Boring Is The New Black

by Megan Bryce

  He glanced at her turned-away face. “Was it something I wasn’t supposed to say?”

  Nicole said, “It’s okay, I just don’t know. . .how to reply.”

  “Well. That’s what I said when your mother said it. Well.”

  “Well, then. Well?”

  “It wasn’t a question. It was, ‘Well, then. Look at that. You’re right.’”

  Silence.

  Stop.

  No.

  Not welcome.

  Flynn looked out his side window.

  They stopped at a red light and Nicole said softly, “We’ve only known each other well for a few months now. You can’t really know me enough to love me.”

  His eyebrows flew up. “I can’t know you enough to love you? Can I like you? I can want you?” He turned toward her again, saw the crack in her mask, and said, “Oh. You think I love Nicole Bissette.”

  “I am Nicole Bissette.”

  “No, you aren’t. Okay, yes, you are. But that’s not all you are. And that’s not the part of you I love. She’s got that crazy-bitch-I’m-resting face and I don’t mind telling you that it’s a little scary.”

  “Flynn–”

  “But maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s too soon. I mean, if you don’t think you might love me too, then I must think I love you because you’re Nicole Bissette.”

  “You didn’t say I think I love you. You said I love you.”

  He stared at her. “It loses a little something when you add the I think to the front of that statement.”

  “It would have made me feel better.”

  He continued to stare at her and she said, “I think it’s safe to assume I have some issues. See how that makes it easier to swallow?”

  “Easier to swallow. I see.”

  “Flynn. . .”

  He took a deep breath. “Yes?”

  She looked down at her hands gripping the steering wheel so tight it was going to break in two.

  “Nothing to say,” he said. “Can’t even consider the idea that I might actually love you. Can’t even let yourself wonder if you love me?”

  He opened the door, in the middle of the night, on some random corner nowhere near his apartment.

  “Well,” he said, and he walked away.

  Thirty-Six

  The steering wheel cracked ominously under Nicole’s hands and she oh-so-calmly took her hands off it.

  And then she oh-so-gently locked the doors.

  She watched Flynn walking away in her rearview mirror and she flinched when the car behind her honked its horn impatiently.

  The light had turned green and Nicole didn’t know what to do. Didn’t want to leave Flynn, didn’t want to go after him.

  The other driver pulled around her, giving her the New York salute as he passed, and Nicole slowly angled her car over as far as she could and put on her hazard lights.

  She watched Flynn wave down a taxi. Watched him get in.

  Watched him drive off.

  Nicole pulled back in to traffic, driving so slowly and so carefully that she pulled into the first parking spot she saw with relief.

  She oh-so-gently picked up her phone and oh-so-calmly texted Gia.

  Awake?

  She closed her eyes and silently begged.

  Please, please, please. Be awake.

  Less than a minute later, her phone rang and Gia said hello with, “Did you know that they have the death penalty in Florida?”

  Nicole said breathlessly, “I did not know that.”

  “I looked it up. And it may or may not be related, but lots of people die accidentally as well. On the beach, in the everglades, from too much beer.”

  “I’m sorry you want to kill your boss.”

  “Thank you. Why do you sound like you’re talking through a straw?”

  Nicole took a shallow breath.

  “Because I think I’m hyperventilating.”

  “Put your head between your legs and take big breaths.”

  Nicole pushed her seat back so she could bend over, and Gia sing-songed, “Big breath in. Big breath out. One arm up. One arm down. One foot pointed. One foot flexed. One eye open. One eye closed. One cheek clenched. One cheek loose.”

  Nicole opened both eyes and sat up. “Are you just making this up?”

  “Worked didn’t it? Why were you having a panic attack?”

  “I’ve had a really rough couple of hours.”

  “Story time! Let me get comfortable. . . Okay, go.”

  Nicole didn’t go. She just sat there, not knowing what to say and where to start. Not even to someone who knew her and loved her and wouldn’t be at all surprised that she had issues.

  Gia waited a beat, then said, “Just start at the beginning.”

  So Nicole started at the beginning of the end.

  “Scott called me from a club because he’d been making out with Colette.”

  And wasn’t it both funny and sad that the knot Nicole hadn’t realized was squeezing her stomach and chest loosened when she could focus on Scott and Colette and not Flynn.

  Gia said, “Wait, Victoria’s Scott? Your brother, Scott?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s. . . I’m trying to work it out. . . Are they blood related in any way?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. So the ick factor is just that you’re related to both of them and it’s not actually illegal?”

  “It’s illegal. She’s seventeen.” Nicole took another, slightly bigger, breath. “She says they didn’t, you know, though. So not illegal, I guess.”

  “Isn’t her birthday coming up, too?”

  “Thank you. You’re really helping me get through this.”

  Gia laughed. “Sorry. You’re right. Next month, when she’s still your sister and he’s still your brother and the age difference is no longer illegal but still disturbingly large, their relationship will still be icky. This is all Nonna’s fault.”

  Nicole could normally follow along the jumps Gia made with her logic, but this escaped her.

