It was the look on her face more than anything.

It struck me how perfectly it illustrated those feelings and thoughts I had when I first learned I had to leave Princeton. It wasn’t just that sense of complete and utter isolation, the knowledge that, for the first time, I was on my own, without my parents, or friends, or even most acquaintances to call on for support.

It was the sudden taint all those happy memories that were stored in my brain suddenly had. Dad and me laughing our heads off when I was seven as the sled we shared went a little too fast and a little too far. Mom making hot cocoa with milk in a saucepan when I was home sick, a surprise since I’d never seen her even use the stove before. That Starburst flavored kiss from Becca McDermott as we lingered in her parents’ driveway. Dad sharing a bottle of beer with me late one night on the porch instead of ripping me a new one when he learned I’d ditched school one day. Brock, Dalton, and me smoking pot and having existential conversations about life, death and, of course, sex while lying out on Poe Field long after midnight. Too many to think about.

Each is now colored with that one fateful disaster back at Princeton. It’s like looking at black and white photos or, better yet, the sepia-tinted versions where, if you squint and use your imagination, you can just about figure out what it was really like in those days.

But those days are gone.

Prynne nibbles on her lip, her eyes as wide as saucers as she considers me. Eventually, she seems to come to some internal decision and sighs, her body relaxing as she answers.

“I was just thinking about my sister. She’s pregnant.” She takes a sip of her champagne, screwing her face up as the bubbles burn her tongue.

So that explains it. A birthday. A sibling crossing life events off her to-do list. The natural need to compare her life to another’s.

“Older or younger?” I assume the former, but with the little I already know of Prynne, it could go either way.

“Twin, actually,” she says with a wry smile before taking a sip, this time only wincing a bit against the bubbles.

“Really?” I say in surprise, nearly choking on my own sip. “Identical?”

“Yeah,” Prynne says, laughing softly at me. “She’s back home. Missouri, before you ask.”

“Hmm,” I hum, nodding as if I know fuck all about Missouri. My knowledge ends at the fact that there’s a city called St. Louis, which has an arch. I briefly reflect on the fact that I’ve been to almost every continent in the world, but I have yet to visit most states in the country. Fly-over states is what we would have called them back at Helmsmith Prep, most likely with an undertone of disdain that we wouldn’t even bother to hide.

But those days are gone.

“But you’ll get to see him or her when they’re born,” I say, mostly to make small talk. I’d love to detour away from this topic, for obvious reasons. Kids are definitely not first-date material, Mr. XO should know better. But it is Prynne’s birthday and this seems to be an especially heavy weight on her mind.

There’s a brief look of acute grief on her face before it morphs into a mask of bright elation. “Of course! I can’t wait.”

My brow falls, creasing with skepticism, but Prynne maintains the facade, forcing it on me so I have no choice but to follow along.

“To new beginnings. I’m going to be an aunt!” she says with the sort of pep reserved for cheerleaders and phony, self-help gurus. She reaches out her half-filled glass to me and I graciously tap mine to it.

“To new beginnings.”

The waiter comes back to ask if we’re ready to order and we realize that we haven’t even opened the menu. While we distract ourselves looking over the options and finally deciding, I think about Prynne’s strange, over the top reaction to her sister’s announcement. Is it envy? Resentment? Either way, it is definitely time to change the subject. I don’t know what’s going on with Prynne’s family, but I do know “complicated” when I see it. No need to ruin what promises to be a fun night with that mess. I’ve got enough of those bitter pills on my own plate to swallow.

“So, how goes the continuing saga of Aiden and Mia?”

“Ugh,” she groans, but not without a grateful smile. “This week has just been a mess. There’s a reason why I tried to pump as much out last weekend, before the big day instead of after.”

“Writer’s block?” I ask, reaching over to pour more champagne in her glass.

“More like life,” she says with a slight frown.

“Anything I can help with?” I say, smirking to myself as I think of at least one way I could help her out.

Prynne’s eyes dart down right to the point my crotch would be if the table wasn’t blocking it.

“No, I just need to focus and buckle down to do it,” she sighs before averting her eyes and taking a sip. “What about you? Anything coming out soon?”

I feel a tiny surge of guilt about the lie I told, but let it subside. “I always have ideas bouncing around in my head.”

“Anything I can help with?” she asks with a laugh before she takes another sip.

I laugh, mostly at the irony, since she’s already helped me in a roundabout way. The Love Thy Neighbor podcast is already one of my top after-air downloads this year.

“I’ll let you know,” I say before finishing the little drop of champagne left in my glass and refilling it again. I nod toward the glass in her hand. “What do you think?”

