by Amanda Cowen
I bite the insides of my cheeks, trying to keep my cool.
“And Christina started working as an accountant last month,” Heidi says proudly, glancing in my direction.
How on earth did those two even afford to go to college? They dress like the Hilton sisters circa 2000, and neither of them even worked a part-time job during college.
“Jonesy, I mean Ella…” Ryan quickly corrects himself. “Is at the top of her class. She’s really quite an amazing artist. She paints these crazy beautiful landscapes. She even has one on reserve for me – the Golden Gate Bridge – for when I get my shiny corner office as a lawyer.”
“Of course we all know she’s talented,” Heidi laughs this off. “It’s quite the hobby, just not really one with a foreseeable future.”
“I’m sorry, Heidi. What is it you studied in college?” Ryan asks with a straight face.
I nearly choke on my own saliva. Oh boy.
Heidi looks at him, flustered. “Well… I never went to college.”
“So then you can’t really comment because you never actually earned a degree.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but Mr. Jones said Ella should take something more employable. And then you said it’s quite the hobby, just not really one with a foreseeable future… So I’m just wondering what it was you studied that made you the expert on what Ella needed to focus her energy on other than her artistic talent when selecting a career.”
Our circle falls awkwardly silent. Matthew takes a long pull from his drink and glances around the party, looking for an easy escape. Both Christina and Becka’s eyes are wide and focused in their mom’s direction, anticipating her flipping out because that is normally what she would do when someone challenges her. Parker and my dad remain silent, neither of them moving a muscle.
I can’t even holding back my grin. I turn my attention to Heidi, waiting for her to answer. She looks flippant, her jaw clenched and chest heaving.
“Excuse me, I need to check in with the head chef to ensure dinner is on time,” she finally says before storming away from our circle. My dad gives Ryan an apologetic stare and puffs out a tense breath before following her through the crowd.
“Perhaps we should go find our seats,” Parker suggests, leading Christina, Becka, and Matthew away from Ryan and me, and toward a table at the front of the room.
I glance up at Ryan as he enjoys his Scotch, eyes looking down at me over the rim of his glass. It takes a few seconds for me register the emotions swirling around in my stomach as I watch him, along with the slight grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, but I had to say something,” he murmurs, his voice soft as a caress. “I don’t care if she’s the bride. Nobody puts you down and gets away with it when I’m around.”
My heart gallops when he says this. I’m scared. Not of what he said, but how he said it, and because of what has happened between us. It feels like I’m stumbling backward in my decisions to not feel something more for Ryan. Hearing him stick up for me like that in front of Heidi just lit a fire in me that I’m worried might never burn out.
“You’re on her hit list now,” I warn him.
“I’ll take my chances,” he says, laying a finger against my cheek. “You do know they’re both wrong. You’re going to be the best damn animation artist the world has ever seen.”
I nod, “Thanks.”
He finally smiles when he sees my grin. “Can you finally admit you’re thrilled I’m here?”
I laugh. “Maybe just a little.”
Chapter 19
We survive the rehearsal party. Five courses, three speeches, and a whole lot of champagne later, I am so ready for this rehearsal party to end.
“Want to get out of here?” Ryan whispers.
Sometimes, I swear he can read my mind. “Um, yeah. I’ve been planning our escape since the first course.”
Without an ounce of hesitation, he tosses his napkin down onto the table and rises to his feet, stretching a hand out to me. I glance up at him, his lickable dimples and the playful glimmer in his dark eyes. I smile at how the vein on his forehead pulses whenever he’s excited about something. I place my hand in his, and we each grab another glass of champagne from a nearby tray as he leads us out the door.
I’m almost positive no one will notice I’m no longer at the party. In truth, I’m pretty sure there isn’t anybody in the room who would even care about my absence, including my dad. And who could blame them, really? I am an outsider to their picture-perfect life full of holiday family portraits and backyard barbecues.
