by Penny Reid
“Matt Simmons? I don’t think so.”
“Think again. I spotted them out shopping together at the Hugo Boss store. She helped him pick out ties.”
This was news to me. “She did?”
“And a man doesn’t ask just anyone to help him pick out ties.” His tone was thoughtful as he stared off into space.
“Damn it.” I rubbed my head again. I felt like I’d been rubbing my head all day. “There’s got to be someone.”
“Yes. There is.” Steven moved his gaze back to me. “And it’s the most obvious someone.”
I squirmed in my seat, my heart doing another round of ask him, ask him, ask him.
He grabbed my hand, as though to preemptively keep me from fleeing. “All right. Enough is enough. I can’t believe I’m going to ask this—you know my feelings on the sacredness of Vegas—but you have got to tell me what happened between you and Dan at Janie’s bachelorette party.”
I winced. “You don’t want to know.”
“Did he take the hot dog bus to taco town?”
“What?”
“The sex, Kat.” Steven rolled his eyes. “Did you have the sex with Dan the Security Man?”
“No. No, much worse.” My words were anguished, because the memory tormented me.
“In my imagination, literally everything is worse than having the sex with delicious Dan,”—Steven pushed my shoulder—“so you’re going to have to be more specific and tell me what happened.”
“Does this place have any cheese?” I craned my neck, searching for the fridge.
“No cheese until you tell me what happened.”
“Just once I would like to be the person that wanted to go exercise when they had a bad day, and not eat a block of cheese for dinner.”
“And I want Hugh Jackman’s body.”
“You could if you lifted weights.”
“No. You misunderstand. I don’t want to look like Hugh Jackman. I want his body.” Steven gave me an unapologetic shrug, and that plus his cheeky words made me laugh.
“Good, a smile.” He patted my leg. “Now tell me what happened in Vegas, ’cause it obviously didn’t stay there.”
“Fine.” I tugged my hand from his, suddenly too exhausted to dodge his questions. “I was drunk. If you recall, Sandra spiked our drinks that night, she misunderstood or didn’t realize it was absinthe. I don’t remember much after that until I woke up in bed next to Dan the next morning. I was in my underwear and so was he.”
“Oh! Do go on.” Steven leaned in.
“I assumed we’d slept together.” I peeked at my friend. “And that made me so very, very sad.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I didn’t remember it. I’d promised myself that those days—of getting drunk or high or waking up next to someone, not remembering much from the night before—were behind me.”
Steven’s look of confusion dissolved into one of patient understanding.
I’d told Steven about my teen years, about how I’d tried to “live life to the fullest,” or what the world plus my fifteen-year-old brain told me living life to the fullest meant. Convinced I’d eventually become my mother, I wanted to spend what limited time I had left doing everything, feeling everything, experiencing everything. And when I was too shy to try things on my own, I’d turned to the inhibition-loosening powers of alcohol and drugs.
But by seventeen, I was so tired. Tired, dissatisfied, remorseful, and miserable.
We traded stares for a few seconds, and then Steven gently nudged my knee. “So what happened next?”
I glanced at my hands, at the pale pink polish I’d applied last night. It hadn’t yet begun to chip. “Since I assumed we’d slept together, I told Dan to,”—I glanced around the apartment, not able to meet my friend’s eye as I continued on a rush—“I told him to look for the condom because I didn’t usually remember using one, and I wanted to make sure we had. He asked me something about what I meant by ‘usually.’ And then I basically admitted that I’d had a bunch of drunken one-night stands.”
“And what did he do?”
I rolled my eyes at myself, because the memory still stung. “He couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, but not before he told me nothing happened between us. That I’d puked, and he’d stayed to make sure I was okay. But that nothing had happened.”
“So why were you in your underwear? Why didn’t he leave you in your clothes?”
“The dress I’d been wearing smelled like smoke and vomit. I assume he removed it because of the smell.”
“Hmm. I guess that makes sense.”
