“Correct.” She waved her spoon at me, before digging it back into the pint. “But where do Mom and Dad come in?”

“Oh. Well, you get your attachment style from how you were raised. And fearful-avoidants wanted to go to their parents for comfort, but their parents were the ones that made them need comfort to begin with.”

“That makes sense. So, you think you needed comfort from them because they wouldn’t let you talk during How I Met Your Mother?”

“Yup.”

“And not because they’d scream the house down every second night when we were trying to sleep?”

“Hmm. Could also be that, I guess.”

“Could be.” She passed the ice cream back to me, and I dug straight into it. “Damn. Now what?”

I placed the ice cream on the floor and she opened her arms for me to fall into. “Gosh, you’re a handful.” She laughed into my hair as she rocked me. “Such a heartbreaker.”

“What do I do?” I asked into her chest.

“You’re asking me?”

“Well, I can’t ask locker eighty-nine.”

We pulled apart, and giggled together. “Do you like Brougham?” she asked.

With a groan, I threw myself backward and bounced on the mattress. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Okay. Well. What color are his eyes?”

“This really pretty dark-blue color. Navy, I think.”

“What does he think of Phish Food?”

“He prefers tiramisu.”

“When was the last time you saw him smile?”

I responded without missing a beat. “When he asked if I’d be upset if he didn’t get back with Winona.”

Ainsley went silent for a while. When I peeked back at her, she was staring at me with one knowing eyebrow raised.

Then I got it. “Oh wow. I might like him.”

“Yeah, I think you might.”

Okay. Shit. I might.

I might like Alexander Brougham.

I had feelings for Alexander Brougham.

Alexander Brougham, with his arguments and his perpetually serious face and his rudeness.

Alexander Brougham, with his vulnerability, and his perceptiveness, and his ability to make everything I said feel weighted and important.

Alexander Brougham with his too-blue eyes and the prettiest, rarest smile and delicate fingers.

Alexander Brougham, with his wild car karaoke, and his love of horror movies, and his impulsive decisions to sit in a tree on a cliff in the rain.

But if I did like Alexander Brougham, what did that say about me?

I tried to picture Dad’s reaction to Brougham, a guy, coming over again. The Q&Q Club’s reaction if I announced I was a girl dating a guy. The world’s reaction if I sat down at queer events and told them about my boyfriend.

I hadn’t even realized I held that fear before. But now I thought about it, my stomach turned so violently that it was clear it’d been sitting in my subconscious long before this moment.