Undone

by Kelly Rimmer

  He shook my hand and took the napkin and we’ve been best friends ever since.

  Last night’s stupid game was probably the shittiest thing I’ve ever done to him, and I was so distracted by the seemingly never-ending drama with Jake that I forgot to clear the air before I went to bed. That’s why, as soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I was sick with guilt. It took me a while to draft an appropriate text.

  Jess: I am so sorry. It’s no excuse, but I was particularly frazzled and I panicked. And I’m sorry I didn’t call you to say sorry last night. Jake and I had another argument and I was distracted. Basically I’m a selfish bitch and you deserve a better best friend.

  Mitch: Did you even stop to think about MY friendship with Jake? And how complicated that would be if you and I were actually—shudder—fucking?

  Jess: No, I didn’t think. But I really am sorry.

  Mitch: You’re not a selfish bitch, but you definitely are an insensitive cow.

  Jess: So you’ve told me. Am I forgiven?

  Mitch: Let me think about it.

  Mitch: Okay, thought about it, and I have a demand. I’ll forgive you if you promise not to drag me to that shitty hipster cocktail bar for the rest of the year.

  Jess: Sorry, not worth it. I guess I’ll just have to find a new guy best friend.

  Mitch: Please. If that was even a remote possibility you’d have done it years ago.

  Jess: See you at the reception?

  Mitch: I’ll be there with bells on.

  Mitch: P.S. You’re forgiven. Yes, you absolutely are an insensitive cow, but you’re MY insensitive cow.

  I exhale a breath and drop my phone onto the bed beside me, because my alarm isn’t even due to go off for another hour, but I’ve been lying here feeling awful about Mitchell for a while now. And now that all is right with the world again, I have to think about the other shocking events of the previous evening.

  Jake.

  I know that despite the busy day ahead, I’ll be thinking about the near miss with him in the doorway all day long. Even on Monday when I’m back at work and Jake is God-only-knows-where gathering berries or bathing in puddles or whatever the fuck he does when he’s “hiking,” I’ll still be both relieved and miserable about the fact that I didn’t get to kiss him again.

  I could have. I could have stood up on my tippy-toes in that way he used to tease me about. I could have put my hands on his shoulders and pulled him down toward me. I could have pressed my lips to his and reminded myself that despite his size and how very different we are in pretty much every way, we also fit together in ways that always blew my mind.

  If I ever managed to fool myself into thinking I hadn’t hurt Jake Winton, last night he proved otherwise. I can be a bit insensitive sometimes, I’m well aware of that, but despite what Mitchell probably thought last night, I’m not a sociopath. As much as I’d have loved to kiss Jake again, doing so would have been unforgivably cruel.

  I get up and dress, then while I sip my first coffee of the day, I answer emails. I’m the CEO of the software company Paul, Marcus and I founded after college. Brainway Technologies makes only one product, a somewhat fancy internet browser. It’s taken twelve years to build the company to the point it’s at now—with offices on both sides of the country and the world at our feet. I love what I do, enough that I work round the clock most days. Today’s actually a rare exception, because once I close this laptop, I’ll be completely offline until tomorrow.

  Just as I’m about to log out and order a car, the interoffice chat client sounds a notification.

  Marcus: Morning, Jess. Are you okay?

  Jess: Are you seriously logged in and working the morning of Paul’s wedding?

  Marcus: Are you kidding me right now? Hypocrite, much?

  Jess: Go play groomsman.

  Marcus: I never understood you and Jake. You’ve always had such a weird dynamic.

  He’s not wrong about that. Jake and I seem to have two modes: push or pull. We fight or we fuck. But Marcus doesn’t know that, he only knows about the fighting part, and especially with a mild-mannered guy like Jake, that probably does seem strange. I guess me and Jake have never made much sense to anyone, ourselves included.

  Jess: I had a bad day, and sometimes, bad days are badly timed.

  I do give Mitch a lot of shit about his awkward metaphors, but the man really does have a way with words.

  Marcus: We were all really worried about you.

  Jess: I’m definitely signing out now.