The air is cool and the sky is dark. The street lights along the harbor-walking trails cast a smoky glow, and the lake glistens under the moonlit sky. We make our way down the sidewalk, sipping our stolen flutes of champagne and chatting about how over-the-top ridiculous Heidi and her daughters are, and how my dad made a huge mistake leaving my mom. My mom may have mental-health issues, but she is also the sweetest and most selfless person on the planet. She loved him to no end, and still does. It is just such a shame he was too thoughtless to properly love her back.
“Tell me how Rosie is doing,” I say as we walk in the direction of downtown Portland.
He freezes for a second before exhaling slowly. “She survived the rehabilitation center, so at least she is still alive.”
“Is she back at home?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he pauses, thoughtfully. I look up at his face, but it’s hard to make out his features in the dark. “She’s stable, which is good. She’s on new medication. I’ve been calling her every day since she was released. I’m actually planning on going home for a few days next weekend to visit her.”
“Oh,” I say. “Because if you need some moral support, you know I’d drive with you to Sacramento.”
“I know,” he says, smiling. “And I may just take you up on that offer since we never did take that road trip to visit her when she was first admitted.”
We walk a few more blocks in comfortable silence until we stumble upon my favorite ice-cream stand in Portland. I stop in my tracks.
“We have to get one,” I tell him, nodding over to the quaint little shop. “It’s the creamiest, most delicious ice cream you will ever have. Oh, and you have to get a dip, too. My favorite is the birthday cake flavor.”
“Alright,” Ryan smiles. “Twist my rubber arm.”
We walk into the shop and I order for both of us. When I pull out my card to pay, Ryan steps in front of me and hands the cashier a crisp bill instead. I put up a fight, insisting I pay this time, but he refuses. Before I can protest any further, the cashier quickly hands him his change, and simply passes me an ice cream cone with a smile.
We stroll out of the shop and walk across the street eating our ice cream.
“So... you’re officially Yale-bound,” I finally say.
He nods. “Yup.”
“And this is really what you want?”
“No… well… yeah,” he dryly laughs. “I mean… what other option do I have?”
“There are at least another two-hundred plus law schools in the United States. Or a million other graduate programs you could take other than law.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, the defeat clear in his voice.
“So that’s it. You’re giving into life as a corporate hound.” I raise my brows, licking around my cone. “Midday golf, shitty small talk, tailored suits and a seven-day work week.”
He sighs. “You know I have to do this. My father’s expectations are high,” he pauses. His voice is darker when he speaks again. “I already pushed my luck when I insisted I attend San Fran instead of Berkeley.”
“You were supposed to attend Berkeley?”
“Well, yeah. But I really wanted San Fran – I don’t know why. Call it the universe, but I just knew that’s where I needed to get my undergrad. My father immediately put up a fight and assumed I was going to party my education away at some mediocre college and
end up disgracing the Owen family name before Yale was even an option.”
“How come you never told me this before?”
“Because Berkeley was never for me,” he says, meeting my eyes. “And besides, San Fran was the best decision I ever made.”
Eating ice cream in the cool wind makes me even colder, but with one omission he’s managed to inflict a burning heat along my arms and legs, and a tingling in my chest. Somehow, I am able to read between the lines, acknowledging what he really means, blushing as badly as the first time he told me I was beautiful.
“I’ve been lucky to get away with not following the Owen family plan these past few years…but my dad made it clear to me the last time we spoke that it was time to grow up,” he continues as we stroll through a nearby park. “And I’m tired of fighting the fight with him. He’s right… I do need to grow up. Metaphorically, the party is over,” he pauses. “In fact, I can tell you exactly how my life is going to pan out from here. Attend Yale Law School. Work at the law firm every summer until I graduate. Graduate. Return home to Sacramento. Slave away as my dad’s employee, just like Reggie. Find a wife. Buy a ginormous house I can’t afford. Have babies. Be miserable with all my life choices. Then die. That’s it, and that’s all.”
