Page 112 of What I Like About You

Tonight, we’re having beef bulgogi lettuce wraps—David cooks the best Korean food from scratch. The four of us sit around the table, passing food and making small talk. Well, Nash’s parents talk—about how much Middleton has changed over the years, about Nash. I listen. Chew my food slowly and sip on waterand try to make my anxietychill. Nash’s parents are nice. Really nice. It’s just, what even are appropriate topics of conversation to have with your boyfriend’s parents? I have no idea.

I mean, I have known Andrea and Dave foryears, really, but only as the composites that Nash constantly complains about. In my caricature of Nash’s parents, they have clouds over their heads. But Andrea has a kind smile and loves to embarrass Nash. And David cracks basic dad jokes and loves to embarrass himself. Still, it’s easier just to nod along and answer any direct questions than introduce my own topic.

“Halle,” Andrea says, passing me a plate of lettuce wraps for seconds. The way she pauses after she says my name, I know it’s time to brace for a Casual College Talk. It happenseveryweek. “Did Nash tell you we’re going to tour Wesleyan this weekend?”

I take two pieces of lettuce and nod. “He told me.”

Nash didn’ttell meso much aslament to me.I try to make eye contact with him, but he’s turned his attention to his food like it’s a plating challenge onTop Chef—so focused on achieving the perfect beef-to-veggie ratio. I understand. Admissions decisions loom near. The closer it gets, the more Andrea and David want to talk about it.

“It’s such a beautiful campus,” Andrea says.

“We know,” Nash says.

Wesleyan is twenty minutes away.

Painfully close,Nash wallowed.Like, live at home close.

“Clearly, Nashcan’t wait,” David says. “His enthusiasm? It’s too much!”

Andrea shakes her head. “Sure, we drive by Wesleyan all the time, but it’s not atour. You need to see the classrooms! Talk to current students about campus life!Tryto imagine yourself there! At least be engaged in this process.”

“It almost feels likewe’rethe ones applying to college,” David says.

Andrea turns her attention toward me. “Did you go on any college tours, Halle?”

I shake my head. “Not officially, but when I was twelve, my grandmother took me around NYU. And I kind of just knew.”

Andrea crumples a napkin in her hand. “When you were twelve?”

“Yeah. I remember just having thisfeelingwhen I was there. I can’t explain it. My family has always moved around, so I have a weird relationship with the idea ofhome. But walking around NYU with my grandmother? That day felt like home. Or at least the possibility of it.”

Nash shoots me a look, like he’s grateful the conversation has pivoted away from him.

David points his fork at Nash. “Maybe you’ll have afeelingthis weekend, Nash.”

Nash shakes his head and stands, bringing our empty plates to the sink. “The onlyfeelingI have right now concerns finding out what happens to Eleven in the next episode ofStranger Things. I’m so stressed. Seriously.”

I drum my fingers against my thigh and count thirty-four seconds of silence.

“Very funny,” Andrea says, finishing her glass of wine.

David begins clearing the table too. “Well, I guess you’d better go do that. If you’reso stressed.”

“I truly am.”

Nash grabs my hand and leads me away from the kitchen, away from Andrea and David and their not-so Casual College Talks.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

We’re in Nash’s basement, hanging out like we do after the dinners that have become more and moreawkwardwith each passing week. Usually, the best part about Tuesday nights at Nash’s is after dinner, because we always get at least two full hours ofalone. His basement is a media room—the perfect spot to, um, binge watch a Netflix series.

“I’m not doing anything,” Nash says.

He turns on the TV and sits next to me on the floor, our backs pressed against the cool leather chair. There isn’t a couch, just four matching chairs that recline, almost like movie theater seats. We opt for the carpeted rug, padding it with blankets and a deflated beanbag because the chairs are definitely made for one-person occupancy—trust me, we tried.

“Do you even know what episode ofStranger Thingswe’re on?” I ask. “Because I definitely don’t.”

Remote in hand, he clicks into the series page. “No clue.”

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