  Marcus: And worried about Jake too, to be honest. He seemed determined to put you on the spot and I don’t really get why he was being a jerk like that. He’s really not a jerk, is he? Still, if you need me to kick his ass, you just let me know.

  Jess: We both know Jake could pick you up and snap you like a twig.

  Marcus: Jake is essentially the human version of one of those oversize teddy bears. By the way, should I ask him about it today, since you’re not quite ready to explain what that was all about?

  Jess: Mind your own damn business.

  Marcus: Yeah because that’s how this group of friends works.

  Jess: See you at the pier later.

  Jess: And please just leave it. What happened last night wasn’t even Jake’s fault. We talked and we’ve cleared the air, everyone should just let it go.

  I shut the laptop before he can reply and then I order a car.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jess

  ABBY IS WAITING on the sidewalk outside her building looking ready to pounce, as if she’ll quickly hop into the back of the car if the driver just slows down enough. But when the car stops to let her in, she waddles toward the door with visible discomfort. I leap out to help her inside.

  “I’m fine,” she says, but she’s out of breath and clearly miserable.

  “Oh, honey,” I sigh, squeezing her upper arm as she slides inside. The driver behind us is leaning heavily on his horn so once she’s safely seated, I flip him the bird, mouth some obscenities in his general direction, then I join her in the car. Abby shifts until she’s something like comfortable, catches her breath, then glares at me.

  “Fess up, Jess. What the hell was that last night?”

  “I had a bad night. It was badly timed,” I say, wondering if I need to start paying Mitch royalties for the phrase.

  “I’m going to ask you a question and before you answer it, I just want you to know I will never, ever forgive you if you lie to me.”

  “Jesus, Abby.”

  “Did something happen between you and Jake?”

  “Just a squabble—”

  “I always knew you didn’t get along, but watching you two carry on last night, it occurred to me that maybe it was actually the world’s longest mating dance.”

  “Ah—”

  “Oh my God. You didn’t.”

  “What?” I say, defensively. She gives me a pained look.

  “Did you seriously fuck Paul’s brother the night before his wedding? That’s bad even for you, Jess.”

  I’m a little relieved I can deny her accusation without lying, but mostly I’m just desperately wounded by the horror in her eyes.

  “I did not,” I say. I know I successfully keep the defensiveness out of my tone, although I’m not entirely sure I can hide how much she just hurt me. Abby is pregnant and cranky, but she’s generally a wonderful person who would never intend to cause me pain. For a moment I think the moment has passed, but it actually gets worse, because Abby is visibly relieved to hear I kept my slutty mitts off Saint Jake.

  “Thank God for that,” Abby breathes, then she laughs weakly as she pretends to wipe sweat off her brow. I frown at her.

  “We had a chat, cleared the air and then he left. Happy?”

  “Phew.”

  “Are you okay? You look . . .” I scan her expression, then pause. “You look really cranky, actually.”

  “I am,” Abby groans. “I snapped at Marcus because I slept through my alarm this morning, so h
e figured I was tired and he let me sleep. I snapped at one of my contractors yesterday because she edited a video too quickly and I was worried she hadn’t done it properly. I even snapped at Izzy yesterday after you left because she asked me if I knew what was going on with you and Jake.”

  “Par for the course I think, babe,” I say, motioning toward her enormous belly.

  “I’ve had such an easy pregnancy so far,” she sighs. “This week, it just seemed to hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I mean—look at my feet.”

  We both glance down, and I gasp at the size of her ankles. Her feet are in flip-flops, but the bands are tight beneath her toes.

  “Do you still fit into your shoes for today?” I ask her hesitantly.

  “Yeah, I tried them on last night when we got home. They still fit, but only just.” She sighs heavily, then rubs her belly. “So yeah . . . It turns out a twin pregnancy isn’t exactly a walk in the park after all, and I’m tired and headachy and cranky and swollen but . . . okay. Excited. I can’t believe they’ll be here so soon.”

  “How far along are you? I’ve lost count again.”

  “Thirty-one weeks yesterday,” Abby sighs happily.

