“Are you not? Being from the God-fearing depths of the Bible Belt where there are more churches than restaurants?”
“Well, I guess. I mean—”
“I’m joking with you. The symposiums aren’t anything like those churches back home, more like hanging out with friends.” He pauses. “But just out of curiosity, which religion are you?”
“Episcopalian,” I say. “Of the part-time variety,” I add in a faux-dignified Southern drawl.
“Hello, my name is lapsed Roman Catholic. Nice to meet you.”
We laugh as I pick up the phone and stretch the cord over to my bed. Talking to Josh is the most relaxed I’ve been with anyone since I moved to Boston.
“Anything else you want to know?” Josh asks.
I want to know everything about him. I settle for: “Hmmm. Favorite food?”
“What? That’s a boring question, but okay. Hmmm. Pizza,” he says.
“Ha! That’s a boring answer. You don’t miss Southern food?”
“Okay. I’ll admit it. I’d trade a thousand lobster rolls for one extra spicy crawfish boil any day.”
“Same. Here.”
A longer pause expands. I rush to fill it. “So what do you hate about Boston?”
“Nothing. I absolutely love it here.”
“Really? There has to be something.”
“No. I really do. I’ve made some of the best friends I’ve ever had.”
I’m stumped. I’d always been good at making friends until I moved here, where I somehow managed to drive them all away in one fell swoop.
“I take it from your silence you haven’t had that same experience,” he says.
I sigh. “Not so much.”
“Well, it sounds like you haven’t been looking in the right places. Do you want to know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you should hang out with us again. Heather and Andrew really liked you. Heather wouldn’t stop asking questions about you.” He pauses. “I, for one, am still not quite sure about you, though.”
I laugh. “And why is that?”
“I don’t know yet. I think it’s going to require some research.”
“Research, huh? Microfilm? Microfiche? Card catalog?”
Josh laughs. “I’m thinking primary research.”
“And what does that entail?”
“It means I think I need to spend more time with you to figure it out. Why don’t you meet up with us again tomorrow? You’ll get to meet my roommate this time.”
A twinge of anxiety creeps into my voice. “And what if your roommate doesn’t like me?” Ugh. What was supposed to be a joke makes me sound pathetic and desperate instead.
Josh pauses. “Well, Ben typically likes the same people I like.”
“I thought you said you weren’t sure about me,” I joke.
He pauses. “Maybe I lied.”
* * *
When I arrive back at the coffee shop the next day, Heather is sitting by herself on the same couch as before, arranging a neat stack of note pads and tiny pencils on the sofa table.
“What’s all this?” I ask. I recognize the Pictionary board before she answers.
“Emily!” she says, a genuine smile breaking across her face. “Do you know how to play Pictionary?”
“Um, yeah. I’ve played it before.” I sit across from her. “So who all’s coming?” I try to sound casual, but my high-pitched voice betrays me.
If Heather noticed, she doesn’t react. “Ben, Josh’s roommate, but Josh probably already told you that. And Andrew. And, of course, Josh.” Heather smirks before dumping a tiny Ziploc of colorful cubes onto the game board. She glances at the door and suddenly waves at someone behind me. My heart races as I turn to see who walked in.
Josh smiles as they come toward us. A shorter and stockier, maybe older guy is next to him, and I think I see Andrew trailing a little behind. “Hello, boys,” Heather says confidently.
The shorter guy extends his hand. “Hi, Emily. I’m Ben.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand and smile. He doesn’t smile back, but it seems more like an indication of a focused personality than rudeness.
Andrew gives me a half smile, and I’m struck by how different he looks. His hair is cut very short, and a little uneven. It looks like someone attempted a haircut after a drunken night out.
“Nice hair,” I offer, sensing he might be a little self-conscious about his new look.
Andrew reaches to tuck away strands that are no longer there. “Thanks,” he says flatly.
Josh moves to sit down beside me until Ben gestures for him to sit next to Heather instead. I try to hide my disappointment by turning back to Andrew. Andrew’s eyes dart around the circle as he scoots forward. “Are you a good artist? I hope so because it looks like we’re going to be partners.”
Heather clears her throat. “Should we go ahead and get started, then?” She shifts a handful of curls from one side of her face to the other.
I nervously wipe my hands on my jeans. The last time we met was so easy, just talking and getting to know one another. A board game feels forced—pressured.
“Now, who wants to roll first?” Heather asks.
Ben leans back in the wooden chair between the two couches and crosses his ankle over his knee. “Well, I’m just observing today since we have an odd number.” He cuts his eyes at Heather as if it’s her fault.
“I invited Shannon,” Heather says. “She canceled at the last minute, though.” She shoots Ben a frustrated look.
“You can be the scorekeeper,” Josh says to Ben, as if smoothing things over. “We don’t trust Andrew with that job—competitive prep-school boy that he is.”
“I don’t like to lose,” Andrew whispers to me with a conspiratorial look.
“Great!” Heather glances at Josh as she hands Ben a notepad. She seems grateful, but for what, I’m not sure.
It doesn’t take long to break the ice. By my second coffee, we’re laughing, scribbling, and guessing words. Even Ben cracks a smile when Josh draws a boat, prompting Heather to guess “Row, row, row your boat” over and over. Josh sketches stick figures flinging themselves into a mass of water, and Heather growls in frustration as the sand drains through the hourglass. Her eyes suddenly widen. “Life boat!”
Heather high-fives Josh for breaking the tied score, as several familiar patrons glare at us over their study materials. Being part of the annoyingly loud group—a part of any group—is a welcome change for me. I can’t help but smile. How have I been so oblivious that I never even noticed Josh and his friends hanging out here before now?
Ben interrupts my thoughts. “It’s Emily’s turn.”
I snap to attention and pick up the dice. Rolling a five lands me on a tan square with an A in the middle of it. “The category is … action,” Andrew says.
The energy suddenly changes when everyone gets quiet. The suctioning scream of an espresso machine fills the room. Heather stares at Andrew with a pointed intensity as he draws a card and studies it carefully. He gives me an anxious glance before drawing a stick figure with X’s for eyes. He adds a squiggly mouth with a tongue sticking out.