“Yeah,” he finally replied. He cleared his throat and looked down at the table. “That’s . . . I mean, I guess it’s a complicated situation.”
I nodded, trying not to let the disappointment I was feeling show on my face. What had I wanted Clark to say? That we were different, that we’d find a way to make it work? That he’d at least thought about this, like I had?
I took a long drink of my soda, wishing more than anything that we’d just left when I’d wanted to in the parking lot. It suddenly felt like Clark was getting farther away from me across the table, like there was a gulf between us, even though he hadn’t actually moved. “Well,” I said, giving him a tight smile, “it was the only thing to be done. If you’d been there, you would have understood.”
“Okay,” Clark said, and silence fell between us once again. I looked across the table at him and tried to imagine the rest of the night playing out. Suddenly, all our plans, all Clark’s preparation, my fancy underwear . . . none of it felt right anymore. This wasn’t how I wanted the night to kick off. I couldn’t even imagine recapping this in the diner in the morning, that we had been awkward and sniping at each other over dinner, not saying what we really meant. None of it was going the way I’d wanted it to. And it wasn’t fair to do this to Clark, since he had just been yanked into this. “Clark,” I said, swallowing hard. “About tonight. I think maybe it’s not the best night for it.”
I looked up at him, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and while I could hear disappointment in his voice, he didn’t sound surprised. “I think maybe another night would be better.”
“But soon,” I said.
“Yes, absolutely soon,” he said immediately, and I laughed. Our food arrived, and when Clark started eating his burrito, the kitchen staff gathering to watch again, I sent a text to my friends, telling them that our plans had changed, there was no need for waffles, and I’d talk to them tomorrow.
By the time we were done with dinner, things were feeling better. Not like the evening could still be salvaged, but somewhat back to normal. We were feeling like us again, at least.
“But I am worried about you,” Clark said, once the plates were cleared. He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “How are you doing with all of this?”
For a moment I thought about telling him how I was really feeling—like things were spinning out of my control and all I knew to do was to hold on as hard as I could, and try to keep everything together. But the moment passed, and I just gave him a smile, even though I was pretty sure he would see through it. “Of course,” I said. “I’m fine.”
ME
Hey! Running a few late to pick up Bert. Be there soon.
CLARK
That’s fine!
Whenever.
Um.
ME
What?
CLARK
So I have to tell you something
ME
What is it?
CLARK
I told Tom
About Bri and Wyatt
ME
What?!
Clark!!
CLARK
You were acting so strange about the whole thing
Not like yourself at all and I didn’t know if you were okay.
I just wanted his take on it.
But it’s okay. He promised not to tell
ME
You really think he’s going to be
able to keep this from Palmer?
CLARK
Maybe?
ME
I don’t.
Wait, hold on, he just texted
TOM
Andie! What the hell?!
ME
I know
TOM
I mean . . .
ME
I know
TOM
You know I have to tell Palmer
ME
NO
Tom, seriously, you cannot
CLARK
What’s he saying?
ME
Oh, just that he has to tell Palmer
CLARK
But he promised he wouldn’t!
ME
He hasn’t yet, but it seems likely
CLARK
I’ll talk to him
TOM
Hello?
ME
Sorry. Clark’s mad at you
TOM
What did I do? I didn’t even want to know
any of this. And now I’m keeping secrets from my
girlfriend?
ME
How do you think I feel?
You can’t tell her. Tom, SERIOUSLY