Morgan has made it known, as has mom, for the last ten years that she thinks I should date Reese. I haven’t told her about the pact, ever, and I haven’t told her what happened when he came back for the interview. Or that he seriously wanted me to consider marrying him. She would flip her fucking lid, she’d be so happy.
“No, he’s single.” I don’t say more, out of spite.
Morgan waggles her eyebrows at me. “Maybe it’s finally your time.”
Jesus, why did everyone around here think that some magic fairy had come and sprinkled dust over my best friend and me, leading us to our happily ever after and rose colored glasses? An idea strikes me, and I feel guilty about holding back from Morgan recently. She’s my sister and we talk about everything, why shouldn’t I talk to her about this?
“How did you know you wanted to get married? I mean, didn’t Mom and Dad turn you off to the idea forever?” I question, thinking about my own current … situation.
It wasn’t even a situation, because I hadn’t even told Reese if I was going to give this stupid pact a serious shot.
Morgan looks at me, a bunch of little baby headbands in her hand. “Er, sometimes … I think you took the whole divorce a little bit rougher than I did. And sometimes, I think you give Mom and Dad too much credit. I’m the older sister, so I saw more than you did. They weren’t perfect.”
“They were perfect to me.” Her words etch away painfully at my heart.
She sighs. “I guess to us, yes, they seemed that way. But that’s a different story. Anyway, I knew I wanted to get married because … life without Jeff wasn’t a life. Everything is better with him. The days, my attitude, going out to dinner, walking in the park … everything. When he asked me to marry him, even before that, there was just this spark between us when we were together that I never wanted to go without. It was this feeling, I can’t describe it, but it was like … this was the person who was put on this earth just so I could spend time with him. And you’re going to say that sounds corny, and it might very well be, but that’s seriously how it felt.”
I digested her words, chewed them over in my brain. The only person I felt remotely like that with was Reese. Maybe … maybe all this time I’d been mistaking this spark that Morgan was talking about as a friendly connection. When really, Reese was the one who was put on this earth for me to spend time with.
But in the same breath, I had to roll my eyes at my inner-thinking cap. I didn’t believe in soul mates or fate, not on principle. Morgan and Jeff were great together, but did I believe she could be happy with someone else if she wasn’t with him? Yes, I did.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that way.” I say it sadly, because I know how wonderful it must be for other people.
Yes, I’m a colder person than most. I am judgmental before I am kind, my core sometimes seems poisoned. Was I born this way, or was I conditioned to be harsher? It wasn’t as if my sister or parents were like this … I often wondered why I was.
But anyway, I may be cold, but I’m not unfeeling. I know that when others are happy and in love, they must feel this sort of bliss. But like someone attempting to jump out of a plane and mentally not being able to … or like a writer attempting to spit out a chapter but being blocked … there was something holding me back. Like my brain could complete it, but my heart could not get on board.
“I think that when you least expect it, something will click.” Morgan eyes me, and then goes back to folding a little pair of orange pants that only a baby could get away with wearing.
Sixteen
Reese
I’m not sure why we decided not to date each other. Why a romantic relationship was always off the table.
Maybe it was because we’d met so young, and our parents were friends.
Maybe it was because we teased each other relentlessly, and spent so much time together that, originally, we knew too much and therefore the idea of anything happening between us was subconsciously off limits.
But as we grew up, I think something between us shifted. I think that question hung between us, but neither of us would acknowledge it for the fear of messing up our friendship.
And now, I’ve said something. After the two, now three, physical connections we’d had, it was time to say yes or no. It might ruin our friendship if nothing panned out, but it had to be brought up. Erin hadn’t given me an answer or even an indication that she was considering our pact, and my time of not pushing her was almost up.
We only had two and a half months left until her thirtieth birthday, and about three months until mine. It might seem like a silly, child’s game I was playing, but something in me felt the need for closure on this. And if the answer was no, I prayed that our friendship was strong enough to withstand putting us through this.
I hadn’t told her that Renée had texted me last night. Or two days before that. Opening up my phone while Erin is at the coffee kiosk getting out breakfast, I read the conversation again.
Renée: Hey, we haven’t talked in a while. How is Philadelphia?
Reese: Hey. It’s been an adjustment, but work is really good. And being close to my parents is nice, too. How have you been?
Renée: I’ve been okay, thinking about you a lot. I don’t like where we left things, babe.
Reese: I’m sorry that I left the way I did. I truly am. But Renée, you had to admit that things were over for a while. I want you to be happy, I want us to move on.
Renée: Don’t pull that move on stuff with me. We were in love, you don’t just shut that off. I haven’t. Can you honestly say you have no feelings for me?
Reese: I’ll always feel something for you. We were together for a long time.
Renée: Then you do. I think we need to talk about this.
Reese: Renée, I … maybe another time. I just got off a night shift and I need to go to sleep.
Renée: I can call you later this week.
