This Changes Everything by Jennifer Ashley Page 0,9

in the front room, courtesy of Calandra and Ryan. I guess Calandra figured I’d need it after wrestling her to her own wedding. I wonder if there’s one in Zach’s room.

The bridesmaids and I had packed up Calandra’s stuff before going down to see her married, and she’d taken the suitcases when she left with Ryan. This room is tidy, my things hidden away in the bedroom.

I kick off my shoes, happy to be out of the heels. I offer the wine—we’ve danced so much my buzz has worn off a little. Zach, a gentleman, opens it and pours.

“To success,” he says to me, and we touch glasses before we drink.

I know he means the wedding and us making it through to the end. Ryan and Calandra are off to the mountains, and we can relax.

“I’ll miss her,” I say with sudden sadness as I sit down.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Zach stretches out in a chair and crosses his feet. “Ryan’s a pain in the ass, but he’s a good brother. I’ll be glad when he comes home.”

“They need some time alone, those two kids.” I try to keep my voice light.

“Serious time alone. What about you?” Zach skewers me with his baby blues. “Who do you spend alone time with?”

“My dog.”

“Yeah? What kind of dog?”

“German Shepherd. Mixed with … something. He’s a rescue. He’s my mom’s dog actually, but I love the guy.” Muttly is a sweetheart and better company than a lot of men I’ve known.

“I have a big yard but no pets at the moment.” Zach sounds regretful, which makes me believe he likes dogs. A plus.

“I know you want to ask if I have a boyfriend,” I say. “The answer is nope. I was going out with a guy, but it fizzled.”

It fizzled because I couldn’t talk to him. I mean, not even normal day-to-day conversation, let alone anything deep. I’d start on a topic, and he’d brush it off. Or I’d say, “I ran into—name of mutual acquaintance—today …” and he’d say scornfully, “So?”

It became obvious he didn’t give a shit about me or who I talked to, or anything I did or wanted to do, so I stopped calling him, and he stopped calling me.

I find myself telling Zach all this. He listens. Not pretends to listen while drinking his wine, checking his texts, scrolling through his social media, wondering what’s on the sports channels … He listens. Looks at me. Not through me.

I don’t sob about the guy I drifted apart from. I simply tell the story, and Zach nods as though he understands.

The conversation continues. Zach and I talk about so many things—people we used to know from our old school, what our parents are up to, what we’re doing now.

“So why do you still live in Chandler?” he asks as the wine bottle slowly empties.

I take a sip and shrug. “It’s close to work, close to my mom, has easy access to the lakes and mountain hiking. What’s not to love? Why do you live in mid-town Phoenix?” I counter.

His lips twitch. “Close to work, has cool historic houses, access to hiking, close to sports venues. Plenty to love. Except the traffic.”

I roll my eyes. We talk about traffic, because everyone in Phoenix does, and about how long it takes to get anywhere, and why the hell is there always so much construction?

We turn to the things we want to do in our lives—both of us have an itch to travel. He wants to hike the Arizona Trail, which stretches from one end of the state to the other. I think that would be cool. I’d like to go up north—by which I mean the Arizona Strip, north of the Colorado River, and to the Vermillion Cliffs. Zach stops short of asking if we should go together, and so do I.

I like this bubble of casualness—no pressure, no anticipation, no practicalities. Just friends catching up on old times, talking about what we might do, what we dream of doing, no expectations that we have to do anything at all.

Soon I have my feet curled up, wondering if I dare duck into the other room and take off my bra. He unties his bow tie and opens his coat but doesn’t take the coat off, like he’s comfortable. I don’t want to leave the room, because he might not be here when I come back.

We get started on the differences between a man’s take on weddings and a woman’s. I’m