by Max Monroe
Luke: No. You’re the complete opposite, Ace. You go out of your way to make someone feel comfortable when they try new things.
Me: Are you sure? You’re not just saying that because you’re my best friend?
Luke: I know for a fact because I don’t know about art, and you never make me feel inferior because of it.
Luke: You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You’re amazing, beautiful, funny, smart, kind. Any guy who can’t see that or thinks otherwise or makes you feel differently about yourself doesn’t deserve your time, okay? Stop feeling like you have to give these guys any of your fucking energy. He doesn’t make you feel good? Send his ass packing, Ace. On to the next.
Instantly, my chest expands at his kind words.
Somehow, Luke never fails to make me feel good about myself or step up to the plate and support me when I need him the most. It’s like he has a sixth sense of what I’m feeling and what I need or don’t need. Even after I’ve put him through the best friend dating wringer.
Me: Thanks, Luke.
Luke: Anytime, Ace. Ride or die, babe.
It’s amazing how vivid the memory of the first time he said that to me is, back when we were sophomores in college. I smile. I can’t help it, but when I spot Mark heading my way with two glasses of wine and a grin, I slip my phone back into my purse.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I spotted a client of mine.”
“Not a problem.” I smile at him and, out of politeness, take a sip of wine from the glass he hands off to me. “And thank you. For the wine.”
“So…back to the art, I guess…” he mutters, more to himself than me.
But I can’t unhear it, and before we get back to looking at Seraphina’s paintings, I turn to face him. “Do you want to leave?”
“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” A giant, relieved sigh escapes his lungs, and in an instant, semi-polite Mark goes poof into thin air. “Is it just me, or is time moving like a damn snail while looking at all of this shit? Shit that I’m pretty sure any-fucking-one could do, by the way.” He snorts. “Like, I think my mom has better finger paintings from when I was in kindergarten.”
He chuckles. Downs the rest of his wine. And then, holds out his hand.
“Let’s blow this popsicle stand, amiright?”
I look at his hand and then back at him. And then back at his hand.
Out of irrational friendliness, I’m so close to just agreeing with him and leaving the gallery, but Luke’s voice chastises me in my head.
Stand up for yourself, Ava. It doesn’t matter what the fuck this stranger thinks. Just do it.
I want to stay at the gallery and finish walking through the exhibition. And, frankly, I kind of want to do that alone.
Time to shit or get off the pot.
“You know what?” I respond and hand my glass of wine back to Mark. “I don’t really like wine. Actually, I hate wine, but I was just agreeing to be nice and because you seemed like you were insanely bored. Which, honestly, is fine. I get it. Art isn’t everyone’s thing.”
Mark just stares at me, disbelief making the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle, but I keep going.
“And I don’t want to leave. I want to stay. But I think you should leave.”
“You want me to leave?” he questions with narrowed eyes. “Without you?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I don’t think we’re really vibing, you know? So, let’s just cut our losses now.”
“That’s it?” he challenges bluntly, an edge to his voice that makes me feel even more thankful I decided to use my backbone now.
I nod again. “Mark, thank you for giving an art gallery a try, even though it isn’t really your thing. I really appreciated it. Have a good night, okay?”
“Have a good night?” he retorts on a barking laugh and downs the rest of my wine before tossing both of the cups onto a small table below an installation. “Ha. That’s hilarious.” He shrugs on his trench coat. “FYI, sugar, I didn’t go to an art gallery to make you feel all special and shit. I came here because I figured it’d at least get me fucking laid, and if you were lucky, I’d eat your pussy. And, by the way, every woman who gets to experience my mouth on their pussy has the time of their fucking lives.” He shakes his head at me on a sigh. Like I’m the one who’s missing out or something. “And what are you doing on TapNext anyway? It’s not some place to find your fucking Prince Charming, it’s a goddamn hookup site.”
And just like that, he’s gone. Without a goodbye, striding right out of the gallery.
It’s one of the most embarrassing scenes I’ve ever been a part of.
And yet, I feel the best I’ve felt in a while.
Maybe my ride-or-die has been right all along.
Spring break, fourteen years ago…
Luke
I grab the steaming bowl of popcorn from the microwave and walk quickly toward my futon to set it down on the table. The DVD player is fired up, the menu screen for Wedding Crashers dancing with its readiness to be played.
The dorm is pretty quiet otherwise, with most of my fellow co-eds either at home recharging their batteries for spring break or away on nonstop booze-pounding vacations—the latter of which includes my girlfriend, Nicole. We’ve only been together for a couple weeks, and I probably should have taken her up on her offer to join her and seven of her friends in Cancun, but even with last-minute plane ticket and hotel costs aside, it didn’t really sound like that good of a time.
Don’t get me wrong, Cancun for spring break could be fucking fantastic and my uncle Gary probably would’ve spotted me the cash, but I’ve seen Nicole’s friends in action and it almost always ends up in a goddamn drunken disaster. One that I would’ve had to help clean up…every single night.
Instead of a fun-filled vacation, it sounded like the kind of fucking headache Advil can’t cure.
