Page 37 of The Equation of Us
We’re sprawled across Daphne’s apartment—the nicest of our living spaces by far. Unlike the cramped dorm room I share with Sadie, with its twin beds and perpetual laundry pile, Daphne’s place is straight out of an Instagram post: muted pastels, framed art prints, and enough throw pillows to build a respectable fort. The coffee table is covered with nail polish bottles, face masks, and three half-empty glasses of rosé.
It’s been weeks since we’ve all hung out like this. Between my tutoring sessions (and everything else) with Dean, Daphne’stheater rehearsals, and Sadie’s internship at the marketing firm downtown, our schedules rarely align anymore.
“What do you think?” Daphne asks, emerging from her bedroom for the third time in twenty minutes. She’s wearing a short black dress with cutouts that somehow manage to be both sophisticated and sultry. “Too much for a first date?”
“Depends on whether you want him to propose or just drool all over himself,” Sadie says, not looking up from my toes.
“I don’t know.” Daphne turns to examine herself in the decorative mirror by the door. “Maybe I should go with the blue one.”
“The blue one is great too,” I offer, trying to sound supportive rather than impatient. We’ve been weighing the merits of various outfits for nearly an hour. “But this one looks amazing on you.”
“You always say that,” Daphne sighs, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “But seriously, I need actual feedback. This guy is an investment banker. He’s taking me to that new place downtown with the rooftop bar. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
“While simultaneously trying extremely hard,” Sadie mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
I nudge her with my free foot, shooting her a warning look.
“What?” She grins, unrepentant. “I’m just saying, Daph’s been through five outfits for a guy she met on a dating app who could potentially be a serial killer with good lighting in his profile pics.”
“He’s not a serial killer,” Daphne protests, still examining her reflection. “His sister works with my cousin. It’s practically a setup.”
“Extremely reassuring,” Sadie says, capping the nail polish. “There. Done. And they look fabulous, if I do say so myself.”
I wiggle my toes, admiring the deep purple-blue glitter. “Thanks. It’s actually pretty.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Sadie flops back on the plush carpet, reaching for her wine glass. “I have excellent taste.”
“Your hair is literally the color of bubble gum,” I point out.
“Exactly. Excellent taste.” She takes a sip of wine, then adds, “So, Daph, are you actually excited about Investment Banker Ken, or is this just a distraction from the Dean situation?”
I freeze, wine glass halfway to my lips. My phone feels suddenly heavy in my pocket, where a text from Dean sits unanswered:Still thinking about last night.
Daphne’s shoulders drop as she abandons the mirror and moves to sit on the couch. “Honestly? I don’t know. Dating is such a wasteland right now. Every guy I’ve matched with is either obsessed with crypto, still living with three roommates at thirty, or thinks ‘I go to the gym’ is a personality.”
“Whereas Dean was…” Sadie prompts, shooting me a sidelong glance that makes my stomach twist.
“Dean was…” Daphne sighs, reaching for her own wine. “Stable. Focused. Responsible. Clearly going somewhere with his life.”
And incredible in bed, I think before I can stop myself, then immediately feel a flush of guilt.
“So you’re having regrets?” Sadie asks, blunt as always.
“Maybe?” Daphne stretches the word out, her expression uncertain. “It’s just—we made sense on paper, you know? Good-looking hockey player, future engineer, comes from a nice family. My parents loved him.”
“But?” I find myself asking, even though I should absolutely not be participating in this conversation.
“But it was so intense all the time.” She takes a larger sip of wine. “Like, he’d look at me sometimes, and it felt like he waslooking right through me, you know? And the sex was so…” She trails off, then makes a face. “I don’t know. Not bad, just… a lot.”
I study the bubbles in my wine glass, very aware of the heat creeping up my neck. I know exactly what she means—the way Dean looks at you like he’s memorizing every detail, the intensity that never quite turns off.
“So let me get this straight,” Sadie says, sitting up. “You dumped a hot, intelligent, gainfully employed guy who was good in bed because he was too intense, and now you’re having second thoughts because the dating pool is, surprise surprise, full of dudes who put ‘entrepreneur’ in their bio when they really mean ‘I sell knockoff supplements from my mom’s garage.’”
Daphne laughs despite herself. “When you put it that way, it does sound pretty stupid.”
“Not stupid,” I say carefully. “Just… maybe you need different things right now.”
“Maybe.” Daphne looks down at her perfect manicure. “I actually texted him today.”
