by Ana Huang
“Wait.” Courtney shot up in her chair, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Let’s make a pact.”
“I’m not making another blood pact. Don’t ask,” Kris said when Farrah’s and Olivia’s jaws dropped.
“I’m not.” Olivia grimaced. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
“It’s not a blood pact. It’s a wedding pact!”
Farrah wasn’t sure she heard right. “Excuse me?”
“We all have to invite each other to our weddings. Because that means we have to stay in touch. For years and years.”
“What if I don’t want a wedding? What if I elope?” Olivia asked.
The other three stared at her.
“Kidding! I would never elope. I already have my wedding Pinterest board.” Olivia laughed. “God, me eloping. Can you imagine?”
“No,” Kris said. “I can’t.”
Weddings were the Olympics of planning, organization, and seating charts. It was basically Olivia’s wet dream.
“So, ladies? Are we in?” Courtney held out her hand.
“Despite my foresight when it comes to Pinterest boards, I don’t plan on getting married until I’m in my thirties with a senior executive position on Wall Street and a weekend cottage in the Hamptons,” Olivia warned. “But I’m in.” She placed her hand atop Courtney’s.
Farrah followed suit. “Me too.” She was so not ready to think about marriage, although she and Blake would make the cutest babies. One day. She loved the idea of the pact, though. It’d keep their Shanghai legacy alive.
“Kris?” Courtney prompted.
The Filipina shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” She put her hand on top of Farrah’s, completing the pact.
“Repeat after me: I swear I’ll invite you all to my wedding, no matter what.”
“Seriously?”
“Just do it, Kris.”
“I swear I’ll invite you all to my wedding, no matter what,” they recited dutifully.
“That’s it. The pact is unbreakable.” Courtney grinned. “You’re all stuck with me at your weddings, bitches.”
A wicked glint entered Kris’s eyes. “Anyone wanna bet on who gets married first and when?”
“Not against you,” Farrah laughed. “Too rich for my blood.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ll reunite before the first wedding,” Olivia said. “Maybe even before we graduate!”
“Duh,” Courtney said with the confidence of someone who’s seen the future. “Of course we will.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Thanks for your help, man.” Blake fist-bumped Sammy. “Appreciate it.”
“No problem.” Sammy unwrapped his scarf. The heat in the dorm was on full blast, turning the lobby into a scorching desert compared to the chill outdoors. “I’m sure Farrah will love it.”
“Yeah.” Blake peeked inside his shopping bag to double-check the gift was still there. It’d taken forever to figure out what to buy Farrah for her birthday and longer to track it down. If it weren’t for Sammy, he’d be stuck deciding between cliché jewelry options. “I hope so.”
“I’m never wrong.”
It was a wildly un-Sammy-like thing to say.
The boys took the stairs two at a time until they reached the second-floor landing. “Olivia’s rubbing off on you.”
“There’s a ninety-nine percent chance you’re right.”
“Don’t tell her what I got Farrah,” Blake warned.
Sammy clutched his heart. “I can’t believe you think I’d spill the beans. I—”
“You were going to tell her, weren’t you?”
“Well, she already knows.”
Blake opened the door to his room and shoved the shopping bag under his bed. “Unbelievable.”
“What, you think I came up with that gift idea on my own? Don’t worry. Liv won’t tell.”
“If Farrah finds out before her birthday, I will kill you in the most painful way possible.”
Sammy didn’t seem concerned. “You are so gone. It’s adorable. Really.”
“Get out of my room.”
“Maybe you should’ve bought her a diamond instead.”
Blake shoved the other boy into the hall and slammed the door in his face.
“You’re welcome!” Sammy shouted through the door.
“The most painful way possible!” Blake reminded him. He waited until Sammy’s laughter and footsteps faded before he flopped onto his bed and opened his laptop. He had a movie date with Farrah in a few hours, but first things first: email.
The search for a home for the bar was in full swing. There wasn’t a lot Blake could do from Shanghai, so Landon was scoping out potential rental spaces while Blake sorted out their business registration.
His stomach fluttered as he looked over the documents. Even after he created his business plan, owning a bar seemed like more of a dream than reality. Now, that dream was becoming more concrete by the day.
Take that, dad. Blake couldn’t wait to see his father’s face at the grand opening. It was going to be epic.
A new email notification popped up. Landon. The subject line: round three.
Blake opened the dozen or so attached images. Landon had been busy scouting places. He wished he could’ve been on the ground with his friend, but for now, photos would have to do.
Blake dove into dissecting the layouts, the lighting, the square footage, and whether it fit what he envisioned for the space. The one with the loft intrigued him. It was the most expensive of the lot, but the upstairs area would make a sick game room. He could deck it out with a pool table, darts, shuffleboard, the works. The beer pong tournaments at Gino’s were always popular. Maybe he’d use the space to host weekly bar sports Olympics. People who liked sports were competitive—they would eat that shit up.
Blake was so engrossed in the blueprints time slipped away. When he checked the clock again, two hours had passed.
“Shit!”
Farrah would kill him if he were late. Movie previews were her favorite part.
