When they were randomly assigned as roommates their freshman year, Nina never thought that she would befriend Sarah, a bubbly blonde whose hair possessed the preternatural power to dry in smooth, shiny ringlets. But during their third week of sharing bunkbeds, Nina divulged that she was gay, and Sarah, happy that there was one less girl competing for the top guys on campus, decided to take the quiet Nina under her J.Crew-clad wing.
For Sarah, dating was a game, flirtation a means of piquing a man’s interest and tempting him with a challenge. She shared her method with Nina: Strike up a conversation, dangle your attentions, but always, always, make him ask you out. And Nina grasped at that rule like a shield. If she let the other women take the lead, then she never had to put herself too far out there. She never had to feel vulnerable.
And just looking at Maura onstage—her confidence, her radiance, the way she captivated an entire audience without even being that skilled as a singer—made Nina feel particularly vulnerable. She felt utterly dull in comparison.
By the time Nina had worked up the courage to speak, Maura had already retreated to the bar, taking a seat among a group of what looked like coworkers, still in their slacks and skirts. Luckily, she was perched on a stool near the edge of the group, easy to approach.
Just do it, Nina told herself. She hadn’t gone on a date in over a year—working overtime to earn a promotion was the excuse she gave whenever Amie or their mother probed—and a push from Sarah was probably her best chance to get one.
Nina cleared her throat. “That was a great performance up there.”
“Oh, thanks!” The singer tilted her head and smiled. “Are you planning to serenade us tonight, too?”
“Oh no, I have crippling stage fright.”
“Well, the night’s still young. You have time to get over that.”
“I’m Nina.”
The woman laughed when Nina stuck out her hand for a formal shake. “Maura.”
“Are you here with your coworkers?”
Maura nodded. “We’re celebrating. I work at a publishing house, and we just won a vicious bidding war for a big YA series. Basically the next Harry Potter.”
“Oh wow, congratulations! Which publisher do you work for?”
“Now, that I can’t tell you,” Maura said coyly. “Technically I’m not allowed to say anything until the press release is out.”
“Well, that’s probably best, since I do work for a magazine.”
“Oh shit! I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.” Maura laughed again.
“It’s okay.” Nina smiled. “I promise to keep your secret.”
With Maura, things were instantly different. Nina found herself, for the first time, wanting to be the pursuer instead of waiting to be pursued, Sarah’s advice be damned. She may have been willing to risk her prior relations for the sake of maintaining her shield, but she felt in her gut that something had changed. Nina was stunned that a woman like Maura, bold and proud and unafraid, would ever take an interest in someone as plain and anxious as she was. So she traded her lonely apartment for concerts in Brooklyn, hot yoga classes, wine tastings, book-launch parties.
On her dates with the women before Maura, Nina always made sure that she was the second one to arrive, never wanting to wait around nervously or appear too eager.
But with Maura, she showed up early.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” Amie apologized, clumsily dropping down in the chair across from her sister. “I missed my stop again.”
“What were you reading this time?” Nina asked.
“Lady Susan,” Amie confessed. “I was in the mood for an epistolary novel, since I’ve, well, it doesn’t matter . . . but then I realized it’s my final Austen, which is quite sad.”
Nina smiled, remembering the time during college that she sent Amie a copy of Northanger Abbey with a mock warning label taped to the cover: See where all your wild fantasies might lead?!
Amie looked up from the menu. “Did you hear about that crazy database?” she asked. “My neighbors were talking about it in the laundry room.”
“What database?”
“Apparently it’s some massive Google spreadsheet that claims to be tracking the string length of everyone in New York,” Amie explained. “And it’s like Wikipedia, so anyone can edit it with whatever information they have, about themselves, or . . . someone else. Supposedly they hit sixty thousand names yesterday.”
“Oh my god.” Nina’s voice shriveled to a whisper. “That’s . . .”