Save the Date

by Carrie Aarons

  Little does he know that this shirt will probably sell out from their website and this location. I’m not cocky, but I do have two hundred thousand followers. And growing. Also, they’re all fawning over him, which I won’t tell him. Because, you know, don’t want his ego getting too big.

  In another minute, I’m looking as he pulls off his gym shorts and stands before me in boxers. This shouldn’t be weird, he’s my best friend. I’ve seen him run ass naked into the ocean on prom weekend. But now it was different … and damn, did his ass look more sculpted at thirty than it did at eighteen? Men got all the good aging genes.

  “Now, these are chinos that fit perfectly, he’s wearing a size thirty four. So nice for brunch with friends, or even work if your man’s office is casual dress.”

  I kept shooting as he tried on item after item, never putting up a fight. He was funny and charming for my followers, and I knew that I’d have to bribe him into doing this again. I’d even snapped a few photos so I could put a blog post together.

  After we’re done, I’m typing down the brands in my phone, and Reese bends down so his face is in mine.

  “You owe me a date, peas.”

  Eighteen

  Erin

  Another day, another shitty eight hours at work.

  I’m hiding out in the bathroom, trolling celebrity gossip sites and counting my steps on my Fitbit app. I’m one of those people who uses a bathroom break and turns it into a mini-lunch hour, because I hate my job that much.

  Sighing, because I know I’ve been gone too long, I get up, situate myself, and go to wash my hands. As I stare at myself in the mirror, I think about what I always think about … Shoes and the City.

  My blog constantly consumes my thoughts; new ideas for posts, how I can generate more followers, which partners I’m teamed up with this month.

  “Oh man …” I groan, spotting a big fat whitehead on my nose.

  How long have I been walking around with this? I was so distracted and agitated, thinking about yesterday and Reese wanting to collect on the deal I’d made him for a date.

  “I know your secret.” Katie walks into the bathroom, catching me completely by surprise.

  What the hell is wrong with this girl? I’ve just peed and need a moment to pop the pimple on my nose, and here she comes, invading the bathroom like a bat out of hell. Fangs and all.

  But my heart rate picks up, and I just know she’s talking about my blog. My hands and the back of my neck start to get clammy, and I hang on to the counter for support. Bad move, she sees that I’m nervous.

  “When were you going to tell me you were so into fashion?”

  Fuck. Fuckity, fuck, fuck. This is not good. For a split second there, I thought she was going to say something else. I thought she was going to say that she found my stash of candy in my desk, or that she’d seen me somewhere with Reese and thought I was dating someone. But I should have known better. The minute she saw me at that rooftop photo shoot, I should have known it was coming down to this.

  “It’s really not something I share with a lot of people.” I try to give a generic answer and scoot past her, but she blocks my way.

  Her puggish nose is sniffling and salivating over my weak positioning in this conversation. “Not something you share? Girl, you have two hundred thousand followers! I should have featured you in my section a long time ago. How come you never told me?”

  Um, because we’re not friends. I don’t say it, but she has to know that’s the obvious answer.

  And she’s only saying she’d put me in the section because she wants to find out more about my blog, to get the dirt on me and try to take away a little bit of my success and claim it as her own. See, Katie is the breed of woman who cornered me in the bathroom instead of on the newsroom floor because she’s sneaky and dirty. She wants this to be her little secret to hold over my head until the minute she wants to expose it to everyone. This isn’t a friendly girl-to-girl chat, this is a standoff.

  “Like I said, I don’t talk about it with colleagues.” I assert the word colleague, letting her know that we are not, in fact, friends.

  “Oh, honey, you really should let me profile you. What a piece that would be for the lifestyle section, and think of how many new followers I could help you get!” Jealousy seethes from every pore, she’s so desperate now.

  God, I hate this bitch. She thinks she can help me? When I’ve built this business from the ground up, spent all the waking, and sleeping, hours of the day grinding for it so that I could finally start making money and gaining influence. Yeah, I don’t think so.

  “I don’t think so, but thank you. And if you could keep this to yourself, that would be great.” I push past her, not even waiting for a response.

  The air in the bathroom was choking me, and I gulp in stale office air as I make my way back to my desk. Katie is definitely not going to keep this quiet for long, which is why I start to develop a plan in my head.

  Maybe it’s time to take the advice of the people who love me and want to see me at my best. Am I brave enough to do it? Maybe.

  But with Katie now holding my fate in her grubby little hands, I had to act first.

  Nineteen

  Reese

  I’d wanted to take Erin out immediately after she’d agreed to a date, so she didn’t have time to back out.

  But with my work schedule, and being the newbie even though I had three more years of experience than almost every nurse on my NICU floor, I got stuck with some terrible shifts. Three overnights this week had me feeling like Frankenstein coming to life as I woke in the middle of the day on Friday.

  It was four p.m., and I had three hours until our date at the swanky Italian restaurant I’d made a reservation at. I was going pure, traditional class for our first night out as a possible romantic couple … and Erin never could say no to a good bowl of penne vodka. I guess having a leg up on all of your date’s favorites wasn’t a bad position to be in.

  Checking my phone, I see the text from Preston waiting for me.

  Preston: Still meeting for a drink?

  That’s right, I’d promised him we would meet at the bar close to the hospital. Crap. Well, I could still meet him. The restaurant wasn’t far from the bar, and I could use a little pregame drink to calm my nerves. Why the hell was I so nervous about going on a date?