He was about to shut his laptop when another notification popped up. This time it was an iMessage from Cleo.
Are you busy?
Blake’s heart stopped. He hadn’t heard from Cleo since New Year’s. He’d thought of reaching out to her a few times—more out of hope she’d change her account of what happened than an actual desire to talk to her—but something stopped him each time.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could ignore the message. He was already running late for his date with Farrah.
No. I’m free, Blake typed.
Morbid curiosity compelled him to stay. What prompted Cleo to contact him after weeks of radio silence?
Great. I’ll Skype you.
The unease in Blake’s stomach grew as he accepted the Skype call.
Cleo’s face filled the screen.
“Long time no see.” He attempted to lighten the mood. They were thousands of miles apart, but the air between them crackled with tension.
“That’s because you’re in Shanghai.” Cleo looked paler than usual. She’d tossed her hair into a messy ponytail—a sure sign she wasn’t feeling well—and tension lined her mouth.
“I’m well aware.”
They fell into silence. Funny. If they hadn’t dated and ended things the way they did, they’d be talking as often as Blake did with Joy. Part of him wished they could go back to the way things were. Another part recognized that was impossible, no matter what they’d agreed to over New Year’s (before they slept together).
Things change. People change. But they never change back.
“What happened on New Year’s—” They spoke at the same time.
“You go first—”
Blake and Cleo looked at each other and laughed in a rare moment of normalcy.
“You go first,” Cleo repeated. She fiddled with her sleeve. With her oversize sweatshirt and bare face, she looked like she was fourteen.
That was the year it all chang
ed. Blake was sixteen, caught up in the throes of high school stardom. Meanwhile, Cleo began looking at him the way girls always looked at him.
Blake wished she hadn’t. He missed the simple, early days of their friendship, before hormones and family and society got in the way.
Regret gnawed at him. “I’m sorry for running out like that,” he said. When Cleo told him they’d slept together, he shot out of the room like there was a pack of hellhounds in pursuit. “I remembered I had to be somewhere.”
It was a lame lie, and they both knew it.
A strained smile touched Cleo’s lips. “It’s ok. You always run.”
Blake frowned. Before he could ask her what she meant, Cleo added, “I’m sorry too. We agreed to put the past behind us and be just friends, and, well, we kinda messed up.”
“Yeah. Tequila’s a bastard.” Blake drummed his fingers on his thigh. Nervous energy zigzagged through his veins. “I’ve never seen you drink so much.”
“I’m not going to drink alcohol for a while, I’ll tell you that much.” Cleo cleared her throat. “How’s…”
“She’s good.” Speaking of Farrah, he was running late for their date.
Funny how that was the thing he focused on when there was the bigger issue of him sleeping with his ex-girlfriend while he and Farrah were together.
The cramping intensified.
Cleo watched him closely. “You really love her, don’t you?”
“I really do.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who didn’t control myself. I could’ve stopped drinking. I could’ve—”
“That’s not what I meant.” Cleo took a deep breath. Her eyes swam with regret and apology. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say.”
Shit.
That didn’t bode well. At all.
Blake gripped the edge of his laptop. The drumbeat of dread mounted in his chest, growing louder and louder until he thought he’d go deaf from the sound.
Cleo bit her lip, which she always did when faced with a hard decision. He’d seen it when she had to decide between attending STU or Texas A&M for college, and when she wasn’t sure whether to break up with her ninth-grade boyfriend or not.
This time, the stakes were far higher than college and fleeting high school relationships, but Blake didn’t know how high until Cleo opened her mouth and upended his entire world.
“Blake, I’m pregnant.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“…Happy birthday, dear Farrah, happy birthday to you!”
Farrah closed her eyes and blew out the candles on her cake while her friends clapped and cheered. Courtney’s camera flash lit up the room, so bright Farrah saw it behind her lids.
Twenty years old. She was officially no longer a teenager.
Farrah had been dreading this day for years, but twenty didn’t feel so different. She had the same dreams and worries, the same tastes in food and music and clothing. The world didn’t come crashing down.
In fact, she was excited. She had a whole new decade to live and explore, and she was starting it off in the best way possible: surrounded by people she loved in one of the greatest cities in the world.
Twenty could be worse.
“What’d ya wish for?” Luke asked.
“Nice try.” Farrah sliced into the cake, a massive chocolate affair with cream cheese frosting courtesy of Sammy. Her mouth watered at the sight. Knowing Sammy, it’d be delicious. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
“That’s a myth,” Luke scoffed. “I tell people my wishes all the time. For example, I wish you’d cut that cake faster.”
“Don’t be rude.” Olivia loaded the slices onto paper plates and passed them around. She saved Luke for last, which earned her a disgruntled glare.
“Maybe what you wished for is in one of those bags.” Courtney nodded at the pile of presents on the table. She perched on the arm of the student lounge couch, camera in hand and at the ready. “There’s only one way to find out!”
“Subtle.” Nardo laughed. “Farrah, Courtney will combust if you don’t open your presents soon.”
He was acting like a normal human being. It freaked her out.