“That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell him as we sit down on an empty park bench overlooking tall trees and walking trails. “Why don’t you just stick up to your dad like you stuck up to Heidi?”
He shifts closer to me on the bench. “I wish it were that simple.”
“It really is, though—” I start.
“I’m going to Yale,” he says in a sharp tone. “I want to be a lawyer, and it’s already a done deal. I submitted my confirmation of enrollment.”
“Okay.” I feel my chest tighten. “If that’s really what you want, I’m happy for you.”
“What about you?” he says quietly. I’m obsessed with the way he’s watching me. His gaze is impenetrable, but the gentle way in which he regards me manages to make my heart flutter and flop. “Did you hear back from any of those other places you applied to?”
I shrug. “I had a couple of promising interviews recently, but nothing lined up yet.”
He exhales slowly, and I sense more than his nod in the darkness. The street lamp hanging over the park bench is burnt out, but a bright slice of moonlight cuts across our feet, illuminating only the very tip of our shoes.
“Have those interviews been for internships in the Los Angeles area?”
I nod. He presses his body alongside mine, lifting my legs and sliding them up over his. The muscles of his quads are defined and firm beneath smooth, warm skin. I know we’ve always been touchy-feely with each other in the past, but this time it’s feels different. I can’t be this close to him and not want to feel more. I want to slide my hands down his body and slip them below his belt. I want the heat of his lips on mine. And I want to hear him pant my name, over and over again.
“You know, my offer is still on the table,” he says, snapping me back to reality. “You can always move with me to Connecticut.”
“There is nothing for me in Connecticut,” I tell him.
He frowns. “I’m there. I’m not nothing.”
“You know what I mean,” I sigh. “There is no work for someone like me in Connecticut.”
A few moments of silence pass between us before he breathes against my hair. “I’m so not ready for things to change.” My heart rate picks up speed.
“Yeah. Me, neither,” I say, trying to keep my cool.
He sits up slightly. “If you could do one thing before we are forced to start adulting, what would you want to do?”
I tilt my head up smiling. This is a no-brainer. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris to visit the Louvre.”
“That would be your big hurrah?” His face breaks into an amused grin.
“Uh, yeah. It has over four floors and three wings with 35,000 works of art, from Mesopotamian, Egyptian and Greek antiquities to masterpieces by Da Vinci, Michelangelo and Rembrandt. I read online that it would take nine months to glance at every piece,” I tell him.
“Wow. You’re such a dork,” he laughs.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Okay wiseass, what would you do?”
He shrugs. “Nah, another time.”
“Oh, come on. Just say it.”
He takes a long pause before he speaks. “I’d want to go to Comic-Con and dress up as—”
“Please don’t say what I think you are going to say.”
“—Han Solo.”
“Wow,” I tease him. “Loser alert.”
“It could be worse,” he protests. “I could want to dress up as a Marvel superhero.”
“I can’t believe you have the balls to call me a dork,” I laugh. “You can’t get any dorkier than Comic-Con. Why don’t you just go?” I finally ask him. “San Diego is a hop, a skip and a jump away.”
“And who am I supposed to go with?” he asks. “Kale would never do that. Jayce might consider going, but he would never dress up with me.”
“I’d go with you.”
His heart is pounding under my palm. He rolls his eyes. “Yeah right.”
“What? I would.”
“Even if I asked you to dress up as Princess Leia?”
I try to suppress a laugh. “Sure.”
“Slave-version Leia?” he asks a little reluctantly, then turns to me with a flirty smile.
“Gross. No,” I playfully shove him. “Rogue version only.”
“I’ll take what I can get, I guess,” he says quietly.
Beneath my palm, his heartbeat slowly returns back to normal. I glance up at him and our eyes briefly lock before I look away.
“Do you ever just wish you could somehow freeze time,” he whispers, his warm breath across my skin. “Like stop just at the good parts, you know…. to just hold onto them for a bit longer?”