  “I’m so excited for you,” I say, and I mean it. Abby and Marcus are totally in love, and they’ll make exceptional parents.

  “I am too. But I’m also so excited to get today over and done with so I can put these cankles up.” Abby gives me a pained look, and we laugh.

  “If you need a rest, you let me know. I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

  Abby leans her head on my shoulder as she says, “I know you will.”

  ISABEL IS BESIDE HERSELF. I was there when she met Paul. I was there when they fell in love, and there at their first wedding. Hell, I was even there for the breakdown of her marriage, but I’ve never seen her like this.

  “It’s finally the day! I just can’t wait,” she says, throwing open the door to the hotel suite and beaming.

  “Dear God, how much coffee have you had?” I ask her, aghast.

  “I’ve been up since four. I couldn’t sleep! I’ve had a lot of coffee, I guess. Six cups. No, seven. Maybe I need another?”

  She’s speaking so fast I can barely keep up with her. Abby reaches out and grabs Isabel’s forearm to stop her bouncing.

  “No coffee,” she says firmly. “You need champagne, not coffee. Jess?”

  “On it,” I laugh, and I push my way into the suite and make a beeline for the kitchenette. It’s all elegant furnishings and glamour and flooded with natural light through the floor-to-ceiling windows. My assistant, Gina, arranged some supplies for us yesterday, so I know there are all sorts of goodies waiting to get us through the day. I pour some sparkling apple juice into a flute, then pour two sparkling wines for me and Isabel, and return to the living area to distribute the glasses.

  “We need to make a toast,” Abby says, then she gives me a cheeky glance. “Should I call Jake so you two can arm-wrestle again to see who goes first? That was super fun last night.”

  “What was that about?” Izzy asks with a frown. “I’ve already interrogated her about it. She promised it was just a bad day and nothing untoward is going on with Jake,” Abby answers for me.

  Isabel frowns at Abby, then glances at me and turns back to Abby. I have an awful feeling Isabel is about to defend me somehow, and I also have an awful feeling it would take very little to leave Abby in tears today, so I hastily raise my glass.

  “To Isabel, our dearest friend. May today be everything you’ve dreamed of.”

  Isabel’s expression softens and she raises her glass too.

  “And to you two. Both of you. Thanks for being there for me while Paul and I figured all of this out. I’m not sure how I’d have survived the last eighteen months without you.”

  We all clink our glasses, and just as I raise my glass to my lips, Abby bursts into tears.

  Called it.

  “Happy tears,” she assures us. “I’m so happy for you, Izzy. So happy.”

  WE EAT BRUNCH, then assemble for a team of stylists to work their magic. While Yvette refreshes my mani/ pedi, Shondra does Abby’s makeup and Isla styles Isabel’s hair—and then we all rotate. It’s an almost perfect day, with no more accidentally insulting comments from Abby. I’m with two of my best friends in the world. There’s almost as much laughter in the air as there is chatter, and believe me, we three can chat.

  “Thanks for letting us pick our own dresses,” Abby says to Isabel, when we gather in the bedroom to dress. Izzy gives her a gentle look.

  “The ceremony is going to be really casual and I wanted you to be comfortable. Even if you wanted to wear sweatpants, we’d have made it work.”

  “Sweatpants were an option?” Abby jokes, then snaps her fingers. “Dammit. Wish I knew earlier.”

  I’ve chosen a simple dress in light green silk, with a fitted lace bodice and an asymmetrical skirt that falls above my knees at the front, but almost to my ankles at the back. Abby’s gone for a soft blue baby-doll dress that flatters her pregnant shape in the most beautiful, feminine way. To her mother’s horror, Isabel refused to wear a traditional bridal gown this time around—instead, she selected a blush halter-neck cocktail gown, paired with a sky-high pair of sandals and some blindingly sparkly bling.

  “I just adore this dress on you,” I murmur as I help Izzy zip the back.

  “Mom is still pretty pissed.” She smiles ruefully. “But this is my day, not hers.”

