1 #2
This is what other people didn’t get about Elliot: he makes an effort, even when it’s inconvenient.
He came straight here from his office in Southie (the opposite end of Boston, if you didn’t know) after a hard week of long hours, just to celebrate my interview—which isn’t even conclusive good news yet, it’s just a step in the process.
He didn’t have to come, but he did without complaint, and it means a lot.
Andy seems to realize that he’s blocking Elliot’s path to me, so he stands to make room.
“Thanks,” Elliot says, sliding into the booth between me and Andy. “How’s it going man?”
“Fine,” Andy replies. And that’s all.
(I could kill him sometimes. Just be pleasant to my boyfriend!)
Though to be slightly fair to Andy, he’s not the only one of my friends with a weird vendetta against Elliot. Like Lia—I mentioned she’s evil, right?—who leans towards him across the table and says, “Elliot, do you want to make a toast to your beautiful girlfriend’s accomplishment today?”
Lia has never liked Elliot. Not since the very first day they met. She’s always said he’s wrong for me. In her words, he’s “stuffy and cocky and dickish,” but she just doesn’t know him like I do.
Elliot doesn’t know Lia well either, which is why he doesn’t recognize the jab for what it is: her way of saying “why didn’t you congratulate Sophie about the interview when you first walked in, you jerk?” (Her internal monologue, of course—not mine.)
So Elliot responds sincerely. “Oh, of course.” He lifts his water glass, and I’m a little embarrassed that everyone else does too. This is really unnecessary.
“Sophie,” he starts, tilting his glass towards me, “I think it’s nice the way you chase your dreams, and this program sounds like it would be really nice for you. Cheers.”
(Okay, he may not be the best at toasts.)
Glasses clink together and I give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, honey. And here’s a quick toast to us.” I squeeze his arm then turn back to my friends to explain, “Yesterday was our third anniversary.”
Only Nolan seems to brighten at the news—he’s such a sweetie. “Wow, congrats you too! You have to tell me how you did it, because the dating apps are really not working out for me.”
“They’re not?” I ask just as Andy gripes, “I offered to help with your profile.”
Lia barks out a laugh, then points a brightly colored nail across the table at Andy. “You are the last person who should help him. Your dating habits are insufferable.”
“How are they insufferable?” he asks, feigning innocence even though he knows what he’s like.
“You only ever date hot girls with huge boobs,” Lia says, “and then get bored of them within like a month.”
Andy rolls his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Pot. I’m Kettle.”
“Get off his jock, Lia.” Nolan elbows his sister before turning back to Andy. “And dude, it’s not a problem with my profile. I swear it’s a great profile.” (God bless him and his confidence.) “I just feel like it’s really hard to click with someone when you’re talking online.”
“When was the last time you asked out someone you met in person?” I ask, then nod towards Elliot. “You know, we met at a work thing.”
“Ahh… I don’t know.” Nolan rubs the back of his neck in his boyish way. “When it’s in person I chicken out.”
I squeeze his arm in encouragement. “Just try it. As long as you’re respectful and pay attention to her cues—”
“And remember I’ll kill you in your sleep if I ever find out you harassed a woman,” Lia adds without humor.
“Yes, that,” I agree. “But with that in mind, I think practice makes perfect.”
“So you really think I should like… go make small talk with one of the women at the bar? And then just ask if she’d want to go out sometime? Wasn’t that move retired in the 90’s?”
There are, in fact, two perfectly lovely blonde women seated at the side of the bar nearest to us.
They look to be in their mid-20’s, maybe sisters?
Regardless, they’re both dressed up with no dates in sight, and their body language says they’re as open as anyone.
But before I can tell Nolan I think it seems reasonable, Elliot starts chuckling to himself and mutters, “Don’t do it, man.”
“Dude, I thought you met your girlfriend in person. Why don’t you think I should do it?”
Elliot shakes his head. “Just trust me, you don’t want to date a girl like that. They’re always more trouble than they’re worth.”
Unfortunately for him, those words are the exact summoning spell for the demon that lives inside Lia.
“Oh I’m going to love this,” she says with a bite. “Say more, Elliot. What exactly is wrong with these women?”
“Lia…” I warn.
“It’s not about these women in particular,” he explains. “I just don’t really believe in dating hot girls.”
Now, look. I know what you’re thinking. That sounds really dickish.
But he’s just not the best with words. He doesn’t mean that I’m not hot—really, I know that!
