Page 62 of Open Water
I laughed. "That's actually exactly what it means."
"Athletics are strange. In debate, if you're winning, you look like you're winning. You smile. You gesture. It's a performance." She shrugged. "But I guess rowing is the opposite."
"Rowing is suffering in a straight line and hoping the suffering pays off."
"Politics major energy," she said, glancing at Noah. "I see why you two are friends."
I liked Priya, she was fun and she was a good match for Noah. The conversation stayed light for a while — the tournament, how they met, Noah's disastrous attempt to explain Kant to her on their first date. She was easy to talk to. She was genuinely curious and didn't have time for small talk, so everything skipped to the interesting part fast.
"So Noah told me about what happened with Alex." She said it directly, no tiptoe. "That's a lot."
"Yeah."
"Are you okay?"
"Getting there."
She nodded.
"What's he like? Noah talks about him but Noah talks about everyone like they're a problem to be solved," she said.
"Hey," Noah said.
"You described your own mother as 'an interesting case study in utilitarian ethics.'" Priya raised her eyebrows.
"That was a compliment."
I laughed. "Alex is — he's great. But his life is complicated. He comes from a different world than us. Richer."
Priya considered it.
The waiter came. Carlo again. He looked at me, did a half-second of recognition, glanced at Noah and Priya, and if he noticed I wasn't with the girl from last time he didn't show it.
"What can I get you folks?"
We ordered. Spaghetti for me — same thing I'd ordered with Emily, because the menu had six items and they were all variations of pasta. Noah got the lasagna. Priya got the penne arrabbiata and asked Carlo if it was actually spicy or "Italian-restaurant spicy," which made Carlo laugh and promise to tell the kitchen to bring the heat.
"I like her," Carlo said to Noah, and disappeared.
The food came fast. We ate. Priya dissected the tournament round by round, Noah occasionally interjecting with something that made Priya roll her eyes, me eating spaghetti and feeling the strange normalcy of it.
A Friday night. A restaurant. Friends. This was what people did.
"The thing about debate," Priya said, twirling her fork, "is that you can be right about everything and still lose. The judge isn't scoring truth. They're scoring persuasion. You can have every fact, every study, every piece of evidence lined up perfectly, and if the other team tells a better story, you lose."
"That's depressing," I said.
"It's realistic. The world doesn't reward being right. It rewards being convincing." She looked at me over her glasses. "Which is probably relevant to your situation, if you think about it."
"My situation?"
"With Alex's father. From what Noah told me, the man isn't arguing facts. He's arguing narrative.My son is confused. This is a phase. The family legacy matters more than a college relationship.None of that is true but it's a compelling story to the people in power."
I stared at her. She took a bite of penne.
"So the question isn't whether Alex loves you. The question is who tells a better story… you or his father."
Noah was watching her with the expression I never seen before. It wasn't surprised. It was pride or love. The look of a person who'd found someone who made the world make more sense just by being in it.
