Page 68 of You Again

Zev’s brows narrow in a glare. “No. Thanks.”

Still holding the bowl, Robert scoots himself closer until he’s holding the little bowl right up to Zev. He scoots again, bumping into the table. The whole thing jostles, as does Robert’s arm, and the entire contents of tomatoes, cilantro, and onions spill into Zev’s lap.

The bowl is empty, and all of our water glasses have wobbled, spilling half their contents onto the tabletop.

Zev stands, arms out, salsa running down each of his pant legs. “Did you do that on purpose?” he barks, his glare on Robert.

“Zev,” I hush. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah. Sorry, man.” Robert’s dabbing every single napkin onto the table, soaking up the wet mess. “You better go clean up.”

Zev peers at me, his blue eyes so expressive that now I am certain the man is an actor. They practically scream the words: WILL YOU BE OKAY IF I GO?

So, I answer. “I’m fine. Go clean up.”

He pauses another minute before glancing down at the liquid seeping into his pants and running down his legs. Then he heads off in the same direction as Margo.

“Finally, alone.” Robert winks at me—again. Maybe sometime in the last six years, he’s obtained a twitch. One he cannot control. One that blinks his eye during inappropriate moments.

I clasp my hands together in my lap. “Margo seems… nice.”

Robert gives a small chortle. “Sure.” He leans closer. “Rosalie, I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to see how you’ve grown.”

Wow. That’s ironic. Seeing how my brain has literally regressed.

“It’s like you’ve forgotten the past and you’re ready to move forward.”

I swallow, my eyes narrowing. “That’s exactly what it’s like.” I lift my half-empty glass to my mouth and take a small sip, then rest my hand on the table.

Robert grins, but it feels different than the smile I remember. “I’m glad. I’ve missed you.”

My forehead wrinkles, trying to make sense of how those words make me feel. “You have?”

“Well, yeah.” He reaches out a hand, covering mine sitting on the still-damp tabletop.

So strange. His touch doesn’t feel the same, not like I remember.

“Next time, maybe we get a drink, just the two of us.”

I stare at him for a long minute. Why is he acting like this? Why would he say that when he’s married? When he believes I’m here with Zev? “I don’t drink.” I pull back my hand. I don’t want to feel his touch anymore. I don’t want to know this Robert.

“I thought maybe you’d grown out of that, too.” Robert smiles, like we’re playing a game of cat and mouse. He’s flirting with me. He’s asking me out. While his wife is in the bathroom. My stomach flips. And my head spins.

Fran was right.

Grammy was right.

Zev was⁠—

Hallelujah, there’s Zev. His khaki pants are rinsed of salsa but still wet. Our waiter walks by just as Zev reaches our table. “Can you bring me a beer?” he says with a growl.

“Someone likes to drink,” Robert says, brows bouncing.

Zev plops back into his chair. “Yeah, well, I may need some subsistence to make it through the rest of this evening.”

Thirty

I survive an entire thirty-five minutes of eating and small talk with Robert Pattinson. I don’t even hit him. I’d very much like to hit him. There is a stabbing pain in my leg that reminds me that while he very much deserves to be hit, Rosalie wouldn’t like that.