By the time we are seated, Richard and Sean are already engaged in a heated discussion—arguing about the best action sequences in the movie. Which I wish they weren’t doing because it means that I am supposed to find something to talk to Sophie about.

I don’t feel the desire to join in the movie debate. They move on to comparing fight scenes as done by different directors. I don’t even know who directed the movie we just saw.

I realize I still have my earplugs in, but I don’t want to take them out now, because I am already adjusted to the ambient noise of the restaurant while the sound is dampened. If I remove them now, everything will seem louder than if I had left the damn things in the car.

If I wanted to announce to everyone that I have some weird sensory thing, I would wear giant airplane-lander headphones. Only then I couldn’t hear anything. Now I can hear everyone speaking around me just fine.

In the several minutes we have been sitting here after placing our order, I have not found anything to talk to Sophie about. She doesn’t seem terribly upset or uncomfortable about this—my lack of conversational prowess. I notice that she hasn’t found anything to talk to me about either.

She is sitting directly across from me, and the light from the window illuminates the right side of her face. She has lips the perfect shade of rose that I’m pretty sure is their natural color.

I drum my fingers on the table. It’s a nervous habit I’m trying to break. Without even pausing in his conversation or looking in my direction, Sean reaches across the table with his ridiculously long arms and puts his hand heavily on top of mine so I will stop.

Sophie grins when she sees this. Which is not the reaction I expected.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sean do anything without planning it days in advance,” she says softly enough that only I can hear. Sean, oblivious, has given me back control of my wayward hand.

“Yeah, well this is not a new habit of mine, so I’m sure his unnecessarily violent reaction was also planned days or even weeks ahead of time.”

She changes the subject. “You play piano?” she asks, but it’s not a question.

“Yeah. That’s my thing. You?”

Sophie laughs, and it is a beautiful sound, like ringing bells. I swear it’s true.

“No. My parents wanted me to, and I took lessons for a year and made everyone miserable until I was allowed to quit. At lessons I remember hiding under the piano and refusing to come out. When my mom asked me why I behaved this way, I calmly explained that I was a dog, and dogs didn’t have fingers, so they couldn’t play the piano. They only liked to curl up underneath it and listen to the music.”

“How old were you?”

“Oh, this was last year,” she says with a perfect deadpan.

I choke on an ice cube, which Richard notices and slaps me on the back. What is it with my male friends manhandling me at this meal?

The food comes, and we are all too busy shoving pad thai, massaman curry, and deep-fried tofu into our hungry faces to say much of anything.

Then Richard sees the time and realizes he has to run to his part-time job. “You take Tea home,” he says to Sean. Then he throws money at the table and is out the door.

Great. Just when I was congratulating myself on how normal this whole experience had been, now I have to ride home with the happy couple.

We go to the car, and Sophie immediately gets into the back seat, which makes me excruciatingly aware that she and Sean are trying hard not to make me feel like a third wheel, conspiring to make things easier for me. How humiliating. Luckily, I don’t live that far away, so the discomfort only lasts a few minutes.

I collapse onto the couch when I get home and completely zone out. I need to unplug after so much socializing.

I’m not sure how long I sit there, staring off into space, decompressing. Maybe I shouldn’t have turned off my phone, though, because when I turn it back on, there are, like, twenty messages from Sean (only a slight exaggeration).

He was checking up on me after the whole Sophie surprise. And then when I didn’t respond, he got all weird and panicky on me. Idiot. Pretty much my entire text feed is taken up with things along these lines:

Doofus: Hey.

Doofus: Tea?

Doofus: Text me when you get this.

Doofus: Did you charge your phone?

Doofus: Hello?

Doofus: You okay?

Even though we hardly ever talk on the phone, I decide this is worth a call so he can hear my tone of voice. It’s pretty late, but I am sure he is still awake. The last text was sent only ten minutes ago. He picks up the phone on the first ring.

“Hey, paranoid much?” This is my opening line.

“I… No…” Sean speechless is a thing to behold. I’m not sure it has ever happened. At least not with me.

“Right. Look, I turned my phone off. Not because of you, idiot. I just wanted some time to myself. You know. You remember your friend, Tea? Who needs downtime after social interactions? Not because she’s mad, but because she needs quiet? Sorry I didn’t inform you ahead of time,” I say, but I try not to sound too sarcastic. “I didn’t mean for you to worry.”

“Who was worried?”

“I assume you want the Sophie report?”

Silence. Ugh. I hate the phone. Sure, you can hear the tone of voice, but you can’t see expressions.

“Do you want it now, or can it wait until we can talk in person?” I ask.

More silence. Only this time it feels like a worried silence.

“Dear God, calm down! Yes, I’m a little irritated that we met like that. But I know it was an accident and not something you contrived. That would have pissed me off. But I would have told you that directly instead of passive aggressively not answering your incredibly long and increasingly anxious series of texts.”

I pause for a moment before continuing. “But it was fine. She seems cool. And gorgeous. Way to go. She is clearly even more out of your league than I thought. I don’t think we are going to be friends or anything, but you don’t need to worry that I have some weird thing against her. Happy?”

“Okay. Sophie likes you too.”

I roll my eyes, which I am pretty sure he can hear over the phone. “Go to bed.”

“’Night, Tea.”

“’Night.”

Somehow I missed seeing a text from an unfamiliar number in my hurry to assuage my best friend’s mini meltdown.

Unknown: It was nice meeting you today. I guess there’s some kind of debate thing tomorrow. Will you be there? It would be nice to have more than one person that I know.

I didn’t know she had my number. Sean said he had given it to her as his “in case of emergencies” contact. I thought he had been kidding. Apparently not.

She writes texts like a middle-aged college professor. Like I do. In complete paragraph form. I stare at the message. I want to delete it. I want there not to be any trace of Sophie on my phone.

I am being irrational. This is a perfectly normal text. It’s fine that she has my number. But it doesn’t seem fine.

I want to call Sean immediately and take back the things I said about being okay with everything. I am in a panic that Sophie wants us to all spend time together. What am I supposed to do with that? I’m not sure I am up for another social event that includes Sean and his girlfriend trying so hard to make sure I am included.

Ugh.

Then again, it’s not like I will be trapped in a corner with Sophie the whole time. I can always leave early. And I’ll experience a fair amount of guilt if I don’t go to the thing with a direct invite from Sophie.

I already know what my answer is going to be, but I delay replying for some reason.

Why did he give her my number? I stare at her text for a long time. I should save her number in my phone so I won’t get confused if she texts me again. Which she probably will.

Crap.

I spend a ridiculously long time coming up with what name to save in my phone. First, I go with Girlfriend, but that seems petty and sarcastic. Also, kind of demeaning, as if that is her entire purpose in life—as an offshoot of Sean. Other attempts: Out-of-towner, Visitor, Alien, but I don’t like any of them. It seems like I should simply go with Sophie. That would be the safe choice.

Eventually, I settle on what might or might not be a permanent name: Gorgeous.

I text her back.

Me: See you there.

Crap.