Duke, Actually

by Jenny Holiday

Max: The answer is yes, but I have questions. Question the first: Is this going to be one of those elaborately complex romantic comedies where we pretend to be in love to make your ex-husband jealous? Dani: Unfortunately, he’s not technically my ex-husband. My fondest wish is to relegate him to that status, but we’re not there yet legally. As to your question, let’s leave it vague. No need to make out or anything. Max: Well, that’s disappointing. I do so enjoy making out at office holiday parties. Dani: No making out at the party. Or anywhere. In addition to being post-men, I am post–making out. If pressed, I’ll call you a friend. But if you wanted to do me a solid and appear to find me the pinnacle of wit, that would be appreciated.

“Tell me everything.” “I just talked to you yesterday.” “So?” he said, sticking his hand into the bag of potato chips she had open. “Tell me everything again.”

She’d have thought they’d run out of things to say last night, given that they’d now spent almost forty-eight continuous hours together, but they hadn’t. In fact, they’d fallen asleep talking in the dark, like teenagers at a slumber party.

But that wasn’t all. This feeling of relief and rightness wasn’t just about what she had left behind. It was about Max. Smart, kind Max. They were going to have so much fun, and she was so happy to be here with him.

“I did look at you,” she said slowly, relieved that her voice came out sounding like her again. “But then you stopped looking at me.” And for some reason she couldn’t articulate, that loss of his attention had hurt. “Because I couldn’t look at you anymore.” “Why not?” “Because then you would see everything.”

And then, finally, finally, after all these hours, after all these months, they kissed each other.