Page 88 of What I Like About You

“No way. It was a dumb hobby,” Nash says, laughing.

“In fourth grade, I started a knitting club. Mind you—I only knew how to knit scarves out of fuzzy yarn. But I was committed.That’sa dumb hobby,” I say.

“It’s practical?”

“Twenty-five fuzzy scarves are not practical, they’re a problem.By the end ofGentrify, U.S., I had every doc kid knitting their own scarves.”

“You were quite the trendsetter.”

“Us doc kids had to stick together.” I nod.

“That must’ve been so cool,” Nash says. “Being on the road like that. Going place to place. I’m jealous.”

I shrug. “It’s cool. But it’s lonely, too, you know?”

Nash nods. “Yeah, my friend—Kels—it’s the same for her. She’s an army brat, but she says that too.”

My brain screams,You are a lying liar.

I ignore it.

“Okay, I’m sure you get this a lot, and I don’t want to bethatperson. But I’m totally going to be that person. Have you met any, like, celebrities?” Nash asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“Not to brag, but I went to the Academy Awards last year,” I say with a hair flip.

“No way,” Nash says.

I nod. “Way.”

“That’s so cool,” he says.

“It’s great at first. But you can’t skip through the boring parts when you’re sitting in the audience.”

“Ouch.”

“It’ll be cool when my parents finally win. But also kind of scary. They’ve been working toward their Academy Award for, like, literally my entire life. If they win—whenthey win—what happens next? Will it be enough?”

Of course, it’s a question without an answer.

Nash takes a long sip of his coffee and Alanis Morissette transitions into a pitchy Jason Mraz.

“I’m jealous ofyou, you know.” I say this so softly I’m not sure Nash hears me at first.

He looks up at me from the brim of the flat white.

“Why?”

“You have people,” I say.

“So do you,” Nash says.

“I don’t have anyone’s embarrassing diaper pictures or falling off bikes or classroom inside jokes. I don’t have history, not with anyone.”

Nash shrugs.

“You’re lucky,” I say.

“Yeah,” Nash says. “History is relative, though, right? Like someday you’ll look back fondly on your first and only winter formal, in which you lasted approximately thirty minutes before ditching for a chai latte. This’ll be history.”

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