Page 16 of No One Else

“This is the problem with a frugalist,” I complain. “You don’t buy anything for yourself so I don’t know what you like.”

He chuckles but my words give me pause, an idea slowly gaining traction in my head. I turn to him, looking him up and down. “You never talk about yourself.”

“What? I talk about myself,” he says in an attempt at defense.

“No, you don’t. You deflect. When someone asks you something personal you reveal nothing and then ask them a question in return.”

He shakes his head but I continue on, gaining momentum. “You did it yesterday at work when Luke asked you what you had going on this weekend and you got him to talk about his plans with Charlotte instead. And with me, all the time,” I realize, astounded.

I take a seat at a bench in the shoe area. “I don’t know your birthday or what kinds of food you like or- Evan, I don’t know where you live. Anything about your family. How have we been friends this long and I’ve never asked these questions?”

He looks at me with concern, sliding in next to me. “Natalie, it’s not a requirement for friends to know those things about each other. It doesn’t make you a bad friend.”

“Well, it doesn’t make me a good one. How have I never realized this before?”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” He goes to put his hand on my knee and then stops himself, awkwardly returning it to his own leg. A pang of disappointment runs through me, but I brush it aside.

“So, you’re telling me you don’t know the answers to those questions for me?”

“It’s not a competition,” he hedges.

I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow at him. “See, you’re deflecting now.”

“Fine,” he shrugs his shoulders, glancing away. “Your birthday is September twentieth and you love barbecue food and you live in the dorm and your mom and dad are still together in Jacksonville and your brother’s out in California.”

“So it’s okay for you to know all those things about me but not the other way around?”

He sinks his head down in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. “I’m not used to talking about myself. I’d rather hear about other people.”

“Why?”

“No one’s interested in me,” he mumbles.

I stare at the back of his head, the dark strands glossy from the fluorescent lights overhead. It’s longer than how he normally wears it, starting to go past the nape of his neck. An impulse to run my fingers through it, see how it feels, suddenly comes over me and I just as quickly curb it. What is wrong with me?

I focus back on him, his posture defeated. “What are you talking about?” I ask harshly, pushing his shoulder a little.

He brings his head up, eyes wide at me.

“How’s anyone ever going to be interested if you never talk about yourself? Hmm?”

He opens his mouth and closes it, considering my words. “That’s- that’s a good point,” he says faintly.

“And besides, Sarah’s interested in you, right?”

He makes a groaning sound, returning his head to his hands.

What did I say? Are things going okay with her?

Before I can ask, he cuts me off. “How about we keep going with the project?”

I purse my lips, recognizing his deflection tactics. “Okay, but first you have to answer my questions.”

“What questions?”

“The ones from earlier.”

He lets out a breath and peeks over at me, a small smile playing over his lips. “November fourteenth, Mexican food, and I live with my dad.”

---