“So, that’s it.” I glanced at my friend and found him frowning thoughtfully. “Can we get back to the problem at hand? I can’t believe I’m asking this, but what do you think about Charles? The doorman. He seems nice.”
“Charles?” Steven’s expression told me he was either confused or constipated. “I’m not finished talking about Vegas, because that doesn’t seem like Dan. I’ve never known him to be judgmental. Generous? Yes. Adorable? Bossy? High-handed? Loyal? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Judgmental? No.”
“It was more like,”—I shook my head, struggling to find the words—“he was disappointed. Like he’d expected me to be one way. Who I actually was, who I am, disappointed him.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s still an assholeish thing to do. So what if you’ve had one-night stands? That shouldn’t make any difference. I bet he’s had one-night stands. Why should he care who you’ve slept with?”
“I get it. I do. I’m—”
“Don’t you finish that sentence unless the next words out of your mouth are, ‘I’m sexy and fabulous, he’d be lucky to peel my grapes while wearing a loincloth.’”
My mouth formed a rueful line. “No. I do get it. The drugs, the stealing and shoplifting, living on the street, thinking only about myself. Sometimes I run into my old friends, the people I used to run with. They love that lifestyle and still thrive in it. Most of them, not all, have no responsibilities, no mission in life other than to get high and get laid. I can’t judge them because I’ve been there, and I know why I thought it made me happy for a time, but I wouldn’t want to be involved with any of them now. What I want now is so different.”
“Better.”
A familiar frustration made my throat tight; whenever I tried to explain this, explain my perspective on my past, I never felt like I had the right words. It was easy to sound like I hated the person I was, or that I was ashamed of my decisions. The world told me I should be ashamed. I hated certain parts of myself, some of the memories, and I was definitely ashamed of the stealing, though I’d worked hard to make restitution.
But everything else? I’d made mistakes. Big ones. Small ones. And I was trying to learn from them.
Choosing my words carefully, I focused my attention on the window behind him. “I don’t think it’s fair of me to say that what I want now is better in general. I can’t speak for other people, what brings them fulfillment. What I can say is, for me, it’s better. I’m happier.”
“See? This is what I’m talking about. All this wisdom.” He made a sweeping gesture to my whole person. “How can you still have a thing for someone who walked out on your amazingness? Why haven’t you moved on from him?”
A twinge of guilt and doubt had me pulling at the wrist of my cardigan. I was speaking as though I was an authority, but in truth I still had issues. Additionally, I had no experience with monogamy, only hopes for it. Hopes that it would help me rewrite the intimacy script I’d drafted in my head, leading to a healthier—for me—future.
“Anyway,”—I needed to get us back on track—“whatever his reason for leaving that morning, he left. After that, he’s never looked at me the same.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before Vegas, I felt sure he was interested. He used to give me . . . sexy eyes, you know?”
“I don’t know. So complete is your dedication to avoiding the man, I’ve never seen the two of you in the same room. Bu
t I get what you mean. And then after Vegas?”
“He stopped. He’s always been really nice, polite, friendly. But he’s never looked at me the same.”
“Maybe you haven’t given him a chance?”
“No. The way he looks at me now, it’s like he’s either overly polite, or irritated with me, like I annoy him.”
“And you’ve never talked to him about it? About what happened in Vegas?”
“No, you know how I was.”
“Was?”
“Come on, I’m not nearly as shy as I used to be.”
“Correct, you’re not as shy. You’re just exponentially more rigid and controlled.”
“That’s not true. Since I started seeing Dr. Kasai, I’m much better.”
“Fine. You’re much better. Please do go on, because you were just telling me how you never spoke to Dan about what happened between the two of you in Vegas.”
I ignored the sarcasm in his tone. “As you know, Dan started dating Tonya a few months later.”
“She’s nice.” Steven paired this with a reluctant smile. “I like her.”
