Page 94 of Anti-Hero

“I don’t like the ocean.”

“At all?” I ask, aghast.

Sailing’s how I spent most of my summers growing up. I still go out every chance I get.

“I guess.” She sips some water.

We finished our food over an hour ago, but we’re still sitting in the back booth of the diner around the corner from her doctor’s office.

I shake my head. “Why?”

“I …” She plays with the edge of one of the napkins on the table, curling the corner. “I almost drowned when I was nine. Jane and I swam out too far at Seabluff Beach, and there was a riptide, and … I haven’t been in the ocean since. I’ll swim in lakes and pools, but the sea? Pass.”

“I’ll pick a different nursery theme,” I say hastily.

Collins smiles. “Thanks. I actually saw this cute mural online when I was looking at cribs.” She pulls her phone out of her bag and thumbs at the screen. “What do you think?”

I take the phone and peer at the screen. “Mushrooms, Monty? You want to paint fungi on our kid’s wall?”

“They’re cute,” she says defensively. “Look at the little spots.”

“Themoldspots, you mean?”

“They’re not mold spots.” She squints, considering. “Are they?”

“We’re going to have to keep brainstorming,” I say. “Maybe a forest or?—”

A new message appears at the top of the screen.

Perry:I’ll come to Brooklyn. Do you have a favorite spot?

It feels like a balloon just popped, all the excitement and anticipation and relief following the appointment evaporating into the grease-saturated air surrounding us. A bitter, unwelcome dose of reality.

“Or else what?” Collins prompts.

I pass her phone back. “You got a text.”

Collins takes the phone, glances at the screen, then sighs. “I was going to tell you.”

Her voice lacks any real conviction, and she twirls a piece of hair around her finger right afterward. Bullshit, she was going to tell me. Worst part, she didn’t need to. It’s not technically any of my damn business. Selfishly, I assumed—hoped—the fact that she hadn’t mentioned Perry since their date meant it had gone poorly and she wasn’t still seeing him.

“Tell me what?” I ask flatly.

“That I’m getting coffee with Perry this weekend.”

Coffee is better than dinner. But way worse than nothing.

“You can’t drink coffee,” I point out.

Her lips flatten to a thin, irritated line. “I’ll order decaf. Or a tea.”

“Does Perry knowwhyyou can’t drink coffee?”

“Of course not.”

“Worried he won’t be interested anymore?” I snark.

“And … we’re done here.” Collins stands, pulling her coat off the back of her chair and slipping it on. “Thanks for breakfast.” She strides out the door without another word, the bell chiming cheerily in her wake.

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