  “How is this your grandmother’s fault? If anything, it’s still my mother’s. Should have told us all years ago.”

  Gia cackled in an old witch’s voice, “Your brother will fall in love with your sister, he will! Doesn’t that sound like a curse that would accompany the evil eye?”

  Nicole blinked. Then her shoulders started to shake. And then the laughter poured from her along with a few lonely tears.

  She found a tissue in her purse, wiping her eyes and her nose and saying, ”Okay, that helped. They don’t have a relationship, they aren’t in love with each other. It was just an accidental hookup at a club. It’s not like they’re going to even see each other again.”

  And while Nicole hated to admit her mother could be right about anything, Colette had been embarrassed that Scott was her brother.

  Nicole had gone into her room, not saying a word, and Colette hadn’t said anything either. Just looked at herself in her vanity mirror until she’d cried out, He’s your brother!

  Yeah.

  I know you think I have daddy issues but this is weird right here! Did I know? How could I have known?

  I didn’t know. Victoria almost married him and I didn’t know.

  Really?

  Nicole had nodded and Colette had sniffed.

  I was attracted to my sister’s brother. Like, seriously. I took one look at him and wanted him. I don’t know what that says about me but I’m pretty sure it’s not good!

  Nicole had kept her face carefully blank and said, We don’t look anything alike.

  No, that’s true. You’re a mini-Nikita. Anyone could have been your father, she’d said and then jumped from her chair. Maybe he’s not your brother!

  They did a blood test.

  Colette had deflated again and then said in a small, sad voice, Do you think it was, like, unconscious?

  And Nicole had hugged her and petted her hair.

  No. Scott doesn’t look anything like me. He’s handsome
and has perfect hair. He wears a TAG Heuer and $500 pants. He’s catnip to your inner kitten.

  He really is. I just wanted to rub myself all over him.

  Please, stop.

  Colette had squeezed her so tight and whispered, Are you mad at me?

  Yes, I’m mad at you. Mad that you went to that club, mad that you were doing who knows what drugs. Mad that you’d made out with some random dude who was twelve years older than you. I’m not mad that it turned out to be Scott.

  Okay, good. All that other stuff you were already mad at me for anyway. I’m glad it’s not anything new. Glad it’s not because I’m weird and messed up.

  Gia said, “You sure they’re not going to see each other again?”

  “Colette is freaking out about it still. Scott looked like he wanted to drown himself in the nearest toilet. If he gets over it too quickly. . . I’ll do something. I don’t know.”

  “You can sick Victoria on him.”

  Because adding another messed-up relationship to the mix would surely make everything all better.

  Nicole asked reluctantly, “Have you talked to her?”

  “Yes. She’ll get over it.”

  Nicole didn’t know about that.

  “Don’t let her be alone right now, okay?”

  “You can call her, you know.”

  “I’m complicated. He’s my brother now and let me tell you something, it complicates things!”

  “So you’re just going to let her get over it before you talk to her again? Victoria?”

  Nicole smiled a little. “No. I’ll call her. When I think she should be over it.”

  “I’ll let you wait until I think she should be over it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay. Now what else happened tonight because it sounds like disaster was averted re: Scott and Colette.”

  And Nicole just blurted it out because she didn’t think she could get it out any other way.

  “Flynn told me he loves me.”

  Gia gasped. “Awwww.”

  “I told him he didn’t.”

  Gia sucked in a breath. “Ayyyyy. This was a bad time to move away.”

  “There was never going to be a good time.”

  “Probably true. Was he naked when he told you? It’s pretty common knowledge that’s a bad time to do it and you could make the whole conversation his fault.”

  “No. We’d just come from dropping Colette home and he just said, ‘I love you,’ like. . . like. . . like he just wanted me to know.”

  Gia waited.

  Nicole whispered, “I told him thank you.”

  “Okay, I can hear your voice closing up again. Put your head back between your knees and big breath in. Big breath out. One hand open. Smack your self.”

  “Oh, just stop it. I know it was bad. I can’t think of anything worse I could have said.”

  “Die rebel scum?”

  Nicole leaned her seat all the way back and put her arm over her eyes.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “Go watch Notting Hill.”

  Nicole pulled her arm from her eyes.

  “Huh?”

  “Go watch it. I’ll wait.”

  Gia hung up.

  Nicole called her right back.

  “I’m in crisis mode here!”

  “I know. Thus the romantic comedy featuring the adorable Hugh Grant when he was adorable and not too old to be in a romantic comedy.” Gia took a breath. “You’ve tried sugar, it was an epic fail. Try this. And don’t call me back until you’ve watched it.”

  Gia hung up again and Nicole put her phone away.

  She put her seat back up.

  And then, because she had no friends left, and sugar was a definite fail, she went home and found Notting Hill online and watched it.

  A couple hours later, Nicole called Gia back, not caring whether she was awake or not.

  Gia answered, groggy but lucid, with, “Did you really watch it or did you just wait long enough for me to think you watched it?”

  “I really watched it.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Thank you, Gia. Now I know exactly what to do.”

