Page 2 of All Our Almosts

“Don’t tell me.” Andy’s looking at me like I’m Saran Wrap—totally transparent.

“Shut up! Shut your mouth right now, Andrew. It’s a good system.”

“Even using the word system is generous. I’d bet 80% of your to-do notes get lost before they happen. I still don’t know how you got through college.”

“Beep boop. I. Am. Robot. Andy. I keep information perfectly organized in my brain without writing it down. It is so cool to be me.”

Andy rolls his eyes as he holds the door open, letting me walk in under his arm.

“Welcome,” chimes the woman at the hostess stand. “How many in your party?”

“Four—” Andy starts but I jump in with “Five, please.” Then, to Andy, “Elliot is coming too. Sorry, should have mentioned that.”

He swallows down whatever comment was really on the tip of his tongue, then says, “Got it.”

I’m not blind. I know Andy and Elliot have never particularly liked each other. But there’s no open hostility there either, so it’s workable. They’re just very different people. Elliot—that’s my boyfriend, by the way—is a perfectly good guy. He works hard, likes art and music, has a good relationship with his family… there’s nothing not to like. I think it just takes a certain personality to crack the eggshell that is Andy Walsh’s cold, hard exterior, and Elliot does not have that personality. At least, that’s my working hypothesis.

There’s no wait for a table, so the hostess walks us over to a circular booth with red pleather seats that some would call “well-loved” but I would call "disintegrating." The room is dramatically lit in reds and greens, and the pre-karaoke hype playlist is blaring.

Did I mention Fridays are karaoke nights here? We absolutely love this place. At least, Lia, Nolan, and I do—and Andy loves us.

“Should we get a pitcher of something?” I ask, opening my menu. “I definitely need some kind of fried noodle situation for food, but… oh I forgot they have mai tai bowls for groups! We have to do it.”

I look up at Andy in time to catch the tiniest twitch of his lips. So miniscule that only a trained eye would notice it. But I’ve been training for the Olympics of Decoding Andy’s Microexpressions for nine years and I know that means he wants the mai tai bowl as bad as I do. In fact, I’m confident he’s opening his mouth to say so when a shrill “Ahhhhh!” echoes across the dining room.

Lia rockets herself into the booth and pins me in a hug. “Sophie, you did so good! I’m so happy for you.” Chaotic cheek kisses and laughter follow. I love her.

Lia is painfully gorgeous. Really. She has this long hair that curls just the right amount towards the ends, like little ringlets. And she has these big brown doe eyes—that totally belie her true evil nature, by the way—mile-long legs, and olive-tan skin. Her dad is Sicilian and her mom is French, but let me tell you: dad’s genes were strong.

We met as randomly assigned freshman roommates, and it’s a good thing we got along so well because otherwise I would’ve been extremely intimidated by her. She’s a triple threat: smart, creative, and beautiful. She double majored in business and fiber arts—which is so cool in and of itself—and now she runs a (lucrative!) social media account that brings art school techniques to people without art school money. Power to the people et cetera et cetera. Her content is colorful and cheerful and unapologetically girly and I would genuinely be a huge fan even if I didn’t know her. She was also an independent fiber artist in her spare time, because everything else wasn’t enough.

“Hey, save some of that for me!” a voice bellows from the edge of the booth, and I know it belongs to Nolan—the N of NASA and our last missing piece. He practically drags his little sister off of me, then takes her place and squeezes me in a hug of his own. “Great job, Soph. We’re rooting for you.”

Nolan is big. I’m going to guess at least 6’3” and bulky (the boy loves the gym). He has a strong resemblance to Lia—same tan skin, medium-brown curls, light brown eyes—but completely different energy. He’s like a great dane puppy: huge and innocent and lovable.

“Thanks,” I laugh as Nolan lets go. “I admit I feel a little silly calling you guys out to celebrate an interview. I realize it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Stop,” Andy says, blunt as ever. “It is a big deal.”

The waiter arrives then to take our drink orders—one Signature Mai Tai Bucket™ plus waters for everyone—and by the time he’s delivered the drink monstrosity with five colorful straws, the missing mouth for straw number five is here. I look up at him with a smile.

“Hi honey, thanks for coming all the way out here.”

“Hey everybody,” Elliot nods to the group. “How’s it going?”

He’s dressed for work—blue suit, dark blonde hair combed to the side, and bags under his eyes that say it’s been a long week.

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?”