Chapter 4
I skip the entire way home, humming and singing under my breath.
The excitement of creating the checklist with my friends is still pulsing through me.
Even though I didn’t have a sip of alcohol, I feel buzzed.
For the first time in a long time, thanks to my new list, I feel like I might actually be getting somewhere, like I might actually have some control.
I trace the outline of Bev with my pointer finger. I can do hard things, too.
Thanks to my strict school night bedtime, I’m almost always the first one to leave Jeffery’s.
Tonight is no exception. My shower lets out a high-pitched screech as I turn it on, and I give the water a minute to warm up before stepping out of my dirty clothes and under the steady stream of the showerhead.
I let my lavender-scented soap wash away the parts of my day I don’t want to take with me to bed: the letter, the smell of the rotisserie chicken wafting out of the dumpster, the stickiness in the backs of my knees… all scrubbed away with my loofah.
—
I matched with Matthew on Hinge last year.
I was home on Long Island for Thanksgiving break, bored out of my mind and entertaining myself by scrolling through the apps incessantly but never finding anyone that seemed worthy of a right swipe.
The selection of men on Long Island was less than ideal, so I switched my location to Manhattan.
Once I exhausted those options, I moved on to Brooklyn.
At that point, I had decided to swipe left on every man in all five boroughs out of spite.
But my plan fell through when I found Matthew.
Between his deep blue eyes, his slightly lopsided smile, and the screenshot of his fastest crossword time, I hardly had time to think of the implications before an urgent signal from my brain forced my hand to tap the right side of my screen.
I had officially sent my first like.
Immediately, an anxious pit started to form in the bottom of my stomach. Maybe he won’t like me back, I thought. But within a few minutes, I had a message waiting for me.
Matthew:
Phoebe Berman…
It’s been a long time
I froze. How did he know my last name? Had we met before? If we had, there was no way I would have forgotten a face like his. I zoomed in on every one of his pictures, desperately searching for a spark of recognition. I was so sure I had never met him. But then how did he know my last name?
Phoebe:
It sure has
Tell me about the first time we met
I want to relive it
Matthew:
You’re such a romantic
I remember that about you
I sat behind you in Mr. Gordon’s class
(I could see you reading Fifty Shades of Grey behind your calc textbook)
I thought back to my junior year calculus class, conjuring a mental image of the boy who sat behind me. It was a senior who had this long black hair that covered his entire face. I remember always wondering, How can he see through all that hair? His name was…What was his name?
I broke into a full-on sprint up the stairs to my old bedroom, looking like a wild animal on all fours with my hands pushing off the steps in front of me in an effort to propel myself upstairs faster.
Out of breath by the time I reached my bookshelf, I tore the yearbooks off the shelves until I found the one from my junior year.
I scanned through the photos of the entire graduating class until I finally landed on him: Matthew Baxter.
He had pushed his hair back slightly for the photo. I could make out one single blue eye.
Phoebe:
Oh my god
You cut your hair
Matthew:
I was going through something
It won’t happen again
I promise
Phoebe:
Hey
Your body, your choice
I can’t believe you remember me!
Matthew:
Are you kidding?
I had the biggest crush on you
Even while the nervous pit in my stomach doubled in size, I couldn’t stop myself from grinning and blushing like a schoolgirl.
We moved over to text, where we spent the night swapping our most impressive crossword times.
Matthew asked to take me out, but I had the perfect excuse not to go: I lived across the country and was flying out the next day.
I told him that if he was still interested in May, when I’d be back home on Long Island for Jamie’s graduation, we’d go on a date.
I’d even go meet him in the city. In the meantime, we’d keep up with our word games.
I was so sure I could work up the courage by May.
When that weekend rolled around, I got myself dressed, did my makeup, and made it all the way to the front door of my house before my palms started to sweat. I made it one more step before my throat started to close.
You can do it, I thought. One foot in front of the other.
But it was that final step that had me sprinting to the toilet, heaving up the contents of my lunch. From the bathroom floor, I sent him a text explaining that I had food poisoning.
Maybe it really is food poisoning, I hoped as I grabbed the edges of the toilet bowl. I thought back to the chicken salad sandwich I’d had at the airport the day before and convinced myself that this must be true.
Food poisoning is normal. Maybe I’m normal.
But after I texted him to bail, the nausea stopped, and in that moment, I knew that nothing had changed: This wasn’t food poisoning. There was still something completely and utterly wrong with me.
Ugh, I’m SO sorry, food poisoning is the worst, he said, and I agreed, even though I didn’t think it was the worst. This, what was happening to me, was the worst.
I’m around if you need anything, he sent, along with an invitation to a game of Words With Friends.
The night of our almost-date is when our long-distance gaming leveled up. GamePigeon, sending each other our Wordle scores and our crossword times, more Words With Friends: We played until I fell asleep with my phone in my hand. And we’ve been playing ever since.
—
The Scrabble picture at the bottom of his feed brings me back to the present. My nonalcoholic buzz is still coursing through my veins, but instead of feeling a pang of sadness and regret, the way I often do when I look at photos of Matthew, I feel hopeful.
I hear the list shouting up to me from the bottom of the steps: Go on a date with Matthew.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I open my texts and send him a quick message:
Phoebe:
Hey:)
I’ll be back on Long Island next week if you’re around and want to do something?
I screenshot my message to send to the group chat before I have the chance to process what I’ve done. Before the panic has the chance to set in.
Phoebe:
I am GOING on a date next week. Mark my words, I am doing it.
Nora:
OH MY GOD YES LOOK AT YOU GO!!!
Alex:
OMG
Meg:
Ojh my gof i loveee him gnna crhyyyy
Nora:
You have to actually go this time. No backing out.
Phoebe:
No backing out.
Jonathan:
No backing out.
Phoebe:
I just agreed to that. No backing out.
Alex:
Permission to say one more thing, if I may?
No backing out.
Meg:
Ni backing ijut
Alex has changed the name of this chat to “no backing out.”