Alexa nudged him, none too subtly.
“What Drew meant to say right there was that—”
Nik laughed.
“I appreciate that, but it’s okay. Three weeks ago, bringing that up would have made me ‘accidentally’ spill my drink on anyone who did it, but I’m not as sensitive about it anymore.”
“So, Nik,” Alexa said, “Carlos tells us you’re a writer? What kind of stuff do you write?”
She wasn’t as sensitive about the proposal anymore, but she was still glad Alexa changed the subject.
“A combination of investigative journalism and celebrity profiles. Getting to do a profile of Ivy Robinson in the middle of working on a story about foster kids was a real pick-me-up, let me tell you.”
“The profile in Vanity Fair? You wrote that story?” Nik nodded and Alexa’s eyes lit up. “That was such a fun read! My girlfriends and I kept texting each other quotes from it.”
There was nothing like a pure spontaneous compliment to make you like someone.
“Thanks so much. I had a lot of fun writing it. I’m glad it came through for the reader. And . . . I think Carlos said you work for the mayor of Berkeley?”
Alexa nodded.
“Chief of staff.”
“Wow, big job. How do you like it?”
Her wide smile said it all.
“I love it. Sometimes I hate it, obviously, and sometimes it drives me up a wall. But even in some of those times, I love it.”
They talked about both of their jobs for a while, while the guys talked about doctor stuff, until the waitress interrupted.
“Have you guys had a chance to look at the drink menu?” she asked.
Both Nik and Alexa shook their heads; they had been too busy talking.
While Alexa looked at the drink menu, Nik looked around and smiled despite herself. The sunset through the glass roof of the restaurant tinted the sky a soft pink. There were plants growing everywhere and lights hanging from ropes overhead. Even she had to admit that it was stupidly romantic. Carlos reached over and took her hand under the table. The restaurant must be getting to him, too. She smiled at him.
“I’ll have a glass of the sparkling rosé,” Alexa said.
Carlos squeezed her hand. Nik looked down at her menu so she wouldn’t giggle.
“Um, I’ll have one of those, too, please,” she said. He squeezed her hand harder and she squeezed back.
They switched their conversation to the food menu and the four of them hotly debated whether to get fries or mashed potatoes with their steaks (they decided on both).
After they ordered food, Alexa brought the conversation back to Nik’s job.
“I loved all the stuff about Ivy’s stylist in that piece. My best friend is a stylist in the Bay Area, and obviously that isn’t as high profile a job as it is around here, but it was still such a great read for her, especially since Ivy’s stylist is another black woman.”
She still could not believe Carlos hadn’t told her that Alexa was black.
“That’s so interesting that your friend is a stylist. I hadn’t really realized there were stylists outside of the celebrity centers of New York and L.A. But of course there are plenty of people who live elsewhere who need to get dressed, too. I guess I’m so stuck in this world I’ve gotten myopic about it.”
Carlos tapped her on the hand that was just reaching for her wine.
“Excuse me. I hate to interrupt. But what the hell is a stylist?”
The rest of the table burst out laughing, even Drew. Carlos immediately turned on him.
“Oh, so this is something you know? You leave L.A. and now you’re an expert?”
Nik was still laughing, more at the look on his face than anything else.
“I don’t know why Drew knows it, but honestly, this isn’t the kind of thing most people know unless you pay a lot of attention to celebrities, which, for good or bad, I do. A stylist is basically someone to help you get dressed, which sounds stupid, but for celebrities, it’s totally necessary. And honestly, whenever I talk to one, I wish I had one myself.”
Alexa nodded.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what Maddie does. She has some local minor celebrities in her client list, but more of her clients are just really busy women who have to look polished, but don’t have the time or inclination to figure out how to do it themselves. Using people like her has become more common, especially for women who aren’t sample size, whether they’re petite or plus-size or tall or anything else where shopping for clothes is a lot more of a pain. I’m just grateful she’s my best friend and she helps me for free. I wouldn’t be able to afford her on my salary. And I’ll tell you how Drew knows what a stylist is—because Maddie told him he was no longer allowed to go out in public with me if he kept wearing those busted old canvas sneakers he loved so much, that’s how.”
Carlos’s laugh boomed across the restaurant.
“You mean someone actually managed to get him to get rid of those things? I’d been trying for years! I’m convinced of the utility of stylists now—no need to say anything else.”
While they were still waiting for their food, Nik got up to go to the bathroom and Alexa joined her. When they were washing their hands afterward, Nik looked at Alexa in the mirror, and the two glasses of sparkling wine on an almost empty stomach eliminated her filter.
“Okay, I just have to say. Carlos did not tell me that you were black.”
Alexa dropped her hands on the counter.
“Neither of them told me you were black! What is wrong with them? I know Drew saw you on that video, so he definitely knew. I never saw it, though—I don’t pay attention when he’s watching most things on ESPN, except when Serena is playing. When you sat down, I almost killed them both.”
