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fishing for a year and it sounds romantic and bohemian and earthy. Malcolm runs off to Alaska to go fishing for a year because the stress of losing his family on top of a first-year workload at business school might shatter his spirit—that sounds pathetic. Weak. Not like someone who should be entrusted with your money. Not like a Digger.”
    He was right, of course. I’d thought of Malcolm’s gap year as nothing but a bit of fun before he settled down to the grind, and it was indeed sexy and masculine and adventurous. Thinking of it as his alternative to a public, academically recordable nervous breakdown didn’t go over so well.
    Jamie said, “And so I ask again: You don’t want to go to New York anymore?”
    I studied my shoes. Truth was, I wanted to be there more now than I had a month ago, when I’d turned in applications for graduate schools that might take me down south or out west or back to Ohio. Now I had a reason to want to stay within commuter-train distance of Eli. And he was standing right next to me.
    Jamie followed me inside the gate and up to the door.
    “Want to come inside?” I asked.
    He leaned against the doorjamb. “It is late.”
    “Yeah.”
    “And it’s a long walk home.”
    “Yeah.”
    “So if I did come in—”
    “You probably should stay,” I finished.
    “Yeah.” He looked at the door for a long moment, then at me. “But—to sleep.”
    “Ah.” I nodded.
    “Because it is late.”
    “Indeed.” But that wasn’t the problem. The real problem was that it was early. As we crossed the threshold, I marveled that there seemed to be as many rules in a real relationship as in my hookup dalliance with George or my friends-with-benefits deal with Brandon. The things we’d do, the things we’d say—and the things we wouldn’t.
    Lydia’s room was empty, so she was either still at the library or she’d be spending the night with Josh.
    We were alone. And maybe that thought made me just the slightest bit nervous, despite our stated parameters for this tête-à-tête. Nervous enough to skip the snuggling and fall into old bad habits. I went on the offensive.
    “Why didn’t you say anything at the meeting tonight?”
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    “What do you mean?”
    An innocent act from Poe? Nice try, bud. Still, I could take the high road. “We’re—” I took a breath
    “—floundering. And you just sat there.”
    “About that,” he said. “I may pass on attending the next few meetings. It’s like a combat flashback.”
    “Great. Right when we need you.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Need me? Aww, that’s sweet. Disingenuous, but sweet.”
    “I’m serious. We actually could use your help.”
    “And yet, I pass.”
    “Since when do you pass on anything having to do with the society?”
    He shook his head. “I did this already. And it was one of the most torturous, thankless, relationship-eroding events of my entire life. I’m not going to make any friends if I step into your deliberations, and I have a vested interest in doing nothing that might endanger the few friends I’ve got in your club. One in particular.”
    “Yesterday, you wanted all the info.”
    “You telling me in private what you’re thinking after a long night is different from me dispensing advice to your entire club in the tomb. I’m more than happy to support you , my girlfriend, though. I know what a hard time this can be.”
    “And you could make it easier.”
    “No, I couldn’t.” He flopped back on the couch. “Last year’s tap was contentious because of me.
    Debate went on for eighteen, twenty hours at a stretch. I’m hardly a good role model for painless delibs.”
    “But you’ve learned your lesson,” I argued.
    “No,” he replied. “If there was an issue I believed in, I’d still fight for it, and I’d advise you to do the same.”
    “But you were wrong last year!” I said, exasperated.
    “No. I wasn’t,” he said, and my mouth snapped shut. Huh? “What happened to us last spring