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The Yale Review | Daniel Lefferts: “Terms and Conditions”

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LAST SUMMER MY FRIEND Andrew and I spent a few days in Fort Lauderdale. We did not enjoy our time there very much. I’d been reluctant to go for a number of reasons. Out of our six-person friend group Andrew and I were the least close, Florida in August sounded miserable, and I was low on PTO and low on cash. But Andrew insisted. He was bored and everyone else was busy. He even offered to cover my plane ticket. “I’ll use points,” he said over the phone. “Oh no,” I said. “I can’t ask you to do that.” “I have a million of them,” Andrew said. “Fuck it.” I could hear him typing. I remembered why I’d never been especially fond of him. He moved through the world like a bludgeon, all clipped syllables and blank-eyed entitlement and muscular incuriosity, a jock rescued from total troglodytism only by the fact that he owned excellent furniture and slept with men. “Are you sure?” “Just booked it,” Andrew said. “I gave you the window seat. I need aisle.” We arrived on a Thursday morning and spent

Illustration by John Brooks Last summer my friend Andrew and I spent a few days in Fort Lauderdale. We did not enjoy our time there very much. I’d been reluctant to go for a number of reasons. Out of our six-person friend group Andrew and I were the least close, Florida in August sounded miserable, and I was low on PTO and low on cash. But Andrew insisted. He was bored and everyone else was busy. He even offered to cover my plane ticket. “I’ll use points,” he said over the phone. “Oh no,” I said. “I can’t ask you to do that.” “I have a million of them,” Andrew said. “Fuck it.” I could…

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