Nik handed her a paper towel.
“I thought you looked surprised when I sat down.”
Someone else walked into the bathroom, and Alexa lowered her voice.
“Pleasantly surprised, obviously, but I mean come on.” She held open the door for Nik on the way out of the bathroom. “But hey, Carlos is great, so now I’m even happier for him.”
Nik decided to ignore that comment. She knew that she and Carlos were on the same page, and if his friends wanted to do some kind of “we want everyone to find the happiness that we’ve found!!!” thing that newly engaged couples did, he would have to be the one to burst their bubble, not her.
After dinner, dessert, and a few after-dinner drinks, the four of them hugged good-bye.
“Well, that was a lot better than I thought it would be,” Nik said when she got into Carlos’s car.
Oops. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“What do you mean? You didn’t think you were going to like my friends?”
She dodged that question.
“You didn’t tell me Alexa is black!”
He froze, halfway through backing out of his parking spot.
“Seriously? I didn’t?” He laughed. “I was just going to say that I’m sure I told you that, but then, I’m sure that’s the kind of thing you’d remember.”
She looked at him sideways, her eyebrows sky-high.
“You’re absolutely right; I would have.”
He shook his head as he drove the short distance to her apartment.
“I can’t believe that. I’m sorry.” He put his hand on her knee and smiled at her. “I guess I’m going to have to find a way to make that up to you, aren’t I?”
She smiled back at him.
“Well, I did have plenty of rosé this evening.”
Chapter Fifteen
. . . . . . .
Wednesday night after work, Carlos drove straight to Angela’s apartment. The last time he was there he’d noticed that her cheap IKEA bookshelf was falling apart, so he’d bought her a new good one. He calle
d when he was outside of her house.
“Hey!” she said when she answered the phone. “Did those million messages in the family group text drive you as crazy as it did me?”
He laughed and got out of the car.
“Oh my God, Angie—I checked my phone after a few hours of seeing patients and panicked because I had thirty-five new messages, but they were just Mom, Tia Eva, and Jessie all talking about Popsicles? What was even happening there?”
Angela sighed.
“I know! I’m sure Jessie’s going stir-crazy, but that made even me want to yell at her.”
Carlos popped open his trunk.
“Please tell her not to do that again. I know you’ll get mad at me if I say it. But also, come open the door. I’m here.”
He hung up the phone and lifted the box with her new bookshelf in it out of his trunk. He was at the front door of her building just as she opened it.
“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming over tonight.”
He walked past her to the elevator.
“Do you have a hot date? I hope so.”
She rolled her eyes as they got in the elevator.
“No, but good try. Just making dinner and getting some work done tonight. What’s in that box?”
He followed her out of the elevator to her apartment.
“A new bookshelf. That old one of yours has got to go, and I knew if you bought yourself one you’d just make me put it together anyway, so I figured I’d do it on my own schedule.”
“You bought me a bookshelf?” She opened the door for him. The smell of garlic wafted toward him. “And you’re putting it together for me tonight? What did I do to deserve this?”
He set the box down on her living room floor and pulled it open.
“Probably very little. Where’s that toolbox I bought you?”
She went to her hall closet and took the toolbox off of a shelf there. When he opened it, he was thrilled to see that things were all in the wrong places. She must have actually used it since the last time he was here.
“Do you want a beer? I have wine, but you always get all fussy about my wine, so I’m not even going to offer it to you this time.”
He definitely couldn’t have rosé around his sister.
“Yes, please.” He slid all of the shelves out of the box and glanced at the instruction manual. This shouldn’t take too long.
“Here.” She handed him a beer and looked over the pile of wood and wood-like materials on her living room floor. “This looks like it’ll be bigger and less flimsy than the one I had. Thanks, Carlos.”
“No problem.” He opened the little bag of screws and reached for a screwdriver. He should have bought Angie an electric screwdriver along with this tool kit. Oh well, now he knew what he’d get her for Christmas. “Are you still in the middle of cooking, or can you hang out and talk to me while I do this?”
She sat down on her easy chair and set a glass of wine on the table next to her.
“I put a roast chicken in the oven like thirty minutes ago, so I have plenty of time. If you want dinner to reward you after you’re done, I’ll have plenty of food once it’s done cooking.”
He screwed the side of the bookshelf to the bottom and grinned at her.
“Oooh, are you making those crispy potatoes to go along with it? I love those things. I could eat a million of them.”
She shook her head and sighed. “Unfortunately, I am. I guess I won’t have any potatoes left over for lunch tomorrow.”
He picked up the other side and fitted a screw into the bottom of the bookcase.
“You definitely won’t. You’ll barely have enough for yourself.”
She took a sip of her wine and watched him for a few minutes.
“Come on, you can tell me about your new girlfriend. I know you have one; I can sense it. I promise I won’t tell Mama if you tell me!”