“I know. And she’s smart. And really pretty.” I nodded, my heart hurting because my affinity for Tonya had been one of the worst parts of Dan dating her. I’d liked her before they’d dated, while they’d dated, and still, after they’d broken up.
“And she makes those lemon bars for the building’s Christmas party.” Steven pushed his bottom lip out in a little pout. “I hope she makes them this year. I always bring a bento box to stash them in and take extra from the tray.”
“She gave me the recipe.” I grimaced. “I don’t know why he broke up with her.”
“I have some suspicions.” Steven straightened in his seat. “But, oh well. He did. That ship has sailed. Which means he’s single and ready to mingle. Plus, I want to set her up with Carlos.”
I chuckled, mostly because it was all I could do in the face of crushing anxiety about my future. “I need to get married. I have to find someone to marry. Eugene said I need to make this happen as soon as possible, which means I need to find someone today, go to the courthouse this afternoon, so I can get married tomorrow.”
Steven regarded me, tapping his chin with his index finger. “Hmm . . .”
“Hmm what?”
“Do you think—and this is purely hypothetical so don’t freak out—if you explained the situation to Dan, asked him to marry you, he would?”
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t want to lie. It would probably be horribly embarrassing, but he’d probably say yes if I explained how dire the situation was. My nausea returned just thinking about it.
“You’re not helping.” I glared at my friend.
“Oh, but I am. You said yourself he’s not interested in you, and didn’t your uncle Eugene say he wanted you to marry someone trustworthy? Someone you’ve known for years? Someone who wouldn’t complicate things with icky feelings? If you’re so sure Dan doesn’t think of you ‘in that way,’ then why not?”
“Steven.”
“Kat. Think about it. He’s actually perfect for the job.” My friend gave me the impression he was talking himself into this idea in real-time, as we sat on the couch. “Dan won’t care about Caleb’s threats, and Pharma Bro won’t scare him one iota.”
I stayed silent because Steven was absolutely right. Just the thought of Caleb trying to intimidate Dan was laughable. The stocky security executive’s reaction to Caleb’s threats would almost be worth the abject humiliation of asking Dan for help.
Almost.
But not quite.
Steven was still speaking, “. . . hilarious. And deserved. Have you ever seen Road to Perdition? It would be just like that, but with less trench coats and hats. Also, Dan will be impervious to bribery. He has enough money already. He’ll be impervious to it all—”
“Yes, but I’m not impervious to him.” My face crumpled and I covered it with a hand.
“Oh, lamb chop.” He placed his fingers lightly on my shoulder and I shrugged them off.
Taking three deep breaths, I stood from the couch, moving out of Steven’s reach. Wally followed, standing from where he’d been curled next to my feet.
I spoke when I was sure I had myself under control. “I’m sorry. I still like him. A lot. Even after he left me in Vegas. Even while he dated Tonya. I avoided him because I like him so much. Do you really think it’s a good idea for me to ask the guy I haven’t been able to move past in two years to fake-marry me?”
“Yes. I do.” Steven also stood, reaching for and holding my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Honey, you’re out of options. And even if you weren’t, I think it’s the best idea I’ve had all month. And that’s saying a lot because I just bought a gorgeous new rug.”
I shook my head, but before I could offer new objections, he cut me off. “You said it yourself, you haven’t been able to move on from Dan. Honey, that’s nuts. It’s not normal, as an adult, to be hung up on a guy for over two years and never do anything about it.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Stop avoiding him. Marry him. Confront the situation. Think of this as killing two birds with one stone. He’ll be impossible to avoid. Once you actually know him, then you’ll let go of this super unhealthy fascination with a man who, yes, is very hot, and nice, and funny, yada, yada, yada, but who isn’t worth your unrequited affection. You can move into the safe and neuter-feeling friend zone.”
“You realize this suggestion makes absolutely no sense.”
“You realize this suggestion is genius.”
