. I've got work tomorrow."
"Live a little, Laine," Matt says.
And there it is. Just enough edge in his voice to remind me he's bought me three drinks and probably expects a return on investment.
Live a little. Like what I'm doing right now — choosing my own company over his — isn't living.
Like the only valid version of being alive involves following a good-looking stranger to a second bar at eleven o'clock because he smiled at me and bought me gin.
Yeah. Now I’m getting pissy.
"I am living," I say. "Just not the way you want me to."
Matt's smile gets a little tighter. "Your loss."
Yeah. I'll survive.
In the car afterward, Bethany is quiet until we're almost back to my apartment.
"So," she says. "Matt seemed nice."
"He was fine."
"Just fine? He was totally into you. And those shoulders..."
"Yeah, he was attractive. Good conversationalist. Probably makes decent money."
"But?"
"But nothing." I watch the streetlights slide past. "I just wasn't feeling it."
"You're getting boring, you know that?"
"Maybe I just want something different for my life."
Bethany just shrugs and stares out the window. When we pull up to my place, she gives me a half hug, then she's gone, probably to meet up with the guys at the next bar.
My muscles relax the second I step into my apartment. Quiet and familiar. My furniture, my books, my plants. I kick off my shoes and settle onto my couch.
Why did I go tonight? The second I saw the bar, I wanted to come home.
But I forced myself because I thought that's what good friends do — show up, participate, be available.
But is that friendship? Doing things I don't want to do because someone else wants me to?
Or is real friendship what Jamila offered today — hey, want to grab smoothies? No pressure. No performance.
Is Bethany being a bad friend, or are we just becoming different people? Or worse, am I the bad friend because I'm the one changing the rules of the game.
My head hurts.
Matt was perfectly nice. Six months ago, I probably would have gone to that second bar. Maybe gone home with him. Had a perfectly pleasant time and never thought about him again.
But sitting here now, I'm glad I didn't. Not because I'm saving myself for Reid or playing hard to get or any of that nonsense. Just because I wanted to come home. To my space. My quiet. My life.
And a certain paramedic texted you today and your whole body lit up like a switchboard, and Matt's nice shoulders couldn't compete with that. But sure. Tell yourself it's about the apartment.
My phone buzzes.
Bethany
You sure you're okay?
See. She is a good friend. I'm the one who's changed.
I'm good. Just tired.
Bethany
Okay. Call me tomorrow.
I won't call her tomorrow. She'll be busy, and I'll be busy. But I'll text her sometime this week, because that's what friends do. Even friends who are growing in different directions. Even friends who might not make it. You show up until you can't anymore, and then you wish each other well.
I change into pajamas, pour a glass of water, and settle back on the couch with my book. The heroine is finally reading the letter. I've been waiting three chapters for this.
"It's about time," I tell her. "He flew across the country for you. The least you can do is read the man's letter."
She reads it.
"Oh. Okay. Okay, that's good. You don't deserve him but I'm here for it."
My phone sits on the coffee table. Reid's text thread is right there. Three messages. Nothing profound. Just two people figuring out when to see each other again.
Tomorrow. I'm seeing him tomorrow. And I'm not going to overthink it. I'm not going to plan my outfit for two hours or rehearse conversation topics or worry about whether I should kiss him or let him make the first move or—
You're already overthinking it.
I know. I'm going to stop.
When?
...soon.