Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(24)

I say this because I found his email address in the recipient section of the last faculty-wide email: [email protected]. What a great name: Finn Evans. I spent some time conducting a preliminary search of his online presence before I called Jamie earlier. I found nothing. Not to worry, though. If there’s even a trace of him on the internet, I will find it.

With a mouth full of pizza, Jonathan asks, “What about Matthew? Did he respond?”

I shake my head. “No. And I don’t care. I’m telling you…something’s gonna happen with Finn. I’ve never felt so sure of anything.”

Jonathan pauses, scratching his stubble in a way that makes me think he’s choosing his words carefully.

“It can’t hurt to pursue a date with Matthew, too,” he says. “Like you were saying, the more things you can cross off your list, the higher your chances are of having sex.”

“I kept it on my list,” I tell him, hoping that fact serves as enough effort on my part to get him to drop it. “But right now, every task that doesn’t involve Finn is secondary. And Matthew didn’t even answer, so it’s a nonissue.”

Jonathan sighs, resigned. “Finn it is.”

We inhale the rest of our pizza.

In keeping with our usual evening routine, it’s time for me to do the New York Times crossword while Jonathan watches and offers words of encouragement from the sidelines. Occasionally, in a moment that delights us both, he’ll come up with an answer. I screen mirror my phone to the TV so we can both see the grid in front of us.

Sometimes I’ll let myself fantasize about Matthew sitting next to me on the couch, evenly matching my passion for the crossword. Together, I imagine we’d be able to solve one in record time. But those fantasies are a thing of the past. I’ll have to ask Finn how he feels about word games.

I’m in the middle of trying to figure out thirty-one across, the main ingredient of hollandaise sauce, when a text comes through. From Matthew. I do my best to swipe it away quickly.

I wasn’t fast enough.

“What was that?” Jonathan asks, a slight taunting edge in his voice.

I keep my eyes on the screen. “An iMessage notification.”

“An iMessage notification from whoooo?” he sings.

“My mom.”

Jonathan puts out his hand expectantly. “Give me the phone.”

“Why?”

I can feel myself starting to get worked up. I know why he wants my phone, and I know he’s right. I need to answer Matthew.

“Because you need to respond, and I know you’re not going to.”

I start to hand over my phone, slowly, but jerk my hand back immediately.

“YOLK!” I scream.

“What?” He still has his hand out.

I start typing frantically. “Thirty-one across. Hollandaise sauce. The main ingredient is yolk.”

It fits perfectly.

“Brilliant,” he says, but his flattery falls flat. “Phone, please.”

I slam my phone into his outstretched hand a little too hard. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. I watch the TV, which is still displaying the contents of my phone, with my arms crossed as he opens the text from Matthew.

Matthew:

Phoebe!

I’m so sorry, I left my phone in an Uber this weekend and just this second got it back.

I would love nothing more than to finally take you out.

When will you be here?

I can feel Jonathan’s eyes burning into me while I keep my eyes focused on the screen in front of me. When I finally turn my head to meet his gaze, he’s staring at me with a narrow-eyed expression I can’t quite place.

“What?” I ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?” A small part of me begins to wonder if he’s jealous, but I swat the thought away before it has the chance to fully take shape.

Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he’s not jealous.

Another text pops up on the screen from Matthew, asking me how my first day was and if I’ve talked to Dan about taking the interview for the assistant principal position. A flash of confusion crosses Jonathan’s face at this. And then another text. A Wordle score. Jonathan points to the TV as if using this string of text messages as evidence in a court case.

“All you’ve ever wanted is for a guy to sweep you off your feet without having to experience the anxiety of putting yourself out there…. That’s exactly what’s happening right now. He’s already obsessed with you. All you have to do is show up.”

Oh. Of course he’s not jealous. He’s annoyed. Well, two can play that game. I’m annoyed by the annoyance of the one person I thought understood me the most.

“You don’t get it,” I tell him. “If I was too anxious to go on a date with Matthew last year when I barely knew him, then I definitely can’t go on a date with him now. Not when I’ve spent a year thinking about him while I fall asleep. The stakes are too high. Finn is a fresh start. I think that’s what I need.”

He furrows his brow.

“But Finn isn’t asking you on a date. Matthew is asking you on a date.”

The pitch of my voice gets slightly higher as I find myself becoming increasingly frustrated.

“What do you have against Finn? Why are you so sure he won’t ask me out?”