You mean like right now? Is what I really want to say, but don’t. Instead, I chew my lip as I contemplate my response.
“Yeah, sometimes,” I finally answer.
“Spring break—” he says.
“What about it?”
He takes a deep breath. “It wasn’t a mistake.”
“Ryan, please, don’t—”
“It’s just that Maisie got into my head,” he continues, but there is a long pause before he speaks again. “Because of what she said… how everything could get messy with everyone. Just hearing someone else say what we were both thinking – when she said it out loud… it just made what we were doing feel wrong somehow. I became consumed with the thought of losing you, and it terrified me, you know?” he says nervously. “I’m just really sorry I hurt you.”
I actually have to look away from him to catch my breath. His voice was heartfelt and anxious, and he looks way too amazing for me to remember we are supposed to be just friends.
“Ryan—” I try to compose myself.
“I never ever want to be the reason you are upset.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I said those things. Your friendship means everything to me.”
A sharp pain pierces my chest upon hearing him use the word friendship. It’s an unexpected pang, and one I’m not sure I am ready to feel.
“I’m sorry too—” I say, before stopping abruptly to keep my emotions in check. “—that I left without saying goodbye.”
“Don’t be sorry. I deserved it,” he says as his eyes search mine. “I acted stupid and then I acted even more stupid that night at Royal Shots when I accused you of seeing Liam—”
“For the record, I was never seeing Liam.”
“I became suspicious and made assumptions. I overreacted. I was jealous, but I had no right to—”
His voice is cut off by the sound of a ringing phone echoing loudly from the front pocket of his pants. He takes a deep breath as he looks down at his phone. He quickly tilts it away from my wandering eyes, but not quickly enough for me to not see Alodie’s name on the screen.<
br />
“You can answer it,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “Nah.” He dismisses her call, puts his phone on silent and tucks it back inside his jeans pocket. I know it shouldn’t anger me that he’s avoiding her call, but it does. So much so, I can feel unshed tears burning my eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? I swear, jealousy is the worst of all emotions.
“Why not?” I stubbornly ask. “Just answer it.”
“No.” He shuts me down immediately. “It’s not important.”
My body is reacting before my mind can reason with it. I stand up and put a safe amount of distance between us.
“It’s getting late,” I tell him. “Maybe we should just head back to the hotel.”
“What? No.” He looks wounded and utterly disappointed. “Let’s stay out a bit longer. Maybe stop into a pub and have a drink?”
“Nah, not tonight,” I tell him. “Big day tomorrow, remember?”
Ryan eyes me suspiciously. “Okay,” he finally agrees, standing up from the bench. “Lead the way back, Jonesy.”
I sleep in the next morning; no point in getting up early. I wasn’t invited to the spa with Heidi and her daughters, and Ryan is on the golf course with my dad and his future sons-in-law. I have a shower and laze around my hotel room in a fluffy white bathrobe, waiting for room service to arrive with my breakfast.
I finally start to get ready for the wedding at around two in the afternoon. Ryan must still be on the golf course because he hasn’t come knocking on my door yet. The ceremony starts at four o’clock down in the courtyard, so he better be ready on time.
I pin my hair into a boho-chic-inspired up do – loose and lofty, with a braid wrapping around the back of my head. I put on makeup and a dark red lipstick to contrast my little black dress.
A swift knock pulls me away from the mirror. I pull open my hotel room door to see Ryan on the other side, looking hot as ever. His 6’2” frame fills my hotel-room doorway, all muscle. I try to covertly check him out as his eyes trail up from my toes all the way to my eyes.
He’s wearing a suit I’ve never seen on him, a smoke-gray one, and a perfect fit across his shoulders and torso. The dress shirt he’s wearing underneath is black, accented with a skinny red tie. His dress pants fit him perfectly; there is a touch of stubble lining his jaw, and his hair seems more slick than normal, swept to the side ever so gracefully. I actually have to look away to catch my breath.