Entering the restaurant, we take our usual booth in the back. We give our orders to the waitress and I lean back, grateful for the ice water she delivers seconds later. I gulp half of it down in one sip.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Noah asks. “I haven’t seen you this distraught since you were waiting for your bar results. It’s freaking me out. This isn’t like you. Is everything okay?”

The sincerity causes my lip to twitch. Compassion and loyalty are two of Noah’s best qualities.

My finger traces the condensation of the sweaty glass up and down. “My parents’ wedding anniversary is in two months. They’re throwing a big party for all their friends and the extended family. It’s four days of celebration.”

“That sounds awesome. Remember the New Year’s Eve party of 2018?”

The party? Not so much. I distinctly remember the aftermath, thanks to the alarming amount of tequila I consumed. I woke up under a pile of coats, my head throbbing for days. Noah, the bastard, was as spry as a spring chicken the next morning, telling me I missed out on the karaoke competition and my father attempting to do a keg stand. I’ve avoided tequila ever since; the smell alone makes me want to bury my head in the dirt.

“Awesome is not quite the adjective I’d use. You know how my parents have been hounding me for years about dating?”

“Yes…”

Every time I talk to my parents, the conversation inevitably circles back to my personal life. It doesn’t help that my two siblings are happily married and steadily advancing down the path of life. Houses. Dogs. Children. I’m the lackluster loner rebelling against monogamy, trudging miles behind at a sloth’s pace.

I’m 99% certain my mother asked Neil, one of my other best friends, and Noah, to set up an online dating account on my behalf a couple of years back. That got shut down real quick when I found out, appalled by the words they used to describe me. I am many things in life, but sensitive and emotional I am not.

“I might have mentioned to Mom I have a date for their party.”

“Let me guess. You don’t have a date,” he draws out, not a hint of surprise at my fib.

“Correct. She’s been trying to set me up with her friend’s daughter for years. The girl thinks she can get me to sleep with her, knock her up, and take a check to the bank. She’s only interested in four things: my money, my last name, my dick, and never having to work again in her life.”

“You must be fucking fantastic in bed.”