“How’s … oh, what’s his name…?” In my periphery I can see his hand slap against his thigh like he’s trying to recall some lost bit of information. We try so hard, the two of us. We smile and tease and torture—the kind of animals that like to play with their food before they kill it.

I cringe, knowing what’s coming next. I shouldn’t have pushed him on Jordan, I should have just left it alone. But that smug face of his. I set myself up for this.

I take in a deep breath and let it out. My face doesn’t change, my eyes don’t move. They’re focused on the deck looming below us, up ahead—the end goal.

His voice is casual. “None of them stuck, huh?”

“Now who’s stalking?”

“I can’t help myself. Apparently your love life is better than an episode of The Bachelor. And you have a chatty mom, too.”

I snicker. “You watch The Bachelor?” We’ve reached the spot at the crest of the hill where our paths converge and lead down into a single walkway of cement stairs. I narrow my eyes as we both squeeze onto them. They’re barely wider than one person, but we walk side by side, as fast as two people possibly can without running or tripping or looking like we’re purposefully racing. And we are racing. I let out a little snort. “That’s sad.”

“As sad as your two-week boyfriends?”

“Ten days,” I correct him with a shrug. “What can I say? I’m easily bored.”

It’s true, there’s something that happens to me after the first week of dating someone. When the glittery newness has worn off, and I start to notice all of the little things that drive me crazy. Taylor constantly chewed with his mouth open. David started calling me babe. Like, You look cute, babe. Good night, babe. Do you want some popcorn, babe? All I could think about was the old movie I used to watch at my grandma’s house with my cousins. That little pink pig. And that my name isn’t freaking Babe.