  Nicole said, “First of all, my life is not a movie.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “And second of all, the answers to Life, the Universe and Everything are not in a fifteen-year-old rom-com featuring the adorable Hugh Grant.”

  Adorable. . .

  Were men allowed to be adorable in real life? Sweet?

  Selfless and kind?

  Were they allowed to be support staff? Play second fiddle?

  Gia sighed. “Go watch it again. I’ll wait.”

  “Don’t hang up–”

  Nicole shook her head at the dial tone and put her phone away, wondering what kind of life you had to live to actually believe in happy-ending, fairy-tale love.

  She was awoken a few hours later by the incessant ringing of her phone and was a lot more groggy and a lot less lucid than her friend when Gia said, “Did you watch it again?”

  “I decided to sleep instead.”

  “What happened to crisis mode?”

  “I think five a.m. happened to crisis mode.”

  “Then let me remind you. A wonderfully normal man told you he loved you and you said. . . say it with me now. . . thank you!”

  Nicole closed her eyes, wanting to hide under her covers forever.

  Gia said, “Now then. What did you learn from Notting Hill?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nope. You learned that a regular Joe Schmoe can fall in love with a goddess. You learned that a goddess can fall in love with a regular Joe Schmoe. Have you?”

  “What?”

  “Fallen in love with your regular Joe Schmoe?”

  “Of course not,” Nicole said without thinking.

  “Because. . .”

  “I don’t know what love is supposed to look like. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Bullhonky. You have. And even if that was really true, you don’t have to have seen it before to know what love looks like.”

  “Gia, this is real life.”

  “Nicole, do you love Flynn? Don’t think about it, don’t worry about it. Just answer me. Do you love Flynn?”

  “Yes! I love him! Maybe! It doesn’t matter!”

  “It matters. Go say it back to him. Tell him you’re sorry and you love him. Tell him you maybe love him. Tell him he matters.”

  Nicole hung her head. “I can’t. I’m afraid.”

  So afraid, even Gia’s grandmother could see it.

  Your beauty has cut too many times and you are afraid of it.

  Afraid of her own beauty, afraid of others, afraid of having a life.

  Gia said, “That’s because this is real life and love is scary. Love means there is something, someone, out there that you care about more than yourself. That’s pretty scary.”

  It was terrifying, and Nicole said, “It won’t last.”

  “It might. Are you afraid it will or are you afraid it won’t?”

  “Yes.”

  Gia crooned in the back of her throat and said, “Here. This is me stroking your nice, soft, straight hair. This is me holding you and telling you that I love you. And this is me telling you that you love me, and Victoria, and Colette, already. You maybe love Scott, and maybe love Nikita. And adding one more love or even one more maybe love to your life is something good. Adding one more person who will love you in return, adding one more person who will have your back when you need it most, is worth the fear.”

  Nicole choked back a sob. She could feel it, an invisible hand tenderly stroking her hair and she said, “I told him thank you.”

  Gia chuckled. “Oh, yeah, you’re going to have to grovel. No doubt about that.”

  “Will he even forgive me?”

  “Of course he will. Love forgives. You called me plus-sized and I forgave you, remember?”

  Nicole smiled through the tears. “Really having
a hard time forgetting.”

  “That’s because love also likes to repeatedly remind you of your mistakes.”

  “Someday I’d like to meet your family in person.”

  “Oh, they’d like that! You should come visit. You can help me hide my boss’s body.”

  Thirty-Seven

  It was freezing.

  The wind was blowing and the clouds were swirling and Nicole could feel the air getting heavier, wetter.

  A storm was coming, and when Flynn opened his parent’s front door, Nicole thought she’d rather stay outside with it than go in with him.

  He said, “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “I needed to talk to you. I want to talk to you.”

  He waved her inside and she didn’t move. She handed him a white apparel gift box.

  “I made it for you,” she said and he pulled the lid off, dug through the tissue paper. He pulled out a gray lightweight wool suit jacket.

  “You made me a suit?”

  She nodded. “I wanted you to have a suit you loved. So you don’t have to wear one you hate. So you know how it feels when you love what you wear.”

  “That’s very important to you, I know,” he said, smiling slightly, and she whispered, “Look good, feel good. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

  He put it back in the box and she said, “Um, there’s more to it,” and she reached for the jacket, pulling it back out.

  She opened it up, turning it inside out to show the half of a stylized black and gray S on each side, and then closed it to show what it would look like when it was buttoned.

  “I know, it’s backwards. He takes off the suit. But I thought, when you buttoned it up, you would feel it. And it would still be on your chest so. . .”

  He looked at her. “You made me a Superman suit?”

  He dropped the box, pulling the jacket from her fingers and up his arms and buttoning it up. His shoulders went back and his chest went out and he said, “Okay, I get it. I’d pay $3000 for this.”

  “It doesn’t cost that much. Only a second chance. Please, and I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean thank you.”

  “What did you mean?”

  She’d meant love. Maybe love.

  She said, “It never ends well for a man in love with a Bissette.”