But I still feel all of the blood rush to my face and sweat break out along the back of my neck.
I’m so caught up in trying to control my physiological response to that stupid (but ultimately harmless) comment that I don’t even realize how many seconds of silence tick by before Andy spits out, “What did you just say?”
“Oh, come on guys,” Elliot says. “You know what I mean. Hot girls are always the worst.”
I want to stop time. Or better yet, rewind it two minutes. Maybe rewind it several hours and never have called NASA to go out tonight. It could’ve been just me and Elliot and this would be fine, because I get what he means. He’s not insulting me, he’s just… clumsy.
I don’t want to, but I have to. I look up at my friends’ faces. The men look incredulous, certainly not prepared to back Elliot up on this, and Lia looks like she’d gladly ruin her manicure for the pleasure of gauging his eyes out. Elliot doesn’t take the hint.
“What? Don’t look at me like that. I’m allowed to have a preference. I just don’t like dating… conventionally attractive girls.” He says it like someone begrudgingly using a politically correct term, and it’s getting harder and harder to not take offense.
Look, I know I’m not a model, okay? And next to Lia I’m sure I look like a cave troll.
But I try hard to keep a positive body image.
And I think I’m… fine? Normal? To the extent normal is even a thing.
I have straight brown hair (nothing to write home about), freckles (a controversially cute-or-ugly feature), hazel eyes (again, fine) behind glasses (okay, this one I acknowledge Elliot’s point on—maybe I should wear contacts more),
and I have a body that I try not to criticize because that road only leads to unhappiness.
But even with my reasonably acceptable body image, I don’t know what to say to that.
I’m still coming up with a response by the time my mean friends take matters into their own hands.
“What the fuck are you saying, Elliot?” Andy snarls, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angrier. Then Lia asks, “Are you high?” in a tone that’s half explicit insult and half genuine question.
Color is rising on Elliot’s cheeks, and I can already see how this is going to go.
It’s going to be ugly. They’re going to fight and leave hating each other more than they already do, and it’ll be impossible to hang out together after that.
And God, I just wanted to have a nice night out!
I can’t deal with the conflict. I just can’t.
“You know what,” I say, clapping my hands together.
There’s a manic edge to my voice that I try to correct in my next sentence.
“This actually reminds me of something I learned at work today. I have a friend who works in the museum’s biology department, and she was telling me that there’s an animal called a sea salp whose reproductive cycle alternates generations, so basically Generation A reproduces sexually,
and then Generation B reproduces asexually, and then the cycle necessarily repeats forever. And the two generations have totally different anatomy and everything. So you know, it’s totally normal for there to be weird mating rituals in the animal kingdom. Humans aren’t the only ones. In fact,
ours aren’t even that interesting.”
It’s not my smoothest work, but give me a break, I’m under duress.
After an awkward beat, Nolan says, “I’m sorry, I’m lost. In this metaphor, is Elliot the asexual reproduction sea salp, or is that you?”
“It’s not a metaphor! I’m just sharing something cool I learned today.”
I turn to my left, intending to smile at Elliot to show there are no hard feelings about it at all, when my eyes catch on Andy’s instead.
And in that one second of eye contact, I think Andy understands everything going through my head. It’s always been like that. We don’t need to spell things out with each other. Sometimes we just know.
“That’s actually really cool,” he says, holding my gaze as tightly as a physical touch. “Do the two generations look the same externally?”
Then Lia gets it—God bless her—and adds, “Yeah and what are sea salps anyway, are they like fish?”
I exhale for what feels like the first time in an hour, then tell them everything I know about sea salps.
And it’s fun. It helps. Really. It’s the perfect distraction from the flush I know is still riding high on my cheekbones.
And Elliot, to his credit, lets me monologue for probably ten minutes straight before he says, “The alcohol bucket is empty so I’m going to get a beer from the bar. Anyone need anything?”
And you know what? I do need something. I deserve it, after that ordeal.
“Yes, a margarita please. Actually, do they have flavors? You know what, I’ll just come with.”
I don’t look back at my friends as we head for the bar. I don’t want to see them watching us.
We place our orders, and Elliot pulls out his phone to check work emails while we wait.
I take the chance to fix myself up a bit, smooth my dress, make sure my makeup hasn’t smudged under my eyes.
And I know what you’re thinking—it’s not because of what Elliot said.
I look how I look, and that’s fine. I just don’t want to seem messy.