Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(67)

How is it so easy for some people?

I take in my surroundings. To my right, a small group sits at a wooden dining room table playing a drinking game with a deck of cards. To my left, the majority of the crowd mingles around a large sectional in the living room. Two end tables flank the couch, and though they’re littered with beer cans and red Solo cups, the tables themselves are beautiful. In fact, almost all the furniture in the apartment is made out of the same dark, rich wood. There’s even a small bookshelf to match in the corner. I squint, trying to make out the titles on the spines of the books that line the shelves: there are a few travel guides, some historical nonfiction that I recognize from my dad’s Kindle, and a slew of how-to books on woodworking. None of them particularly pique my interest.

“You made it!” a voice calls from behind me. I turn to find Finn, clad in his signature open button-down and white T-shirt. Before I can fully extend my arm in a wave, he sweeps me into a hug. It catches me off guard, and I tense up briefly before relaxing into his arms, returning the hug with a friendly pat on the back.

“Hi.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” I make a sweeping gesture outward. “Your place is so nice. There’s so much…wood.”

“Finn’s really good with his hands,” Noah chimes in.

It takes a second for his comment to sink in. “You made all of this?” I cast my glance between the tables and the bookshelf. The woodworking books.

He made all of this.

“I mean, not everything,” he clarifies, casting his eyes downward. “We got the couch off Facebook Marketplace.”

“He’s super talented,” Noah adds. “And humble.”

“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Finn says, deflecting the conversation away from himself and ushering us toward the dining room table. It’s only when I’m face-to-face with a group of five strangers that I realize Meg is no longer at my side. I turn to find her in the same spot we left her in, laughing and batting her eyelashes at something Noah said.

“Guys,” Finn addresses his friends. “This is Phoebe. We work together.”

I offer a small wave. “Hello.” The two girls in the group eye me curiously, both of them dressed in similar baby tees and white sneakers.

Under their scrutinizing gaze, I realize that my outfit is all wrong.

The exposed skin on my chest heats, turning the same obscene shade of red as my corset. I reach inward, searching for a shred of the confidence I had earlier.

It’s gone.

Feeling wildly out of place, I slip my hands into the pockets of my jeans, digging my nails into my clammy palms and longing for the security of one of my graphic T-shirts.

A baby-faced boy in a Dodgers cap is the first to introduce himself. “Nice to meet you, Phoebe.” He shoots out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Mikey. What can I get you to drink?”

The girl seated directly next to him rolls her eyes and casts an obvious glare toward her friend. I look at Finn reflexively, but he’s gone. I spot him across the room, talking to another girl in white sneakers.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” I tell Mikey. “What do you have?” I can’t remember the last time I was forced to navigate an unfamiliar social setting like this. Since college, I’ve always had at least one of my friends by my side when we go out, taking the lead in these types of interactions. But with Meg glued to Noah’s side, I might as well be here alone.

I wish Jonathan was here.

He can talk to anyone. I feel naked without him next to me. And with my chest and toes on display, I might as well be.

“Beer.” Mikey grins.

“Great. I’ll take one beer then, please.”

He nods enthusiastically, springing up from his seat and racing toward what I assume is the kitchen. With him gone, there’s nothing standing between me and the death stares from the Baby Tee Twins. I look to the remaining two boys for a lifeline, but they’re too caught up in watching a sports game on someone’s phone to pay me any mind.

I cannot stand here for however many seconds longer it’ll take for Mikey to come back with that beer.

“Where is the bathroom?” I ask. In perfect synchrony, the girls lift their thumbs over their shoulders, pointing to a narrow hallway at their backs. I bob my head in curt thanks, walking past them and down the hall without a word.

I peek through the open crack of the first door on the left. It’s a bedroom, with blank white walls and an unmade bed piled high with heaps of clothes. Instinctively, I know this is not Finn’s room. I keep walking.

It’s only a few steps farther until I reach the end of the hallway. With a closed door on either side of me, it’s safe to assume that one is to the bathroom and the other is the entrance to Finn’s room. I knock on both.

Knock knock.

“Is anyone in there?”

Knock knock.

“Hello?”

No response.

I start with the door on the left, turning the knob and pushing it open slowly.

A bedroom.

My body reacts before my mind gets the chance to catch up.

Goose bumps spread across every inch of my flesh.

Because the first thing I notice is not the surfboard propped up against the blue-painted wall, or the perfectly made bed under a large framed black-and-white print. It’s not even the handwritten card resting on top of the wooden desk: You rock, Teacher Finn.