Inside, it was hardly a rager. Priya’s parents were not the type to leave the apartment while their daughter had a party. And they were of the

mind that the strongest beverage o ered should be sugared soda, and only that in moderation.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Priya was saying to me. “And that you’re not in Sweden. I know So a would have been disappointed.”

There was no reason for Priya to impart this information to me, so I immediately suspected there was much more to it than was being said. So a

would have been disappointed. Did that mean she real y wanted to see me? That she would have been crushed if I hadn’t shown? Was this in fact

the reason Priya had thrown the party in the rst place?

I knew this was quite a leap to make, but when I looked at So a again, I found some footing on the other side. She was laughing at something

Dov was saying to her, but she was looking at me, like he was the distraction and I was the conversation. She gestured with her head over to the

drinks counter. I moved to meet her there.

“Fanta, Fresca, or Diet Rite?” I asked.

“I’l have a Fanta,” she said.

“Fan-tastic,” I replied.

As I got some ice and poured some soda, she said, “So how have you been?”

“Good,” I said. “Busy. You know.”

“No, I don’t know,” she said, taking the plastic cup from my hand. “Tel me.”

There was a slight chal enge in her voice.

“Wel ,” I said, pouring myself a Fresca, “I was supposed to go to Sweden, but that had to be canceled at the last minute.”

“Yeah, Priya told me.”

“This soda has a massive amount of carbonation, doesn’t it?” I gestured to where the Fresca was foaming over. “I mean, when this al set les

down, I’l end up with, like, a demitasse of soda. I’m going to be pouring this drink al night.”

I took a sip just as So a said, “Priya also told me you were studying the joys of gay sex.”

Fresca. Up. My. Nose.

After I was done coughing, I said, “I’l bet she didn’t mention the French pianism, did she? I’l bet she left that out entirely.”

“You are studying French penises?”

“Pianism. Good lord, don’t they teach you anything in Europe?”

This was a joke, but it didn’t come out sounding entirely like a joke. As a result, So a was mi ed. And if American girls make being mi ed a

sweet-and-sour emotion, European girls always manage to add an undercurrent of murder to it. At least in my limited experience.

“I can assure you,” I told her, “that while I believe gay sex to be a beautiful, joyful thing, I do not think that I myself would nd it particularly

joyful, and thus my reading about its joys was al a part of a greater pursuit.”

So a looked at me archly. “I see.”

“Since when do you have an arch expression?” I asked. “There is a certain feistiness in your voice, too, that heretofore has not been present. It’s

extremely at ractive, but not real y the So a I knew before.”

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she replied.

“WHAT?”

She gestured behind me, where there were at least half a dozen people waiting to get some soda.

“We’re in the way,” she said. “And I have a present for you.”

“We’re in the way,” she said. “And I have a present for you.”

The path to the bedroom was not a clear one. It felt like every two steps we took, someone stopped So a to welcome her back, to ask her how

Spain was, to tel her how amazing her hair looked. I hovered on the side, in the boyfriend position once more. And it felt just as awkward now as

it had when I’d real y been her boyfriend.

After a while, it appeared that So a had abandoned the bedroom plan, but when I moved to get myself some more Fresca, she actual y took

hold of my sleeve and extricated us from the kitchen.

Priya’s door was closed, and when we opened it, we found Dov and Yohnny making out.

“Boys!” I cried.

Dov and Yohnny quickly refastened their jackets and put their hats back on over their yarmulkes.

“Sorry,” Yohnny said.

“It’s just that we haven’t had a chance to …,” Dov continued.

“You spent al day in bed!”

“Yeah, but we were exhausted,” Dov said.

“Completely wiped out,” Yohnny echoed.

“And—”

“—it was your mom’s bed.”

They scooted past us, through the doorway.

“That happen a lot in Spain?” I asked So a.

“Yes. Only they’re Catholic.”

She went over to what I assumed to be her bag and took out a book.

“Here,” she said. “This is for you.”

“I didn’t real y get you anything,” I sput ered. “I mean, I didn’t know that you were going to be here, and—”

“Don’t worry. It’s your embarrassment at not having the thought that counts.”

I was completely disarmed.

So a smiled and handed over the book. Its cover screamed LORCA! Literal y, that was the title: LORCA! Which wasn’t very SUBTLE! I started to

thumb through.

“Oh, look,” I said. “It’s poetry! And in a language I don’t speak!”

“I know you’l go out and buy a translation, just to make me believe you’ve read it.”

“Touché. Absolutely true.”

“But real y, it’s just a book that means a lot to me. He is a beautiful writer. And I think you’d like him.”

“You’l have to give me Spanish lessons.”

She laughed. “Just like you gave me English lessons?”

“Why did you just laugh?”

She shook her head. “No, it was sweet when you did that. Wel , sweet and condescending.”

“Condescending?”

She began to mimic my voice—inadequately, but enough so that I knew she was mimicking my voice. “ ‘What, you don’t know what a pizza

bagel is? Do you need me to explain the derivation of the word derivation? Is everything copacetic—I mean, al right?’ ”

“I never said that. I never said any of that.”

“Maybe, maybe not. That’s just how it felt. To me.”

“Wow,” I said. “You could’ve said something.”

“I know. But it wasn’t my thing, to ‘say something.’ And I liked that you never minded explaining things. I felt there was a lot that needed to be

explained to me.”

“And now?”

“Not as much.”

“Why?”

“Do you real y want to know?”

“Yes.”

So a sighed and sat down on the bed.

“I fel in love. It didn’t work out.”

I sat down next to her.

“Al in the past three months?”

She nodded. “Yes, al in the past three months.”

“You didn’t mention …”

“In my emails? No. He didn’t want me talking to you at al , not to mention talking to you about him.”

“I was such a threat?”

She shrugged. “I exaggerated you a lit le at rst. To make him jealous. It worked in making him jealous, but didn’t work so much in making him

love me more.”

“Was that why you didn’t tel me you were coming?”

She shook her head. “No. I only knew I was coming last week. I convinced my parents I missed New York so much that they had to take me here

for the holidays.”

“But real y, you wanted to get away from him?”

“No, that wouldn’t work. I just thought it would be nice to see people. Anyway, what about you? Are you in love with anybody?”

“No, that wouldn’t work. I just thought it would be nice to see people. Anyway, what about you? Are you in love with anybody?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ah. Then there is someone. The Joy of Gay Sex?”

“Yes,” I said. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

So I told her. About the notebook. About Lily. Sometimes I looked at her while I was talking. Sometimes I was talking to the room, to my hands,

to the air. It was too much at once to be so close to So a, yet also trying to conjure some closeness to Lily.

“Oh my,” So a said when I was through. “You think you’ve nal y found the girl in your head.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like most guys, you carry around this girl in your head, who is exactly who you want her to be. The person you think you wil love the