Against my hopes, it didn't get better as I grew older. I went through the same discreet fits of anxiety during my first day of work at a Law firm full of grave professionals that greeted me coldly while making it politely clear they knew my only qualifications were being the son of one of the leading partners. 

I felt the embarrassment burning me when I joined the well-oiled basketball team of Streatham University. Like most of them, I was there thanks to my sports scholarship, but I knew that deep down, my only talent was being an acceptably tall, sentient wall.

But despite all that, there was nothing worse for me than introducing people, and being the only point of contact between two new acquaintances. What if they don't hit it off? What if they have nothing in common? What if there is no conversation? All those gloomy scenarios converge on one fatal point: you, the one who forced the interaction, are responsible for making the event work. The awkwardness of it all turns my stomach even now.

That's one of the reasons why I didn't introduce my new girlfriend to anyone until three whole months had passed and she understandably started to wonder if I was hiding her or something.

The fact that she was actually my first girlfriend ever, at my ripe 21 years of age, didn't make things easier. Everyone was thrilled and eager and so disturbingly ready to make small talk. She pushed to meet them, they pushed to meet her, and I gave in. I've never had much of a spine, so it was nearly a miracle I managed to postpone the introductions as long as I had.

Don't get me wrong, Amanda is great. I like her a lot. We met at college. We are both Law students and share most of our classes, so it was only natural we ended up sitting next to each other quite often.

Or so I'd like to say to myself, to ease the shame.

Truth is, Amanda was no ordinary Law student, and we did not get close by chance. She was the youngest promise of a long family line of prestigious conservative lawyers and judges, and her father was the best and most relevant of them all. Judge Wentsworth had culminated a brilliant public career with a position in the Senate, and word spread that -for undisclosed reasons- he was looking for a Criminal Law firm to represent him and his team.

My father, Robert Dillon, senior partner of Dillon & Smithson, was thrilled to hear such eminence was looking for representation. And he was even more thrilled when he found out, God knows how, that the daughter of said eminence was classmates with his own son. He was almost drooling by the time he pulled me aside at the office one day and emphatically suggested I did all I could to befriend Amanda. 

I obeyed, sheepishly, as I always did when my father had designs for me. I sheepishly cut my hair the way he deemed more masculine. I sheepishly wore the shirts and suits he picked for me so that I wouldn't embarrass him at work. I sheepishly enrolled in Law school, even though I couldn't care less about being a lawyer. I sheepishly accepted a barely paid internship at his office. I sheepishly managed to sit next to Amanda in almost every class.

She was not stupid, far from it. She noticed me. And then, to my surprise, she noticed me. She went from friendly to flirty in no time, and my father, who kept a close eye on our relationship, encouraged me to encourage her. I did so, clumsily. She didn't mind my blatant inexperience and evident awkwardness. She accepted my unappealing advances with kindness and soon we went on our first date.

I know what you must be thinking of me. Trust me, I wholeheartedly share your poor opinion. I have nothing to say in my defense, other than despite the utter obligation of it all, I had a very small, very tiny hint of a motive of my own to try and be with Mandy. I was desperate to get over someone at the time, and the whole bizarre situation with Amanda, the Senator, and my father seemed to lead me in that direction. So I complied, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than I would have been otherwise.

My father made the most of my carefully orchestrated relationship, and by the end of our first month of dating, I reluctantly asked Amanda if she'd like our families to meet for dinner. If I had any hopes or her hesitating, saying it was too soon, her instant burst of excitement shattered them all. My father was no less hyped about it, and in a matter of days, I found myself holding back the hints of a panic attack at Senator's Wentsworth 12-seat dining table.

By the third month, she grew restless. I had already met most of her friends and even some coworkers. She began asking if I was ashamed of her, and I panicked a bit. I knew my father wouldn't take it kindly if he got wind that I had upset her. So, after some time, she met my teammates. That was not as nerve-wracking as I had expected. The guys were kind and some of them even brought their own girlfriends to ease the pressure on her -and by her, I mean me. She was best friends with everyone in twenty minutes.

