We sit at a table toward the back, the top of which is covered with a sticky vinyl tablecloth. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” Adam asks. “Because you seemed a little out of it at work.” “I guess I have a lot on my mind.” I gaze out the window beside us, where a tall barren tree branches out in our direction, all but touching the glass pane. “That seems to be the norm with you,” he says. “Well, I don’t know if it’s normal, but it’s definitely me.” “Does it have something to do with that guy you were seeing? The one who went away but then came back . . . the one you were waiting for?” “Not exactly,” I say, looking back at him. “What’s the deal with him, anyway?” He takes a sip from his root beer mug. “You guys still have something going?” “Not exactly,” I repeat. His eyebrows go up, as if in surprise. “You don’t sound so sure.” “Ben and I are just friends.” Barely friends, actually. “But you want it to be more?” I look over my shoulder, suddenly feeling warm.