Ready to dive into the movie, I plop down on my futon and pick up the remote. My finger hovers over the play button when, like a whip of thunder in a silent sky, my door flies open and bangs into the adjacent wall with a crack. I jump at the unexpectedly violent entry, and my eyebrows knit tightly together as Ava comes whirling inside my dorm, all limbs and blustery blond hair.
“Code Blue! Code Blue!” she yells frantically, the only other explanation being a series of panting, winded breaths.
I jump to my feet and look behind her, half expecting a fire or, I don’t know, a nuclear explosion, when she grabs me by the shirt and repeats her cryptic plea. “Code Blue, Luke!”
“I don’t know what that means, Ava.” I try to reason calmly, but that only angers her more, and the familiar little line between her eyebrows that forms in moments of extreme emotion digs deep into her otherwise perfect complexion.
“Didn’t you pay any attention to Grey’s Anatomy last week?” she screeches.
“I did. In fact, I paid loads of attention to the sexual dalliances. I don’t remember paying attention to a Code Blue, though.” But Meredith and Cristina and Addison and Izzie? Well, I was definitely paying attention to them.
“It means a medical emergency, you horndog!” She turns to run back out of my dorm, yelling over her shoulder, “Now, come on!”
Real concern hitting me for the first time since she thudded into my room, I grab my Nokia off the desktop in case I need to make a call and take off at a run down the hallway after her.
It doesn’t surprise me that we end up at her room, what with her track record for disaster and all, but Desi is away in Destin, and Ava and Ben broke up two weeks ago. A weird, pinch-y feeling in my chest makes me nervous for whom I’m going to find in there needing assistance.
Ava bounds in the door, and I follow closely behind. We only make it three feet into the small room before I realize something strange is at play and speak up.
“Ava, there’s no one here. Why on earth would you get me all worked up, thinking there’s a—”
It’s almost scary how close I come to saying guy in here. I don
’t even understand it, really. We’re friends. But my God, I wasn’t looking forward to finding some douche with a twelve-foot dick that somehow got injured during sex, lying in Ava’s bed.
Finding the room empty is strangely comforting.
“A…medical emergency,” I finally finish. “We could be watching Wedding Crashers right now, and the popcorn is getting cold.”
“Shut up and get over here!” she yells, scooping a tiny, clearly dead goldfish out of the bowl next to Desi’s bed. “Do CPR. Do mouth-to-mouth! Do something!”
Oh.
I step closer to my frantic friend’s back and put a calming hand to the top of her shaking one as she tries to use her finger to perform chest compressions on Sir Swims A Lot. He’s been a staple in their dorm room since freshman year, and I know Desi has a huge attachment to the little guy.
As it seems, she may not be the only one.
“He’s gone, Ava. I’m sorry.”
A shaky rattle betrays her emotion as she sighs. “What are we gonna do, Luke? Desi loves him. I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to him while she was gone, and now look. He’s dead. Just like Teddys one through four.”
“This isn’t your fault, babe. Fish don’t live forever.”
“This one should have!” she sobs.
Heartbroken at the sight of her heartbreak, I turn her to face me and pull her into my chest and squeeze her tight.
She quivers for a couple minutes, but eventually, she manages to calm down.
It’s only then that the best plan for everyone comes to mind.
“Come on,” I say, scooping the poor little guy up in my hands and heading for the bathroom. “I’m going to help you give Sir a proper toilet burial, and then we’ll head down to the pet store and get another little guy that looks just like him.”
“What? Why would we do that?”
“Because Desi loves him. Loves his company. And because some other little fish would love to have the same from her.”
“Okay…” She pauses and searches my eyes. “But why would you do this, then? Help me get rid of the body and everything?”
“Because you, Ava Lucie, are my ride-or-die.”
She nods then, resolute. “Good. Because I’m pretty sure you’re mine too.”
November 14th
Ava
I step off my elevator and head toward the door of my place, slightly dejected by the fact that I’ve gone on four TapNext dates and none of them has been a success.
I’m running out of time to find someone to take home with me who isn’t a complete stranger, and the anxiety of possibly having to face my web of lies with Callie and my mom is nearly vomit-inducing.
I just want to get in my apartment, turn on the Kardashians, and eat twenty-three pizza bagels to ease the feeling.
But I’m stopped dead in my tracks when I find Luke in the middle of our shared hallway, lying between both of our apartments and sprawled across the old and squeaky hardwood floor.
“Luke?” I question, and he peeks out of one eye to meet my confused gaze.
“Where’s your date?”
“Who the fuck knows, and who cares. I think the bigger question to ask right now is what are you doing?” I ask as he pulls himself off the floor and to his feet. It’s then that I notice the color red on his forehead and right arm and T-shirt. My eyes go wide. “Oh my God, are you bleeding?”
He takes one finger to swipe the red from his forehead and sticks that finger in his mouth and grins. “It’s ketchup.”
A laugh pops from my throat. “What on earth…?”
“I wasn’t sure if you needed another fake emergency.”
But he said—
“I know I said I wouldn’t do it, but Mark sounded like a douche and a half. No way I was going to let you guilt-fuck the guy.”
