Enemies Abroad

I keep my door propped open in case someone needs me.

Noah’s the only one who does. He finds me in the evening. I didn’t make it to dinner. I skipped it in favor of eating a cupcake and continuing my lounge sesh.

I’m lying on my bed under my covers, scrolling through social media and melting into my mattress when he knocks and takes a half-step into my room.

He has his phone and AirPods in hand. He’s wearing sporty sneakers, a Seattle Sounders FC t-shirt, and athletic shorts.

“Want to go for a run with me?”

I don’t even pretend to mull it over. “Never in my life. I would not go on a run with Brad freaking Pitt.”

He laughs.

I set my phone down. “Is that the sort of thing you’re after? A girl who’ll go on runs with you? Because if so, I can tell you right now, you’ve got the wrong gal. The last time I went to the gym, I accidentally broke one of the treadmills and a full-length mirror which WAS NOT MY FAULT so stop smiling. I was just trying to walk on the treadmill’s slowest setting while catching up on my Bravo shows. Y’know, gym stuff.”

“How’d you manage to cause that much damage?”

“I was adjusting the volume on my phone and accidentally dropped it. It shot off the treadmill and shattered the mirror behind me. And the thing is, when I dropped my phone, it tugged my headphones out of my ears and the wires got swept up in the treadmill’s belt. I kept slamming my hand down on the big red STOP button, but it just kept raising the incline. The whole treadmill started smoking. They had to call the fire department because of the fire, but it was tiny. I think they had a picture of my face taped to the front door for a while, warning the staff on duty. But honestly it could have happened to anyone.”

“Anyone, yeah, definitely. People start fires at my gym all the time.”

“You’re mocking me. Anyway, it gets worse. On the way home, I stopped and bought this protein shake to try to cheer myself up and it gave me some weird allergic reaction because apparently I can’t eat dates. My tongue went completely numb.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“It was. I took the whole thing as a sign that the health and wellness life just isn’t for me. I’m going to leave that to Gwyneth.”

“Who?”

“Paltrow.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah, so anyway…enjoy your run.”

After he leaves, I grab my phone and FaceTime Kristen and Melissa. I have them up on my laptop so their huge faces fill the screen. It feels like I haven’t talked to them in forever, but really, it’s only been a few days. Kristen—for once—is not sitting in total darkness, but she is hiding out in her closet again. Melissa, meanwhile, is cooking dinner for her and her husband. She has me propped up beneath the pot filler over her stove, and I tell her I have a great view of her rack. And I don’t mean her spices. Wink.

“Thank you,” she says, sincerely. “How’s Rome?”

“You look tan,” Kristen adds.

“It’s good, and do I? I’ve been in the sun a lot.”

“Seeing the sites?”

“Exactly.”

“Lose track of any kids yet?” Melissa asks.

I rap my knuckles on my wooden desk so I don’t jinx myself. “No.”

“Strangle Noah with your bare hands?” Kristen laughs.

I look away from my computer’s tiny camera. It’s only for a fraction of a second—that’s it!—but they both immediately catch on to the fact that I’m being weird. Best friends are annoying like that.

“Why do you look guilty?!”

“Oh my god, did you strangle him?” Kristen’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Audrey, you could go to jail for that!”

“I didn’t! Jeez. Calm down, would you? It’s nothing like that. He just…” I lean closer to the screen and cup my hands around my mouth. “Askedmeoutonadate.”

“He assaulted you?!” Melissa exclaims.

I scramble to cover my laptop’s speakers with my hands. “No, you crazy person. He didn’t touch me! Er…well…not like that.” I look to the door to ensure it’s still closed, then I listen for any noise out in the hall. Confident no one will hear me, I fill them in, enunciating my words better this time.

“He asked me out.”

“Oh jeez,” Kristen groans.

“Do not say yes,” Melissa warns. “I know he’s hot, we’ve established that, but you have to look past the package. Literally—don’t look at his pants. It’ll only distract you.”

Kristen wholeheartedly agrees. “Yeah, he’s obviously up to something. I bet he’s going to stand you up. God, he’s such an asshole.”

“Or he’ll do something worse. That guy has no morals.”

I wince. “Okay, ease up.”

“What? Why? I thought we hated him,” Melissa says.

“We do,” I quickly clarify.

“Then why do you seem so conflicted over there? Do I have a poor connection or does your face really look like that? Oh my god! Are you about to tell me you actually said yes to a date with Noah Peterson, spawn of the devil?”