Leo leaned against the wall on the other side of the room with a smirk. He was on speaking terms with Courtney again, thank god. They weren’t dating—that relationship was over for good—but at least things were back to normal with the group. Farrah wouldn’t have been able to take another second of tiptoeing around Courtney and Leo, trying to avoid saying the other’s name.
“I love presents, even when they’re not for me.” Courtney shoved a medium rectangular box into Farrah’s hands. “Open mine first. Pleeeease.”
“Ok, ok.” Grinning, Farrah unwrapped the present and opened the box to reveal two framed prints. One was an architectural sketch of Shanghai, the other a photo of the group at the Bund last semester. They were on a post-midterms high and had spent the night eating, drinking, and laughing their way through the city. It must’ve been four, five in the morning by the time they circled back to the Bund. By then, the lights were off and the city quiet. Farrah didn’t remember what they did there, but she remembered how she felt—like she’d never been more in love, with a city or with the people around her.
Like anything was possible.
Like the moment would last forever.
In a sense, it did.
Farrah skimmed her fingers over the frame. There she was with her friends, their grins immortalized for posterity.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.” Farrah hugged Courtney, breathing in her friend’s familiar Tommy Girl perfume. “Thank you.”
“Any time, babe.” Courtney squeezed her tight.
Farrah pulled herself together and finished unwrapping the rest of her presents, which included a beautiful monogrammed sketchbook from Olivia, delicate gold-and-aquamarine earrings from Kris, a fun tote from Sammy, and a silk scarf from Leo. She saved Blake’s for last.
Farrah shook the large box. It rattled in response.
“Ooh. What’s this?” Jewelry didn’t make that noise. Maybe a book? No, there were definitely multiple objects in there.
“You’ll see.” Blake’s dimples flashed. The sight eased the tension in Farrah’s shoulders. He’d been acting off these past few weeks—more so than at the beginning of the semester—but he seemed in a better mood tonight.
Stop overthinking. He’s stressed about the bar. That’s it.
It was her twentieth birthday. Farrah wasn’t going to sabotage her own celebration with her doubts.
“Open it,” Blake encouraged. His eyes twinkled with anticipation.
Yep. She was overthinking. Things were fine.
Farrah ripped open the wrapping paper, determined to put those pesky voices in her head to bed once and for all. She gasped when she saw what lay beneath the multicolored foil. “Oh my god, where did you find this?!”
“It took a while,” Blake admitted. “Sammy helped me track it down to a little store in the art district. I think it's the only place in the city that sells it.”
“Are those…” Kris squinted at the box. “Markers?”
“They’re not just markers. They’re limited-edition Pantone dual-ended markers in 150 colors, created in collaboration with Kelly Burke, aka the best interior designer ever. They’re only on sale for a month.” Farah hugged the box to her chest. “They’re beautiful!”
She couldn’t believe it. She’d wanted the markers since Kelly Burke announced the collaboration last year, and now here they were, in her arms. Imagine all the things she could do with them!
Farrah’s mind buzzed with ideas. She was tempted to leave the party right now and start experimenting.
Kris wrinkled her nose. “To each their own.”
“Those markers are expensive.” Leo eyed Blake. “At least a few hundred bucks.”
“Really?” Kris reexamined the set with more respect. “Huh.”
<
br /> In her giddiness, Farrah had forgotten why she didn’t buy the set for herself—the markers were expensive. Too expensive for her to justify their cost, no matter how much she wanted them.
“It was worth it,” Blake said before she could open her mouth. “As long as you like them.”
“I adore them.” Farrah set the markers on the table and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. “Thank you, babe.”
“You’re welcome.” He skimmed the back of his hand down her cheek. “Happy birthday.”
Farrah closed her eyes, reveling in his touch.
Twenty was freakin’ awesome.
She stepped away from Blake to hug Sammy. “Thank you for helping. And for the cake.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out how Blake found out about the markers. The only person Farrah told was Olivia, who must’ve told Sammy, who told Blake.
Still, Farrah was touched Blake and Sammy went to so much trouble to find her present. Finding such a niche product in Shanghai wasn’t easy. She couldn’t believe they sold the markers here at all.
“It was nothing. Blake did most of the legwork. I merely translated.” Sammy kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday.”
“Mmhmm. Thank you anyway.” Farrah winked at Olivia. “You’ve got a good one.”
“Right back atcha.”
The girls exchanged knowing glances.
“I’m going to bring this—” Farrah gestured at the pile of presents. “—up to my room. You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you at 808.”
“I’ll help you.” Blake started gathering the crumpled wrapping paper.
“Sure you will.” Luke smirked.
Farrah’s cheeks reddened. She ignored her friends’ suggestive hoots as she swept the gifts up from the table. “C’mon, Blake. Let’s go. Maybe when we return, they’ll have matured,” she said pointedly.
“Maturity is overrated.” The opening beats of Jeremih’s “Birthday Sex” blasted from Courtney’s iPhone. “Have fun,” she sang. She dragged the last word out to multiple syllables.
Blake chuckled. Farrah’s flush deepened. “I hate you guys.”
“Love you too.” Olivia blew her a kiss. “Happy birthday, babe.”