After our fourth-month anniversary, she realized I was feeding her superficial introductions here and there. 

She began asking me personal questions that made me uncomfortable. She wanted me to tell her about the most important people in my life, and my relationship with them. Soon she understood there were two milestones to be conquered, two people I had carefully avoided so far: my cousin and my best friend.

She would not be persuaded once her mind was set on something, and before I even knew it myself we were on our way to having coffee with my cousin Alejo.

They got along wonderfully, of course. Both Mandy and Lex were charismatic and skilled in society, and I had told them so little about each other that they had plenty of topics to chat about. My intervention wasn't needed, so I was free to sip on my caramel latte and stress my heart out. 

I had talked with Lex before our coffee date to give him precise instructions on certain topics I wanted him to avoid. Well, to be honest, there was only one topic to avoid.

Eli.

My best friend.

When I pleaded for that specific pact of silence, Lex raised an eyebrow and gave me his best sardonic smile.

“And why can't we talk about Eli, kiddo?” he asked, just for the sheer joy of teasing me, as he knew the answer very well. “Any taboos around the little guy you'd like to sweep under the rug?”

I sighed. There was so much baggage in that department that I'd need a whole airline's hangar to hide it all. 

I knew why Lex was being such an ass about it. I hadn't been entirely honest with him about my relationship with Amanda, and he picked up on that at once. We told each other everything. He knew me better than I knew myself, and he had been a direct (and often involved) witness of every bit of the chaotic history between my best friend and me.

He was the only one who wasn't joyful when I told him about my new girlfriend. He was, at best, confused; and when he noticed I wasn't willing to get into the details, he kept silent.

But he knew something was off; he probably had come up with a complex and eerily accurate theory about it, and my discretion request finally confirmed his suspicions.

However, despite the shady nature of the whole business, he had my back. To avoid making mistakes, he decided to play a distant, aloof character and tried to keep the conversation superficial and unengaging.

And he succeeded at that, for the first ten minutes.

Lex was too social to keep people at bay, and Amanda was truly a brilliant conversationalist. They hit it off, and soon were chatting like old friends, and even making jokes at my expense.

I noticed he was getting a little too comfortable, so I subtly suggested it was getting late, and I'd better walk Mandy home in time for dinner.

We said our goodbyes outside the café, and Amanda reached out to give Lex a hug.

“I loved meeting you, Alejo,” she said, beaming. “We totally have to get together again soon.”

“Absolutely,” said he, enthusiastically. “Maybe we could all go watch the last Endless Journey movie we were talking about before. It comes out next week.”

“That would be great!” she agreed, checking the calendar on her phone. “We have finals until Thursday. We could go on Friday. What do you think, Nate? It would be a nice way to destress.”

“Sure.” I muttered, doing my best to smile. Eli and I had long ago made plans to watch that movie together. It was based on our favorite video game. We were gonna make a day of it, watch the movie, have coffee and cake at Darcy's, and go back to his place to pull an all-nighter playing the remastered version of the first videogame. They wanted to go on Thursday, the movie came out on Tuesday; it was kinda late, but  I could probably book tickets for Eli and me to go on Wednesday…

I shook my head and went back to reality. I had missed a big chunk of the organizational debate.

“Are you sure you can make it by 7?” asked Amanda, checking the showing times on her phone. “You told me you teach until late.”

“No problem at all,” said Lex, shaking his head. “I'm sure I can reschedule that one night. After all, Eli's my last student on Thursdays so–”

He stopped mid-sentence. My heart jumped in my chest. 

Lex looked at me, stuttering, in a poor attempt to change the topic naturally. I looked back at him, making a terribly conscious effort to keep a nonchalant poker face. Amanda looked at me, and I recognized the look. It was the sharp gaze of acknowledgment. She saw the chance and took it instantly.

“If Eli's your last student, you should totally come together,” she said, blatantly ignoring Lex's hesitation. “I have to meet him someday, right, Nate?”

She stared at me, with a meaningful smile.

I gave in.

"Sure."