“Very funny,” I answer and shake my head. On the inside, I’m smiling, but after the hellish date I just had to experience, it’s hard to let happiness prevail. “Is that why you texted me about five minutes ago to see if I was on my way home?”
“Yeah.” He grins, but when he searches my eyes, that grin slips off his lips. “You okay?”
All I can do is shrug, and Luke steps toward me to wrap his big, strong arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug.
“What’s wrong, Ace?”
“Everything, Luke. Everything,” I say on a whisper and bury my face into his chest. “My date was awful, just the absolute worst experience ever. I have to deal with daily emails from Callie about that stupid reunion, and now my mom thinks I actually have a boyfriend and has probably bought him fucking Pop-Tarts for breakfast and a damn stocking to put on the mantel.”
“I only understood about half of what you just said, but…” He pauses and squeezes me tighter as he gently rubs his palm down my back. “I promise everything is going to be okay.”
I sigh into his chest. “God, I hope you’re right.”
We stand like that for a long minute, and he gently sways us from side to side, like we’re slow dancing in the middle of the hallway.
“Did you eat dinner?”
I shake my head.
“You want to come over, order some takeout, and watch Golden Girls?”
“No thanks. I think I’m just going to call it a night and go to bed.”
“No? To the Golden Girls? Sophia would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words urge a giggle to my lips, and he dramatically but also tenderly checks my forehead and cheeks for a fever. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asks, and I can’t stop myself from leaning into his touch and closing my eyes.
God, that feels good…
I lean into his touch more.
So good…
“Ava?” he asks, but his voice has grown oddly quiet.
I slowly open my eyes to find him staring down at me. Brown eyes to blue, I don’t know how long we stand there like that, still in an embrace, and his hand still caressing my cheek.
We’re just looking into each other’s eyes.
And my gaze wants to move to his lips.
Just to see what they look like right now…
“Ava?” Luke whispers my name again.
I don’t know what I want to say or what I want to do or what is even happening, but I look. At his lips. And then back at his eyes. And then back at his lips.
Uh…what are you doing…?
Yeah, what am I doing?
Shit. I blink my eyes once, twice, three times and gently disentangle myself from our embrace and put a few steps of distance between us.
Was I seriously just going to try to kiss my best friend?
No way. There’s no freaking way…right?
“You all right?” he asks again.
“Uh-huh,” I mutter, but I feel all out of sorts. Just…all over the damn place.
But when his eyes fill with concern, I force a little grin to my lips.
“I’m fine. Just tired is all.” I try to reassure him. And fuck, probably myself too. “It’s safe to say I’m ready to take a hot shower, go to bed, and pray that, tomorrow, Mr. Perfect will find me on TapNext,” I attempt to add levity to the conversation, but the words feel all wrong coming off my tongue.
His brow furrows. “Still giving online dating the old college try, huh?”
“I don’t know… I guess so?” I shrug, and just saying that out loud makes me feel desperate. Pathetic. Miserable. You name it, if it’s a bad emotion, I’m feeling it right now.
Pretty sure all that desperation almost made you kiss your best friend…
Lord Almighty, this whole “Find a Boyfriend” circus is starting to wear on me.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Promise,” I lie again, but it’s more for his benefit than mine.
Because I hate to see the worry in his eyes.
Because the last thing I want to do is push my crap onto him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask and step toward my apartment to unlock the door.<
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“Actually, this weekend, I’m back and forth to London. But Tuesday, I’ll be around in the evening. I only have short flights to Miami.”
“Okay, well, be safe out there.” I offer him one last, small smile. “Night, Luke.”
“Night, Ava.”
November 16th
Ava
I should be working.
I should be using my Monday morning time wisely to, you know, go through work emails and walk around the museum and check out the latest art installations—that I’ve been waiting to see all set up for the past three months, mind you—in the South Wing.
But instead, I’ve made two phone calls to bakeries in Lakewood for my stupid high school reunion, and now, I’m busy hiding out in my office, browsing online dating profiles, and trying to avoid my mother’s persistent text messages and phone calls about my nonexistent boyfriend.
Her last message? Ava, you need to tell me his name! P.S. Does he prefer apple or cherry pie? Or maybe he doesn’t like pie at all and would like something completely different for Christmas desserts??
My response? Apple pie is fine, Mom.
But that’s mostly because Rose Lucie makes an insanely good apple pie. Like “move over Betty Crocker, there’s a new dessert sheriff in town” kind of good. It’s also the only kind of pie Luke and I ever eat anymore because he’s convinced himself it doesn’t break his NASA preparation diet as much as chocolate or pecan or even cherry since there are apples in it.
It’s dumb. But he puts up with me, and I put up with him. It’s how we work.
Of course, my mom responds with another three texts about a guy who doesn’t exist and whose name I don’t know because he doesn’t exist, but I act like a child and ignore them.
Sheesh, Ava. This is starting to get really sad.
I wholeheartedly agree with my inner subconscious, but that doesn’t stop my TapNext progress. With one quick tap of my index finger, I pull up the app and go to my ever-changing list of potential matches. The first man on the list is a thirty-two-year-old guy named Henry. He’s not drop-dead gorgeous, but he’s not bad-looking either. I scroll down to his bio and read.