Of course. He should have known that as soon as she got him alone she would quiz him about that.
“God, no. Don’t worry, if there’s ever anything to tell you about in that category—which there won’t be for a long time—I’ll tell you first.”
She moved to join him on the floor and picked up the bag of screws.
“You’ve just seemed much more relaxed over the past few weeks. It’s nice.”
“Mmmhmmm.” He had been more relaxed over the past few weeks, come to think about it. But that was just because he’d been settling in at work.
He reached his palm out for another screw, and she handed it to him.
“You don’t have any snacks or anything? I’m getting hungry, smelling that chicken cooking and knowing we won’t get to eat for, like, thirty more minutes.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes.
“You storm into my house without warning, take over my living room, claim all of my potatoes, and now you’re demanding a snack?” She stood up. “Next time I’m not answering my phone when you call.”
The emptiest of empty threats. He kept screwing the back of the bookshelf in while she rummaged around the kitchen.
“I was wondering,” he said, his eyes focused on the bookshelf pieces. “What did you do with the money from Dad’s life insurance?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her walk back into the room, but he didn’t look up.
“That trip,” she said after a long pause. She sat down on the couch in front of him. “Remember that trip I took with Jessie to Italy a year later? That’s what I spent it on.”
He stopped pretending he was still occupied with the bookshelf and looked up at her, but she was looking down at her lap.
“I felt like I should spend it on my student loans or a down payment or something, but after you bought that car, I kind of felt free to do what I really wanted to do with it.”
He hadn’t told anyone in his family that was how he’d bought his car.
“Wait,” he said. “How did you know that I used mine to buy the car?”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“Carlos. I’m not an idiot. And I know you better than anyone. Do you think I thought you got a sudden raise or something?”
She had a good point.
“Anyway, your trip,” he said.
She nodded.
“I’d always wanted to go to Italy, ever since he bought me A Room with a View when I was a kid. Dad always made fun of me for how obsessed I was with that book and with the idea of going to Italy someday. ‘Mexico isn’t good enough for you?’ he would say. But he took me to see the movie when there was a showing of it on the big screen at the ArcLight that time and out to Italian food afterward. And at Christmas he would always slip me little things about Italy, like cookbooks or Italian language books, stuff like that.”
Her voice caught, and she stopped for a second.
“Anyway, I did use some of the money to pay off my credit card debt. But the rest paid for tickets for me and Jessie to fly to Rome and train tickets to Florence and Venice.” She laughed. “Jessie got so mad at me for insisting on paying for her, but I told her that Dad would flip out if I went alone, and he would want her to go with me—all of which she knew was totally true.”
He shook his head.
“I thought you guys went because Jessie got that promotion.”
She looked at the framed picture on the wall of her and Jessie on a balcony with Italy in the background.
“That’s what we told Mama and Tia Eva. We knew I would get lectures from them if we told them the truth. Jessie did get that promotion. But it came well after I’d already booked our tickets. Our excuse before it happened was going to be that one of us had had a terrible breakup, but we hadn’t decided who yet.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not sure if that would have worked as well with them.”
; She leaned back against the couch and laughed.
“It definitely wouldn’t have.”
He reached for the bookshelf pieces again.
“So um,” he said as he lined up the little wooden dowels. “About Friday.”
She slowly straightened up.
“What about Friday?” Her voice was soft, gentle. It made him concentrate hard on inserting the dowels into the sides of the bookshelf, so he wouldn’t have to look at her as he talked.
“I don’t know if you have any plans. But I thought it might be nice if we could do something together that day. And maybe . . .” For some terrible reason, his voice caught. “Maybe talk about Dad.”
She sat down next to him and put both arms around him. He abandoned the bookshelf and hugged his little sister close.
“I would love that,” she said. “I would love that a lot.”
He wiped his eyes and hoped she didn’t notice.
“So would I.”
* * *
• • •
Nik got a text from Carlos on her way into Natalie’s Gym on Thursday night.
What’re you up to on Saturday? Want to help me make enchiladas? I’m making a huge batch so Jessie can have some for her freezer, but I promise we’ll get to eat some of our labor.
She had no idea how to make enchiladas, but she had no doubt Carlos would tell her exactly what to do. And she knew the result would be delicious, if he was in charge.
What time and what should I bring?
She asked the person at the front desk where she could find Natalie, and was directed to an office in the back.
4ish. Bring some beer, no offense to rosé.
“Hi.” Nik poked her head into Natalie’s office. “Do you have a second?”
She’d thought for the past few weeks about Carlos’s suggestion to write a piece about Natalie’s Gym and had decided he might be right. A gym in L.A. that had a sliding scale was unusual in the first place, and one that was as positive about all kinds of bodies as Natalie’s was like a unicorn. A ton of women’s magazines would jump at a story about a woman-owned gym in L.A., especially with someone as perky and photogenic as Natalie at the heart of it.
The Proposal Page 19