  I remember at Izzy’s first wedding, the way her mom railroaded her into a much more formal day than Izzy and Paul ever wanted. This time around, Izzy grew a backbone—and that’s exactly why her mom isn’t even here, helping her dress this morning. No family drama, Izzy told me a few weeks ago, which is why neither Paul’s dad nor Izzy’s parents and brothers were at the rehearsal dinner. Jake got a free pass because he’s in the bridal party, but all other family members will meet us later at the event space at Chelsea Piers.

  Abby shuffles out from the bathroom in her dress, face flushed and eyes downcast.

  “Abby, you look amazing,” Isabel says gently. Abby gives a self-conscious smile and does half a curtsy. I frown at her sharp intake of breath as she bows, even as she quickly straightens. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but she gives me a pointed look, then shifts her gaze to Isabel. I nod, reading her silent message loud and clear, and focus on helping Izzy get her jewelry on.

  But as soon as Isabel excuses herself to use the bathroom, I turn to Abby with a frown.

  “Is it your back?”

  “It’s my shoes, Jess,” she whispers urgently. “They don’t fit.”

  “But you said they fit last night.”

  “They did. But they’re way too small now. I don’t know how it happened.”

  She drops the shoes onto the floor beside her feet and I feel my stomach drop. Her ankles were huge this morning—now, they are enormously swollen and the skin beneath them is pitted and flushed. I don’t know how she’s even walking.

  “Abby,” I whisper. “That’s . . .”

  “I just need to put my feet up,” she interrupts me. “As soon as we get through the ceremony, I’ll sit down at the reception and prop them on a chair. I promise. Don’t make a fuss, but you have to help me find something I can wear on my feet.”

  I look at her helplessly. She’s close to tears, her gaze pleading with me, and I sigh and reach for my phone.

  “What are you doing?” she asks me in alarm.

  “I’ll text Mitch and get him to swing by the—”

  “What’s going on?” Izzy asks, returning to the room. Her gaze drops to Abby’s feet and she gasps. “Abby! Oh my God, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Abby says, but her lip wobbles just a little now. “I’m so sorry, Izzy. My shoes don’t fit.”

  “Can you wear your flip-flops?” Izzy asks, without hesitation.

  “Of course, but—”

  “So wear them. Who cares?”

&
nbsp; “Izzy, they’ll look ridiculous,” Abby says, her voice uneven.

  “Don’t wear any shoes, then.”

  Izzy and I exchange a glance, and then at the exact same time, we grin.

  “Barefoot bridal party. Like a beach wedding!” I say, bending to unbuckle my own shoes.

  “Oh my God. Why didn’t we think of this earlier?” Isabel asks as she bends to slide off her own shoes. As soon as she kicks them away, she exhales in bliss. “Ah. That’s better already.”

  “You two are insane. We can’t all be barefoot at your wedding!” Abby protests, laughing tearfully.

  “Actually, I can do whatever I want at my wedding,” Isabel says pointedly.

  “She makes an excellent point,” I agree.

  “Plus, this will really piss my mom off. So, it’s a win-win.”

  We all laugh, but then Abby’s smile fades.

  “Are you sure? I’m sure we could find someone to pick me up some . . . I don’t know . . . clown shoes or something,” she mutters. Isabel laughs and shakes her head.

  “We’re definitely doing this. Come on, then! Are you two ready?”

  I help Abby up from the bed, and we both stare at Isabel, who has already bounded out of the bedroom.

  “God, she’s exhausting like this,” Abby laughs softly.

  “Abby,” I say, very quietly, and I catch her elbow before she moves to follow Izzy. When she turns back to me, I keep my expression soft. “I want you to promise me you’ll call your OB about this swelling tomorrow.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s go get this Energizer Bunny married off before her batteries run low.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jake

  PAUL, MARCUS AND I stopped in early at a bar on the pier for a drink. Partly to kill time, but also, as Marcus suggested, because maybe a beer might help my brother relax.

  “Unless you could prescribe him something . . . like a light general anesthetic or something?” Marcus suggested under his breath as we watched Paul pace up and down the length of his apartment. He was already fully dressed when Marcus and I arrived, and for the entire hour we sat at his place “to keep him company,” Paul paced.