Page 37 of The Plus-One Deal

“Oh, God, the monitor— or, no. No, whatwasit?”

“I don’t know, huge?”

I groaned. “Huge and bitey. I was trying to study that time, and it broke out of her room.”

“And we wound up at Moxie’s drinking those floats, and got so high on sugar we couldn’t sit down.”

“And we walked around all night, then we had that midterm.” I tutted my tongue at my younger self, so full of energy I could stay up all night, then write a midterm, then go out clubbing. IfI tried that now, I’d crash so hard. I’d crash like a hard drive in a thunderstorm.

Our food came, and it wasn’t like what they’d served at Moxie’s. The hot dogs, for starters, weren’t burnt round the edges. The cheese sauce was creamy, not thin and runny, and subtly spiced with basil and thyme. Still, I dug in, and Claire did the same, and then we both sipped on our root-beer floats. We both sighed as one, and flopped back on the couch. Claire flung out her arm to smack my knee.

“Oh my God. Oh myGod.”

“Brain freeze. So good.” I sipped on my float again and the years fell away. I closed my eyes and I was back on Claire’s futon, my econ book between us, her notes in my lap. “I haven’t had one of these since?—”

“Graduation?”

“The night before. Our last trip to Moxie’s.”

“Yourlast.” She sucked on her straw again and ducked down, shamefaced. “I snuck back a year later. A craving, you know? But it wasn’t the same without — without the whole context. Without our books on the table, and that sort of half-panic. That needing the sugar to get through the night.”

I nudged her again, careful not to jog her float. “I thought you were going to say without me.”

“What?”

“That it wasn’t the same having floats without me.”

“It wasn’t,” she said. “A lot of things weren’t.”

We were quiet a minute as we let that sink in. A lothadchanged since college, most of it for the best. But we’d lost some things too, that we couldn’t get back. I looked over at Claire and wondered about her life — not her work life, but if she had another. If she had a real social life, or if hers was like mine. She’d never mentioned one, but I hadn’t asked.

I cleared my throat. “So, do you have, uh…”

“Do I have what?”

I took a bite of my creamy, non-burnt dinner. “A new place like Moxie’s. An after-work hangout. Somewhere you go with your, uh, with whoever.”

“With whoever?” She chuckled. “What are you asking?”

My neck felt warm and I pressed my hand to it, cold from my root beer and melting ice cream. “I guess I’m asking about your life outside work. We never talk about that, about if we…”

I left the thought hanging, but Claire was nodding. She set her dinner aside to sip on her float.

“I know what you mean,” she said. “I have friends. Well, a friend. You’d know her, Sunny Ortega. Or you’d know of her. She’s in ice cream.”

“Ice cream, Sunny Ortega.” Sure, I’d heard of Sunny. It made sense, I guessed, her and Claire being friends — two driven people without much spare time. But I wasn’t really asking her about her friends. “How about, you ever meet someone? Someone you thought maybe could be your one?”

Claire stirred her float, thoughtful. “The one, huh? I don’t know if I believe in that, soulmates or whatever. Everyone I know who’s made it work, they’ve put the workintoit. Like us withour jobs. I don’t think it’s so much about finding the one as it is about picking someone and committing.”

She was avoiding my question. I kept on pressing. I had to know. “Have you ever tried that?”

“Tried to commit?” She shook her head, laughing. “I’ve met a few guys. Been on a few dates. But there’s always a point around date number five when they start asking what happens next. And it’s clear they’re expecting I’ll cut back on work. I’ll carve out some space for them. Rearrange my life. And all I can think is, who are you to ask that? I barely know you, and you want me to change?Thisis me, all of me, and my business comes with that.” Her expression softened, and she leaned back. “It would be one thing if I’d known them years. Then we’d both have to compromise. I get that. I do. But five dates in? And why is it just me?”

“I get that,” I said, and I did, to the bone. I hadn’t had anyone either, at least nobody serious. Work was always an issue, and what Claire said. It always came down to “why can’t you cut back?” Never “how can we fix our schedules to meet in the middle?” Though, to be fair, I never did have much middle. My schedule was my schedule, and it didn’t let up.

Claire laughed, half-bitter. “So, we’ve both struck out.”

“Unlucky in love.” I looked at her sideways, pretending I wasn’t staring.Wewent back years. Could we compromise? Or would we try a while, then fall apart? We’d chosen our paths way back in college, but what if, what if?—