Before Alexa could answer Cam, Mookie did his thing, hammering the hell out of the ball, and it went high and deep, over the Green Monster. That ball was a goner. The bartenders started high-fiving the patrons, and the patrons high-fived each other. One of the twentysomethings Alexa had beaten to the seat was off his stool and heading over. He hugged her. She hugged him back: there were no hard feelings, because of Mookie. The guy high-fived Cam.

But underneath the thrum of happiness, Alexa could feel her heart skipping along like a frightened animal.

It turned out that the brickle pie involved ice cream covered by Heath bar and marshmallow, all of which sat on top of a cookie crust and were covered by some sort of “brickle sauce.” It was sort of horrifying and sort of delicious, but after one bite Alexa couldn’t eat any more. Cam’s words felt like they were taking up all the room in her body.

There could be people out there. Looking for people who know things.

“I want this to be the only time we talk about this,” said Cam when they parted at her Jeep. He looked extra cute when he was serious but his eyes weren’t on her at all; he was staring straight ahead, at the traffic on Route 110.

“But—” said Alexa.

“No,” said Cam. “No but. That’s it, this was the only time. I’m sorry, but it has to be that way.”

“Okay,” Alexa said. She believed that Cam meant this, but she also believed that he had not yet been introduced to the full powers of Alexa Thornhill; if she needed to talk about it, if she had something to say, surely he would change his policy and listen.

“Good night, Alexa,” he said formally, even dipping his head a little bit.

She thought about saying nothing at all (because who did he think he was? making her feel bad about wanting help? making her feel terrible for sharing information?) but her good manners prevailed and she said, “Thank you for the lovely dinner,” and she climbed into her Jeep and closed the door, hard.

Alexa Thornhill, will you please rate for us the evening you had with Cameron Hartwell? Did dinner at the Sylvan Street Grill meet or exceed your expectations? On a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to seek this kind of experience again?

Fuck off, she thought.

42.

Rebecca