Renée had always been the kind of girl who got what she wanted. But with me, I’d never fully bent under her stilettos. I hadn’t even really wanted to hear from her, but at the same time, I owed her some explanations. And I wouldn’t lie and say I didn’t still think about her. She was a huge part of my life for over two years. With how difficult Erin was being about my advances, it was no wonder why I was leaving the door ajar with Renée a little.
Erin set us up, coffees and donuts set out on the bench in between us. The air was warm, but not as humid as it had been when I lived in Dallas. Early morning runners, moms with strollers, and couples walking their dogs loitered around, no one talking but just exchanging smiles.
“I missed this old pastime.” She grinned, and I knew she meant it.
Throughout our years at separate colleges, we’d meet in the park on Sunday mornings and people watch, catching up about life and unwinding. It was our time, and we developed this game as part of the ritual.
“Okay, who are we starting with?” Erin rubbed her hands together as she took a big bite of a chocolate frosted.
I leaned back, crossing my right leg over my left knee and taking a gulp of my black coffee. Twelve-hour night shifts at the hospital forces one to drink coffee strong and quick.
Almost everyone in the park at nine a.m. is minding their own business. Working out, strolling, chatting quietly to a companion or just sitting like Erin and me.
And then there is the disheveled woman, carrying her shoes with lipstick smeared across one cheek, and the mark of a round nightclub stamp clearly inked on her right hand.
“Bingo.” Erin says it before I am even able to get my thought out. “Okay. Her name is … Heidi Green. She works in communications, but really wanted to be a sideline reporter through college. Keeps trying to find ‘the one,’ but doesn’t understand why these fuckboys don’t call her back after drunkenly falling into their beds after nights at Live or Halcyon. Drinks almond milk lattes and secretly loves presidential autobiographies, though she’d never tell her basic brunch friends that.”
I
nod. “Nice touch with the autobiographies, maybe you’re not just a heartless witch who doesn’t give people the benefit of the doubt.”
Erin scowls at me. “Come on, add.”
We played this game, making up life stories for people as we ate donuts and coffee. Kind of like people-watching cops, except we had no badge, no gun, and no honor.
I tapped my chin, trying to think up a positive angle. We both had our roles; I was the good cop, and of course Erin was the bad. Our personality types were so reversed for what our gender stereotypes should be. I was often told I was too nice, polite and not jaded enough. Usually I was told that by Erin. And my best friend? If she were a man, she’d be a quintessential “fuckboy,” as she referred to them; hard to get, cocky, could be a show off. Why was that such an attractive quality in people, whether they were male or female?
“Okay … Heidi actually likes her job, acting as a public relations rep for authors at a publishing house. She gets free books, and that’s damn skippy with her. She goes home on the weekends, to the Mainline where her parents live with their miniature pinscher. Not really into reality TV, crime dramas are more of her thing, and she binged Mindhunter last week. She is a romantic, which is why she sometimes finds herself in these situations, and is tired of dating after all these years. Or, she is just a boss who sleeps with guys and then discards them, because she’s an independent woman who just needed an orgasm.”
Erin chokes on her coffee when I say orgasm, and I’m pleased with myself for making her proverbially blush. It’s funny, because I’m semi-describing her.
“Heidi also prefers tea over coffee, and can’t listen to a thunderstorm without opening all the windows and watching the rain.”
“Oh, come on. How come you always turn these into nice-fests? People watching is supposed to be funny and sort of mean-spirited.” Erin pouts and takes another bite of her donut.
I sling an arm around her, conspiratorially. “You were just blessed with an extra nice friend to outweigh the devil inside you.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. A minute later, she’s typing away on her cell as I continue to relax and watch the activity of the park as it comes to life.
I never understood why most of the population have their noses stuck in their electronic devices all the time. Wasn’t it far nicer, and less stressful, to sit on a bench and sip coffee and breathe in the morning air?
“What are you doing?” I study her as she balances a coffee in her hand at an awkward angle, her phone aimed at the watch and bangles on her wrist.
Erin doesn’t look at me, just concentrates. “Trying to take a picture for Instagram.”
“Do you have to document every single minute of your life?” I roll my eyes.
“You do know that it’s weird you live almost off the grid? And yes, my followers expect to know what I’m doing. It’s part of my brand.” She has her shot, and begins working on the lighting and hues in some app on her phone.
I watch her as she poses, trying to get the perfect shot. Her blond hair blowing, that hint of sassiness in her brown eyes … I’ve always seen it, but it’s hard not to realize why all of her followers hang off of her every post. She’s magnetic, even when she’s shunning the world away.
She’s addicting, even though she’d rather be alone and aloof.
I snatch her phone out of her hand, pocketing it. She squeals and tries to grab across my lap. I hold her shoulders, bringing us nose to nose.
“Your brand today is to sit with me and relax. Can you do that?” We’re too close for comfort, and I think I’ve stunned her.
Because her big brown eyes are just staring widely, mirroring my own, and she slowly nods.
I release her, electricity crackling between us.
I guess that time and space I was giving her is officially done.
Seventeen
Erin
After our coffee in the park, we’re walking through the city, the morning chill burning off as sweat drips down my back.
