At trivia the following week, Maya rested a hand on my thigh during the music round. I missed a Fleetwood Mac question I absolutely knew, and Noah stared at me as though I had suffered a medical event. Jess noticed Maya’s expression first, then mine, and waited until Maya went to the restroom before leaning across the table. “What is happening?” she asked, in a voice suggesting she would accept no answer involving the quiz.
I told her we were playing trivia, which convinced nobody. Noah looked between us, slowly caught up, and made a noise that caused me to ask him to lower his voice. Jess covered her mouth, then whispered, “Are you two dating?” It was a kind question from someone who loved us, and somehow I answered it like a man negotiating an unfavorable contract: “We’re figuring it out.”
Maya returned before the words had properly left the table. She stopped beside her chair, and the pause was so small that anyone who didn’t know her would probably have missed it. “What are we figuring out?” she asked, setting down her glass. I said, “Our situation,” and watched her expression become pleasant in the careful way a person closes a drawer containing something breakable.
