Now and Again

by Jennifer Ellision

  "Did you see Ashley married our old RA?" My tongue protrudes from the side of my mouth as I concentrate on staying in the stencil's lines.

  Her hand stills over a name prefix and I look up at her sharply. Is that what's going on with her? Something to do with the wedding? In most people it would be normal, but Nikki has never been anything less than certain about Ron.

  "Yeah," she says, determinedly finishing the card. "Saw it online."

  That hadn't been enough to get her talking, so I turn to the next weapon in my arsenal: wine. We continue our work. As the night goes on, we get sloppier and sloppier, and have to throw away multiple place cards splotched with ink blots.

  Nikki's a few glasses in when she asks, "Em? Why did you run away after graduation?" She blinks glassy eyes at me.

  Well, that I hadn't expected. Cole had asked much the same thing at the beach, albeit more vaguely. "A lot of reasons," I say at last.

  She nods, not looking at me. "And one of those would be…?"

  Cole.

  "I wanted to get away." To where no one knew enough about me to bother climbing past my walls.

  "Oh." Nikki's voice is tiny. Nervously, she swirls the wine around in her glass, and it splashes over the side, staining some of the place cards.

  "Shit!" She sounds panicked. "Crap. Crap, crap, crap." Her hair falls into her face as she evacuates the cards from the path of the spreading wine, continuing to mutter epithets to herself. She's near tears.

  I move past mild concern to full-on BFF alarm bells ringing in my mind.

  "Nik, relax," I say. I grab paper towels from the kitchen. We'll clean this up first and then, I'm going to get to the bottom of her weird behavior. "It's okay, we've got plenty of extra place cards. And it didn't get anywhere else. It's fine."

  "It's not fine," she cries, snatching the paper towels from me to soak up the sopping mess. "We worked so hard, for so long on them, and now just a little wine and they're ruined."

  "But it's fixable." I don't think we're talking about the place cards anymore. I dab at the wine and drop the sodden paper towels into the trash.

  From the kitchen, I stare at her. Her head is bowed and she stares at her engagement ring, face inscrutable. "What's really going on?"

  She's quiet. "Sometimes, I think I'd like to get away, too."

  Oh.

  My hands fall to my sides. I'm not sure what to say in response to that, so I collect our wine glasses and deposit them in the sink to give myself time to think. "When you picture leaving," I ask slowly, rinsing the glasses, "are you alone?"

  She looks startled, mouth dropping into a small O. "No." She lifts her head to look at me. "Ron's there."

  My mouth quirks into a soft smile. "We wanted to run for different reasons, Nik. I wanted to be alone. You just want Ron."

  I cross the room and put my hand over hers. "The two of you will be fine. You've always been crazy about Dr. Ron. Half the time, you're busy looking at him like he lassoes the moon for you in his spare time. He looks at you the same way. If the wedding planning is stressing you out, we'll slow it down, but all you really need to know is that Ron's the guy you want beside you when the world ends in a fiery inferno."

  Nikki stares at me, dumbstruck. "You have this uncanny ability to be simultaneously uplifting and maudlin, do you know that?"

  I shrug, and that's all she needs to burst out laughing, tension lightened.

  She sobers again. "It's just—Joey took me out drinking the other night, and something she said—"

  "Oh, God." Joey again, I think darkly. No one needs her forcing her life opinions down our throats. I know I have my own issues, but at least I don't expect other people to have the same ones. "Nikki, you know I love Joey, but I don't think you want to take her relationship advice. She hasn't ever had one longer than three months."

  "Neither have you," she points out.

  I stumble, sputtering. "Well—that's… beside the point. Our situations are totally different."

  She laughs. "Yeah, I guess."

  "About the wedding…" I broach hesitantly. Now I know what it is that had tripped me up about her attitude about the whole thing. "With all of this, are you sure you want this big shindig you're having us plan?"

  She loosens her hair from its ponytail. "Not really. But I'd rather wait until I talk to Ron and we're both sure before I call it all off for something small. I'm not that eager to do battle with his mother again."