And then, on the horizon, is every girl’s sanctuary. Nordstrom Rack.
“Oh, can we go in?” I probably have heart’s in my eyes, like that emoji.
Reese groans. The one major dissension in our friendship … he hates to shop. I learned about it after we were already solidly friends, so I couldn’t disown him because of it.
“She don’t believe in shooting stars, but she believes in shoes and cars.” He chuckles to himself, that damn dimple popping out.
“Don’t quote Kanye to me … but, yes, I do believe in shoes and cars. Those are tangible things that make me happy. Shooting stars? Those are for Disney princesses and five-year-olds.”
Reese looks at me, and I see the pity in his eyes. It’s one of the first times I’ve ever seen that look pass between us, and I don’t like the way it makes my skin heat with shame.
But he doesn’t launch into anything. “Fine, we can go in.”
I do a little hop and a skip, because I freaking love Nordstrom Rack, and pull out my phone to start Instagram Storying as we walk in.
“Again with the phone?” Reese asks, annoyed.
I turn the camera on him. “This is my best friend. He is complaining that he has to go on this impromptu shopping trip.”
I hit send on the story, and two seconds later, my phone starts dinging with direct messages.
Your friend is hot!
Is he straight?
Is he single?
Can you do a try-on session for us?
I need some affordable romper options, please!
Can you post your friend’s Instagram so I can stalk him?
“My followers love you.” I type away, answering messages.
I have a strict policy for myself that I answer all direct messages. Well, the non-creepy ones, that is. I never answer date requests or porn bots … because, well, you get why.
“Awesome. I try to stay anonymous from social media and you just screwed that all up.” He throws his hands up, his muscles flexing through his olive skin.
His light brown curls, which are shorter now than when he was living in Dallas, bounce as we move, and I envy how wavy and perfect they are at the top of his head. That moment in the park, the smell of donuts and fresh coffee in my nose, with our faces so close together … it shook me a bit. We hadn’t really touched since the kiss. Best friend air hugs didn’t really count when you’d been doing them for years. But when his hand touched mine, and his other arm laid around my shoulder, and those greenish-brown eyes, like mud in a cerulean sea, looked at me … I felt it.
The spark.
I must be a goddamn crazy person. As I’ve thought more and more about the pact, and what Morgan said, and how Reese has been on me about it, I’m actually softening to the idea.
Not marriage, of course. That’s fucking certifiable. But, about maybe dating him. Looking at him in another light.
We walk through the store, and I pick up a dress, a pair of shoes, a floppy hat. And then I see a teal short-sleeved button down with gray arrow patterns. It would look great on Reese, and I throw it over my arm.
“What is that?” He eyes me suspiciously.
“Nothing.” I shrug, innocently.
“I’m not trying anything on. And I’m not buying clothes. I hate this as it is.” He’s pouting, his full lower lip jutting out.
My phone keeps going off, and I check Instagram to see almost a hundred new messages about Reese or my impromptu shopping trip.
And then an idea strikes me.
So many of my followers have boyfriends or husbands, and they often ask about male clothing brands that I like …
“Will you do a try-on session with me for my Instagram followers?” I smile like a cat who ate the canary, sweet and trying to hide my intentions.
Reese’s face shuts down. “Nope, don’t even think about it, peas …”
“Carrots,” I use his nickname, trying to soften him, “come on, pleaseeee?”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely n
ot.”
“If you do a men’s try-on session for me, I’ll let you take me on a date.” I can’t even look at him when I say it, it was so weird.
But this try-on session is something I want, and the date is also something I’ve been thinking about, so I’m about to kill two birds with one stone. Or well, kill them with fashion.
Reese’s hazel eyes widen, and then set on me. Something that I can’t name passes between us … something that in our years of friendship, I have never felt between us before.
“Fine. You better get that camera ready, I’m about to give you the best damn show you’ve ever seen.” He grabs the clothes out of my hands, and I scurry about the rest of the men’s section, grabbing at pieces I know will work well on him.
We head for the dressing room, and two women look at us as we walk into a stall together.
“They think we’re going to have sex in here.” Reese says it, and I thought it but didn’t voice it.
How odd, this subtle shift. A tingling starts low in my belly.
I bring up my phone and start storying. “Hey guys! I’m here at Nordstrom Rack with my best friend, Reese. Say hi, Reese.”
To his credit, he’s taken his shirt off, abs of steel winking back at the camera. And me. I hadn’t seen him naked in a long time, I realized. Probably since we’d gone to Wildwood two years ago.
That tingling intensifies. The adrenaline of videoing him, contributing a new segment for my followers, and also about our future date had started a prickle that travels from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
Direct messages were already pouring in, but I kept putting up stories, starting a new one each time the short video ran out of time.
“Okay, so right now, Reese has on this teal button down, perfect for your man for summer. It’s only thirty dollars, and comes in a bunch of different colors.” I narrate while Reese struts around with his best Blue Steel look on.
He addresses the camera in the next video, laughing like this is a joke. “It breathes really well, and matches my eyes, don’t you think, ladies?”
Save the Date Page 7