Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(32)

Before I can stop it, my hand shoots up to cover my open mouth. I can’t look over at Finn, because if I make eye contact with him, I think I’ll roll over and die of embarrassment right here on the alphabet rug. I stare at Danny, who’s still waiting for an answer from Finn, while I kneel in stunned silence and wait for someone to say something.

“Umm,” Finn finally speaks. “Teacher Phoebe and I aren’t married,” he says.

Technically, this goes against what we teach about all families looking different, but now is not the time to be nitpicky. I look at Danny, smile, and nod.

Danny looks back and forth between us, poised to ask another question. Children’s innate curiosity is something that I’ve always admired, but in this moment, it’s my least favorite thing about them.

“Do you want to get married to each other?” Danny asks.

Again, I find myself completely speechless, floundering like an idiot, and I want to kick myself for looking so clueless in front of Finn. After letting Danny’s question hang in the air for a beat too long, I finally will myself to look over at Finn, and am surprised to see that he looks completely unfazed. His posture is relaxed, and he’s looking at Danny with a casual expression that suggests this is a normal, everyday conversation.

“Well, Teacher Phoebe and I just met,” he tells Danny. That’s not a no, I think to myself. “Usually, people get to know each other for a while longer before they decide to get married.”

Brilliant.

I offer a weak “Yup” in agreement, and Danny finally, either satisfied or disinterested, turns around to go join his friends. When he’s out of earshot, I push myself up off the floor, wipe my hands on my jeans, and tell Finn, “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” He shoots up from the floor with the ease of someone who definitely works out, and I try not to picture him at the gym. “They’re a riot,” he says through a smile.

“You were so good with Danny just now,” I tell him. “That was a tough one, and you handled it like a pro.”

He flashes me that toothy smile I’ve become obsessed with.

“That’s thanks to my new thought process, ‘What would Phoebe say?’ It works like a charm. I think my kids might actually respect me now,” he says proudly.

“That’s amazing!” I lift my hand to give him a high five, and he grips my hand tightly. I didn’t even know I had hairs on my knuckles until I feel them stand.

Cheryl approaches from behind me, a glimmer of pride in her eye.

“What are we woo-hooing about over here?” she asks.

Finn tells Cheryl about his “What would Phoebe say?” mindset, during which I have to avoid eye contact with her because I know our expressions would give us away in less than a second.

“This is cause for celebration,” she says, and now that Finn’s done his spiel, I turn to look at her. I don’t like the smirk that’s spread across her face.

She’s up to something.

“Phoebe, do you and your friends still do trivia at that bar on Mondays? Jeffery’s, right?” she asks.

My stomach drops.

“Oh, I live right by there!” Finn chimes in. That means he lives right by me. “I’ve always wanted to check that spot out.” Both he and Cheryl are looking at me expectantly, waiting for an invitation that I’ve been coerced into extending.

I try to feign genuine excitement, when in reality the thought of Finn meeting everyone at Jeffery’s tonight has increased my heart rate to at least three times its normal speed.

“You should come tonight,” I tell him. “And bring friends!” I add. “We could use all the extra brainpower we can get,” I lie.

We win trivia every week without much of a challenge, but there’s no way I’m going to be responsible for entertaining a solo Finn tonight. That’s too close to a date. And I’m still working my way up to that.

“I’d love to,” he says. “I’ll bring my roommate. What time should I meet you?”

“Come around six,” I tell him, and I try to match his excitement, but all I’m thinking about is how soon I can get myself to the bathroom to practice my deep breathing and splash some cold water on my face.

“It’s a date!” he says.

No, I think to myself, keeping a smile plastered on my face as I wipe the sweat from my palms onto my T-shirt.

It’s not.





10


“I definitely don’t have to worry about it being a date date,” I tell Sandy. I peek at the cat-shaped clock hanging on the wall, its tail swinging with every second that passes. Have I really been here for half an hour already? That feels impossible. I can’t recall if Sandy’s said much of anything yet. “It’s obviously not a date if he’s bringing his roommate. And he knows my friends will be there,” I reassure myself.

“I don’t think y—”

“But do people even say ‘It’s a date’ anymore unless it’s actually a date?” I ask. I try to remember the last time I heard someone use the expression before Finn today, but I come up short, and my eyes go wide. “It might be a date date, Sandy.”

Barabara the cat purrs in my lap as I stroke her fur, and I feel a little guilty that I’m really just using her to wipe away the sweat from my palms.