  Part of me had hoped she'd say yes. That I'd be able to get out of going to this wedding with Cole to check out that venue, out of seeing him regularly, answering his calls. But now that she's denied me an easy excuse, there's a part of me that's… relieved.

  I don't want to stop seeing him.

  And that's really going to complicate things for me.

  FIFTEEN

  COLE

  ∞ Then ∞

  Senior Year

  "Come with me," Cole begged, unashamed, from the doorway of Em's bedroom. He couldn't afford to be proud right now. His paper was due in just a few days and he didn't know how he'd get it done alone. He needed help and Em was the perfect candidate. Once she'd restarted classes after her dad's death, she'd become even more devoted to her schoolwork. And in the guise of helping him with his, maybe he'd be able to get her to unwind just a little.

  Em lifted exasperated eyes from her computer as he flung himself onto her bed, the springs squeaking beneath his weight.

  "One of these days you're going to break my mattress when you do that," she said.

  He tried not to let the idea of breaking her bed a different way reflect on his face.

  "Besides," she continued. "I can't go with you. I'm working." Backlit by her laptop's glowing screen, she turned to face him.

  "Please? I don't have anyone else to go with."

  That wasn't completely true. He was sure he could find someone. But he didn't want to. He was tired of fighting whatever this thing was between him and Em. Every girlfriend he'd had since freshman year had noticed it. It led to jealousy, arguments, accusations.

  And when, as they always did, they finally asked him if he had feelings for her, he couldn't deny it.

  Em sighed, gesturing to the notebooks strewn over her desk. "Cole, I have a ton of homework to do."

  He rolled his eyes and squished one of her pillows between his hands. Her mattress bounced with each of his movements. "When's your homework actually due?" he asked. He held eye contact with her, smirking when she looked away first.

  "That's not the point."

  "I knew it," he crowed and rolled over to his stomach. "So… what? Like two weeks from now?" He hazarded a guess. Em wasn't the procrastinating type when it came to schoolwork. Although, when it came to other things…

  She shifted in her seat. "Maybe." It was the closest to an admittance he'd get.

  "Perfect. That means you have more than enough time to come with me to the Scarlet Shooters show tonight."

  "Can't you take Denise or something? I've gone out three times already this week." She turned back to her computer, trying to dismiss him.

  "Nope. She and I are donezo." Because I'm sick of pretending you and I are just friends, he finished silently. In some universe, he had the balls to say that last part.

  "Speaking of significant others, where's Paul? Haven't seen him around lately."

  She shrugged. "He dropped the L-word." The clacking of her nails against the computer keys resumed with a vengeance.

  There she went again. A sign of deeper feelings and she cut the poor bastard off at the knees. Cole suddenly remembered why he'd put off exploring a relationship with Em for nearly four years. He didn't want to be another one of the guys she left behind.

  "Ah." He switched back to the matter at hand. "Come on, Em. I need someone. Nikki and Ron have both left for the night."

  And besides, I want to go with you.

  "And I really need to get this project done for my marketing class," he continued. "I've got to do a write-up on a l
ocal event, so I picked this band's show. It's just over at Patsy's. Not far."

  She eyed him suspiciously, eyes narrowed. "And when is this marketing project due?"

  "Monday," Cole said.

  She swore as he did his best to look innocent. "Colson." It was Saturday night. He'd be spending the rest of the weekend doing the report, hopefully fueled by one of Em's coffee concoctions if she decided to take pity on him.

  "Fine." She gave in. "But I'm not drinking tonight."

  He leapt off of the bed, spirits lifted considerably. "Yes, you are."

  "Fine. But you're paying my cover."

  "Deal," he said. "Get dressed."

  "Give me twenty minutes."

  ∞

  "So what exactly are we reviewing here?" In Patsy's, Em shouted to be heard over the music, pausing between words when gaps in the songs allowed it.