I groaned, moving farther away, wanting to pull my hair out. Wally again followed, shadowing my movements and wagging his tail. “I don’t have time to debate this with you. I need to—”
“Then I have a proposition. You ask Dan, today. Wait for him here. When he gets home, ask him. Tell him the minimal amount of information required to get the importance of the situation across. If he doesn’t immediately say yes, if he hesitates at all, then I’ll marry you.”
“Of course he’s going to hesitate.”
Steven held his hands up. “Then I’ll marry you.”
“And what about your boyfriend?”
“I’ll talk to him tonight. He’ll understand, or I’ll make him understand. I hope. Don’t worry about it.”
“No. No. That’s not fair—”
“Like I said, you ask, and if the words out of his mouth aren’t an immediate, ‘Yes. Let’s do this,’ even if he pauses for a moment to deliberate, then tell him it was an early April Fool’s Day joke, call me, and we’ll go to the County Clerk’s office tomorrow.”
“Steven.”
“Trust me. I insist.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. If I tried to speak, I had a feeling I’d end up screaming instead, and I didn’t want to do that.
Swallowing my pride, I nodded. My lungs were on fire.
I would wait here for Dan. I would ask him to marry me. It would be humiliating. In the end, I had no doubt Steven and I would be the ones getting married.
Chapter Three
Mental incapacity. 1 :an absence of mental capacity. 2 :an inability through mental illness or mental retardation of any sort to carry on the everyday affairs of life or to care for one's person or property with reasonable discretion.
—Merriam-Webster Dictionary
**Dan**
What did you just say?” I checked my watch again. I didn’t have time for this shit.
After ten on a weekday. I was running late on one of the rare nights I’d get to sleep in my own bed. Steven needed to get home.
We were at the East Randolph Street property, on the north side of Millennium Park. Our main office was downtown, but we’d moved the data center to the apartment building a few months ago. Since Cypher Systems owned the whole building—and controlled all access points and ports in or out of it—Alex, Quinn, and Fiona believed the apartment building was the more secure option.
So here we were, in the apartment building where I lived, working late into the night, and I hadn’t yet had a chance to go home. Unbelievable.
Quinn glanced over his shoulder, giving me a look. “I said bring a Tonya. It’s a couple thing.”
I crossed my arms, returning his evil eye. “Tonya and I split.”
Quinn did that thing, that stupid thing where he waved his hand in the air like he was shooing away a bug. “I know.”
This was a stupid thing he’d been doing since we were kids when he didn’t want to talk about something. What did he think? That I wanted to talk about this shit? I needed to go. Now.
“Why do you want me to bring Tonya?”
“I meant a Tonya.” Again with the hand wave. “Bring a Tonya.”
“Bring a Tonya?” I scratched the back of my neck, not following. “You mean someone who looks like Tonya? Why does my date need to look like Tonya?” Checking my watch again, I rubbed my wrist. Steven hadn’t called, but I didn’t like being this late. Unfortunately, more and more over the last month, this had become the norm.
“I don’t care what she looks like as long as she knows how to act at these things.” More hand waving. “Like Tonya.”
Ah. I got it. Okay. No biggie.
But if he thought he could give me the impatient hand wave, then that was my cue to annoy him. “You’re going to bring up my ex-girlfriend and that’s all I get?”
“What?” His tone clipped, he glared at me.
“The least you could do is offer me tea.” I shrugged, sniffed. “What if I’m still emotionally unstable about the breakup?”
Alex made a sound, like he was trying to hold in a laugh.
Quinn wasn’t laughing.
“Hey, I have feelings.” I mimicked his stupid hand wave. “We were only together for two years, but—”
“No, you weren’t,” Quinn grumbled.
“Yeah, we were. We hooked up just after New Year’s, and—”
“You weren’t together. You were passing time.”
“She had a toothbrush at my place.” I was pushing the issue for no reason, but something about his easy dismissal of Tonya pissed me off. It also made my neck itch. My neck only itched when I felt guilty about something.