She takes a sip and swallows. “It’s good, once you get past all the bubbles. I think I’m already feeling it.” She giggles, then gives me a look of surprise as though that was unexpected.

Definitely feeling it.

“So what brought you to New York?” I ask, hoping the banal topic is safe enough territory.

Prynne’s eyes sparkle with all the bundled up excitement of the city itself. “I mean, it’s New York. I’ve always been fascinated by it. I think I always knew I’d end up here.” The sparkle in her eye is now more glazed as she stares down into her champagne with distant eyes.

“Had you even visited before?”

Her eyes, now sharply in focus, meet mine. A half smile appears on her face. “Once. It was this big to-do, small town hicks visiting the big city and all.” She laughs, but there’s a bitter flavor to it. “I think it just cemented in my family’s heads that they were better off in Missouri.”

“But not you?”

She gives me a self-satisfied grin that’s heavily affected by the champagne in her system. “Not me!”

“So you came all on your own?” I ask, impressed.

She nods, getting a distant look in her eyes again. “I just…I needed to escape. Be something other than just another—” her eyes flit to me in mild panic, as though catching herself. “I wanted something different is all. I know it sounds weird but New York is this perfect place where I can disappear, but also be seen. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” I say, staring hard at her. It’s the same reason I live here. Here, where the strangers surrounding me don’t know me as Rhys Connors, disgraced former Princeton student, or Mr. XO, or even that man letting it all hang out at the Sexton Hotel. Here, where I can escape my own past. But also be seen.

What’s your story, Prynne?

I think maybe another bottle would be nice. I’m curious to see what she’s like when she completely lets go. We finish off the rest of the first, mostly navigating the seemingly “safe” topics. We talk about her roommates (Shiloh, she adores; Caryn, she could live without). She mentions her customer service job at Belmont’s, which I find amusingly coincidental. I wonder what her coworkers will have to say about that spectacular dress come Monday.

Our food finally arrives and I go ahead and order another bottle of champagne instead of the wine that I would normally order with such a meal. Mother especially would be appalled.

“You’re going to make me say something I’ll regret,” Prynne says with a giggle and sparkling eyes.

“In which case, make sure you hurry,” I say to the waiter.

She giggles again and then exclaims in awe at the plate of food before her. “This looks so fancy, I don’t even want to eat it!”

I glance at the food that has been plated artistically, the small servings arranged in a pleasing configuration with the sauce framing it in a dotted pattern. “Well, you should. I promise you it tastes as good as it looks. Perhaps better.”

She laughs again before grabbing her knife and fork. “So, what about you? Tell me about your family. Are you from New York? Any brothers or sisters? What are your parents like?”

She’s rambling, each question making me more and more tense. “Uh-unh,” I admonish. “This is your birthday. We don’t need to talk about me.”

She stops slicing into her meat to glance up at me, her eyes filled with sudden clarity. There’s a sort of recognition there that I don’t particularly like. “But I want to know about you as well,” she says softly.

I glance down at my own plate and busy myself with cutting up a piece of filet mignon and chewing on it, swallowing before I answer. “I’m from upstate New York. My father is a…judge.” No need to be too specific. “My mother mostly involves herself with charity work. Only child.”

My responses are short, almost abrupt. I now have a better idea how Prynne feels when the topic of her own family comes up. Once again, it’s time to change the topic.

The waiter comes back with our second bottle of champagne and pours each of us a glass. Prynne and I glance at one another over the poured glasses sitting on the table. I lift mine up towards her. “I realize I haven’t yet wished you a Happy Birthday.”

She smiles and lifts her glass up to meet mine.

“Happy Birthday, Prynne.”

“Thank you, Rhys.”

The rest of the meal dances back around to safer territory as we eat. It isn’t until dessert that I realize it’s all been a winding road to get to what she really wants to discuss, now that we’re well into our second bottle of champagne.

The waiter comes by with an intricate chocolate thing that has a sparkler at the top. It isn’t the sort of place that’s gauche enough to sing Happy Birthday, but Prynne squeals and claps in such a way that she might as well be on her second long island iced tea at Applebee’s. I absolutely relish in it, especially since it seems to annoy the diners around us.

“So…” she begins, prodding the chocolate with her fork, “what’s it like…being naked like you were at the Sexton?”

My eyebrows rise in surprise over the glass of champagne I’m sipping on. I swallow hard and give her a broad grin. “Would you like to try it?” I say, mostly teasing.

Her eyes drag away from the chocolate dessert before her and meet mine. “I think maybe I would.”