  Scarlet Shooters was an alternative band, with as many drum-pounding beats as acoustic jams. Cole reached back for her hand so she could follow him through the crowd, his broad shoulders clearing a path for her smaller figure.

  "Whatever I want," Cole threw back to her. He seized two tubes from a passing shot girl and tossed a few dollars onto her tray. "All I have to do is design a marketing campaign for something I choose. So pick the venue or the band, either one's fine," he said, handing a shot to Em.

  Her eyes darted around. "Venue," she decided and toasted Cole, tossing back her shot.

  "Typical."

  "You're the one who's always telling me I have no concept of pitch," she reminded him, pointing to herself as the band announced that they were going to take a short break. "And I'm a fellow hospitality major. Plus, I hated Marketing for Hospitality. You have a much better shot of getting my help if the paper's at least on a subject I give a shit about."

  Cole downed his shot and shook his head to ward off the effects. "You make an excellent point, Emmeline," he declared.

  She wrinkled her nose at her full first name. "Oh, come on, you know better."

  "Right, of course, sorry. So—" he threw his arms wide— "this venue. This grand expanse. Go forth, Emmeline Hayes— sorry, Em Hayes—" He dropped his hands. "Em Hayes really doesn't have the tone of grandeur I'm going for."

  She glared at him and he rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, affecting his herald persona again. "Go forth, Em Hayes and critique! Verily I must know what doth and doth not work in this subterranean locale."

  She examined him. "We're not underground. Do you even know what subterranean means?"

  He grinned. "I do not!"

  "I didn't think so." She sighed, but fought back a smile.

  Tough luck, Em. He caught the sense of humor she was trying to hold in.

  "We'll need to make notes. Do you have a notepad?"

  "No!" he boomed.

  "So unprepared. You would have been a poor boy scout. And you are the worst student ever. You know that?"

  "I'm the luckiest student ever," he corrected, dropping his act. "I know that. I have a smart friend like you."

  He chucked her gently under the chin and she shoved at his hand. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she said.

  There was that smile, doing its best to escape again. Flattery will get me everywhere, if I'm lucky.

  "Come on." She tugged him toward the bar. "We'll grab some bar napkins and maybe the bartender will lend us a pen."

  ∞

  Two hours later, they'd both switched to beer and things were going better than Cole had dared to hope. The band had wrapped up their set over an hour ago. They'd been good. Cole and Em hadn't been able to resist dancing a bit themselves.

  His hands had drifted over her hips, nestled her body against his. Sweat lightly coated her shoulder blades and she looked at him over her shoulder with a devious glint in her eyes.

  She'd deny it later, but they both knew that she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

  This was one of the few ways she'd let him touch her. Here, in the dark, where it didn't have to mean anything. When she could blame it on the music, on the crowd's contagious energy, on the alcohol.

  But though her eyes glinted, they were clear. Her speech was as crisp and coherent as ever when she settled down on his lap, ostensibly to read over their notes on Patsy's effectiveness as a small concert venue.

  The napkin they'd gotten from the bartender started out well and Em's handwriting was precise.

  "Atmosphere is dark and smoky, which appeals to the target market. Customers seem to have received word of talent performing and respond to said talent enthusiastically. Restrooms clean, with attendant. Cleanliness is an advantage, though the attendant constantly present may put off certain consumers who feel grudging obligation to tip."

  But the notes declined where Cole had snatched it away for his own conclusions and took over in his messy scrawl:

  "Band: pretty good

  Wait time for drink: sucks

  Drinks: ok (there was a suspicious pink stain next to this one)

  Bartender uniforms: hot (which Em had crossed out to write 'targeted to appeal to consumer base's sex drive')"

  He turned the napkin over and saw that she had continued notes on the lighting, counter choices, and seating on the back.

  "I took pictures on my phone for you to include in your report," Em said in his ear. Her breath on his earlobe sent his senses spinning.

  She considered him for a minute before cupping his face between her hands and lazily slanting her head to deposit a kiss along his jawline.

  He sucked in a sharp breath.

  Yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

  He swallowed, uncertain, and she smiled, the grin unfurling across her face like a spark flaring to full flame. "Will you take me home now?"

  SIXTEEN

  EM

  ∞ Now ∞

  Cole picks me up outside Mom's shop fifteen minutes later than he'd said he would for his friend's wedding.

  Still a chronic procrastinator. I should have expected it, really. He barely made it to his classes on time in college and almost always put his homework off until the last second before it was due. Frankly, with his propensity for lateness, I'm surprised he's held down a job this long. It's better than I've done. Despite a few phone interviews, I haven't gotten a single offer yet.

  Unless you count the unpaid internship one company had offered, but no thanks, I don't think it's so crazy for me to expect to be paid for my work at this point in my life.

  "Sorry," Cole says when I climb into the Jeep. He adjusts his tie in the sun visor's mirror and makes a face at himself.

  Me? I'm fighting not to make an entirely different sort of face at him.

  Suits, I think unhappily. It had to be a suit. It's pretty standard wedding wear for guys, but I hadn't bothered to think about the fact that Cole would probably wear one when I'd agree to go. I have an unfortunate weakness for the sartorial choice. You might blame it on too many James Bond movies growing up.

  But I'm going to blame it on Cole.

  I take comfort in the fact that I look just as good. There are some advantages to moving back home and one of them is that my stash of dresses from fraternity formals throughout college are here. I found a simple strapless red sheath that I know flatters my figure.

  "It's fine," I say. "So, tell me about this place again?"

  "It's a hotel ballroom, but it has a sort of funky, classic movies kind of vibe." He flicks a glance away from the road to look at me. "It sounds weird, I know, but it will make sense when you see it."

  It does sound weird, but if Nikki does still want this big wedding, it also sounds right up her alley.

  We walk into the ballroom, and I see immediately that I could have trusted Cole's judgment on this. Topaz-colored crystal chandeliers glitter over a black and white dance floor. Red velvet covers the base of the black marble bar.

  Nikki would love it. I love it.

  I thread my arm through Cole's as we locate our place cards and take our seats. "Are we late
for the ceremony?"

  "No." He laughs. "My punctuality isn't that bad. Julie and Adam's ceremony was small— just family and really limited seating, so they could throw a bigger party afterwards."

  That's a creative way to cut down on wedding costs. We take our seats. What follows is the beginning of a fun, if typical wedding reception. The bridal party dances in as an emcee announces them. The newlyweds share a first dance, and then dinner is served.

  Cole wipes his lips with the cloth napkin and leans in toward me. "Listen, I need to go say congratulations," he says. "Are you good by yourself for a second? Take a look around, hit up the open bar, that kind of thing?"

  "I'll be fine," I assure him, oddly touched by his concern. That sort of thing usually annoys me in other guys— like I can't look after myself? But I don't feel like Cole's inferring I can't. Just that I may be uncomfortable in a room full of strangers. I watch him walk away, his long stride confident, in the direction of the bride and groom. He cuts a nice figure among the crowd.

  I shake myself to lose that train of thought. Yeah. Open bar sounds good.

  The murmur of happy conversation covers the click of my heels across the monochromatic dance floor— the quickest route to the drinks. I order a beer and lean back against the bar, sipping from the bottle. I need a drink, but I don't want to overdo it. I do, after all, remember the last time I got drunk with Cole.

  "How do you know Julie?" A dark-haired woman joins me at the bar. I stare at her blankly for a minute and she extends a hand. "Sorry. I'm Tori. Julie's the bride?"

  "Em." I shake her hand. "And I don't actually know Julie."

  "Oh, you're friends with Adam then?"

  "No, I don't know him, either." Great, now I sound like a wedding crasher. "I'm here as a plus one for a friend of… one of theirs," I explain, realizing that Cole never told me how he knows them.

  My gaze wanders back to him, still talking to the newly-married couple. I watch as he jokes with them, and the groom elbows him in response. The bride laughs at both of them.