Never Always Sometimes - Adi Alsaid Page 0,48

again.

“Dave, it’s okay—” she said, but he didn’t let her continue. He

dropped his beer to the ground, ignoring the way it splashed at his

feet and soaked his legs, and he finally kissed Gretchen.

She tasted like honey, too. Her lips were warm and soft and wet,

all the descriptions he’d read and heard and imagined a thousand

times, sure. But they were so much more than that. They were real,

and wonderful.

158 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES

AGAINST THE CURRENT

WHEN THE PARTY had mostly cleared out—excepting the few

people passed out on couches or in the pillow fort at the foot of the

stairs, plus a couple making out in the yard—Dave and Julia started

going about the task of making the house somewhat presentable

before the dads returned from Napa in the morning.

“I’d say that was a success,” Julia said, grabbing cans and tossing

them into a garbage bag. Dave was searching the house for cups that

people had tossed aside, the taste of Gretchen’s kiss still on his lips, a warmth inside him that loomed much larger than the buzzed, in-love-with-the-world feeling from the Kapoor party. That had been a flame,

and this was a fire.

“Yeah, pretty great turnout. Maybe we’ve been wrong all this time

about what makes someone a good beer host. I thought being from

Bangladesh and having hundreds of siblings was a requirement, but it

turns out you have what it takes, too.”

“I think the only real requirement is vast quantities of alcohol and

a house to put it all in. And the attendance of a man on the cusp of

celebrity such as yourself to lure in the masses, of course.” Julia kicked at the charred remains of the bonfire, then used a log that hadn’t been

burned to scoop some of the cans into her bag. “The dads are going to

empty my college fund when they see this. Good thing they already

emptied it out for their restaurant venture! Student loans here I come.”

When Dave didn’t say anything—he was still recalling how he’d

kissed Gretchen good night at the front door before she left, the smile

on her face—Julia said, “Just kidding, I’m a little drunk. I’m sure they were always planning on making me get student loans.”

Dave took their garbage bags to the curb, then came back and

grabbed new ones from beneath the sink. Julia was already in the

kitchen, examining the remains of the chips and dips. “Gnarly, someone

ate all of the butter.” She brought the bowls to the sink and dropped

them in with a clatter. Whoever it was that had fallen asleep on the

couch moaned in complaint at the sound. “Never mind, it’s all right

here on the carpet.”

Dave rustled his fresh garbage bag to get it to open up. He slid in

some crumbs and a couple of cups from the kitchen table, then took

a seat on one of the chairs, staring off into the distance. “Hey, did you notice that Gretchen was here?”

“Yeah,” Julia said, picking with a fingernail at something on the

kitchen counter. “I saw you two being chummy. You running for

student council, too? Prom queen? Mayor? You’re running for mayor?

I’ve created an ambitious, power-hungry monster. Forgive me, world!”

She giggled, then walked toward the living room. “Well, shit. Maybe

the beers on the ceiling fan were not a good idea.”

Dave followed her gaze to a beer can that had lodged itself in the

drywall. “Yikes.”

160 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES

Julia walked up to the beer in the wall, studying it, as if afraid that if she tried to pull it out the whole house would come crumbling down.

“There’s a joke here about how alcohol kills; I just don’t have it yet.”

Dave took a deep breath. “I like Gretchen,” he said.

“Don’t drink and fan? No, that doesn’t make sense,” Julia said.

She scrunched her mouth to one side of her face, thoughtful.

“Can-cer. Beer. Something about holes?” Julia’s arms dropped to her

sides. “Eh, I’ve got nothing.” She turned back toward Dave. “What

were you saying about Gretchen?”

“Nothing. I just think she’s cool,” Dave said, suddenly feeling tired.

“Cool as a cardboard cutout.” Julia chuckled.

Dave hid the scowl that he could feel forming by fiddling with the

trash bag in his hand. Julia was drunk; he should take what she was

saying with a grain of salt.

“You know, at the Kapoors’, I was pretty entertained by how

lame everyone was. Tonight it just seemed sad. I had the exact same

conversation with three people. Whole sentences were repeated. It’s

like the same person is writing all their dialogue.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”

“Dave, you know I swore off hyperbole a thousand years ago.”

Julia grabbed a nearby beer can and walked over to the kitchen,

pouring out the contents into