  Because it was with Erin.

  I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t thought about this happening. That I hadn’t imagined what it would be like. Christ … I sound like a little girl daydreaming about her wedding day.

  Reese: Yeah man, let’s meet at six?

  Preston: Sounds good. That way I can be back at the hospital and sleeping off my beer at seven.

  Jesus, I needed to get this guy out into the world more.

  Feeling like warmed death, and smelling like it too, I got out of bed and started to make my way to the shower. Until I realized that my apartment looked like an actual pig lived in it. I was worse than a fat farm animal.

  Blame it on my hectic work schedule, or the fact that for the past two months I hadn’t entertained anyone, much less a woman. But I believed we made our own luck, and if I cleaned up my apartment thinking that Erin would come back here for an after dinner drink and some more exploration like that kiss we shared many months ago, I was going to have to straighten up.

  Running around, I quickly threw cups and plates into the dishwasher, ran a Clorox wipe over the bathroom counter, made my bed, and threw my dirty laundry in the washer. Mom would be proud, and it smells less like a barnyard in here than when I started.

  Never one to really primp, I showered quickly, picked out a pair of slacks and a button down, ran my fingers through my hair, and winked at my reflection.

  Okay, that was too cheesy, tone it down. I nod, confident. Better.

  I’m out the door at five thirty and making my way across Philly to meet Preston for a drink.

  * * *

  “Why can that guy slide into that other guy�
��s leg like that? He’s going to break his femur.” Preston muses.

  I shake my head, amused but slightly exhausted from trying to explain the game of baseball to a guy who clearly has done nothing in his life but read medical textbooks.

  “Sliding is allowed in baseball, and most of them go head first to avoid injuring the other player. But that was a clean slide, and he was safe.” I finish my beer, wanting a second but holding back because I don’t want to be buzzed at dinner.

  He sighs. “Well, I always thought sports were dangerous. A great example of how the human body can bend and break, but dangerous nonetheless. Although this seems gentler on the body than football, now that is just moronic. I’ve seen the case studies for CTE, why anyone would put themselves through that brain trauma is a mystery to me.”

  “I don’t disagree, but you don’t know what some of those players need that paycheck for.” For some of the guys, it’s their way out.

  But that is a discussion for another day.

  “You want another round?” Part of me wants him to say yes so that it gives me less guilt about having another.

  “I shouldn’t. I’m going to go sleep this one off in an on call room so that if I’m needed, I’m already at the hospital.” Preston finishes his beer.

  “Do you even have an apartment? Or do you just sleep in the hospital?” I joke.

  “Oh, I have a place, but I don’t think I’ve been there in about a month.”

  I love my job, but this guy takes it to another level. “I know we are both passionate about our jobs, so I hope this isn’t a weird question but … why do you work so hard?”

  Preston looks down at his clasped hands, and I can feel the mood shift. “This may be heavy for an after work drink …”

  I clap him on the shoulder. “Hey, man, we’re friends. You can talk to me.”

  He doesn’t look at me, but he starts to talk. “When I was eighteen, I got my girlfriend pregnant. We were young, in love but very young. We were still excited though, as only children can be when they have no idea how hard life will be for them after that baby comes. I promised her so many things … but when the baby came, a boy, there were so many complications. He had mosaicism for trisomy 2, a disease so rare that the free clinic we were forced to have her obstetrician appointments at, because our parents were not going to help, didn’t even catch it. The baby was basically stillborn, and the hospital had no idea how to handle his case, or even care for him to try to improve his health and give him a fighting chance. It really broke me. It ruined our relationship … although who knew if we would even be together if the child were healthy and alive. And so I vowed to dedicate my life to finding cures for these horrible diseases. To give these little lives a chance. To never have to see another parent in the state that I was in, to give them hope that their child would be okay.”

  I had been completely wrong about Preston, and I internally scolded myself. He wasn’t cocky, he wasn’t a science nerd just in this for the intense research and accolades. He really believed in what he was doing, and was ultimately, trying to make a difference in one family’s life.

  I squeezed his shoulder and then dropped my hand away, stunned at his honesty. “Wow, man. That is … wow. Thank you for being so open with me, you’re a stronger human than I’ll ever be.”

  We sit in silence for a minute, digesting his words. “Sorry to put a damper on our happy hour …”

  “No, man, you’re not. It’s good for me to hear, to understand a little bit more of your motivation. Seriously, thanks for sharing with me. If anyone can change the lives of those newborns in our units, it’s you.”

  I truly believed it, too.

  “Enough about me … don’t you have a date tonight or something?” Preston gave a shaky laugh, rattling the grief and despair off his psyche.

  I look down at my date night attire and smile. “I do, probably should get going soon.”

  He nods, standing and stretching, wearing his blue scrubs that he never seemed to take off. “Who’s the girl?”

  Erin’s face pops into my mind, and my stomach drops. “My best friend, actually. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and only recently decided we might turn it into something more.”

  “Could be weird.” He shrugs, leading the way out.

  I agree. “It could be. Or it could be awesome.”

  Twenty

  Reese

  I pulled out Erin’s chair, the lilting of soft Italian music filling the air as the lighting dimmed for dinner.

  “Thank you.” She said it politely, almost like we didn’t know each other.

  I don’t think this woman had used manners toward me in, well … forever.

  “You’re welcome.” I smiled, trying to put her at ease.

  To her credit, she’d dressed the part as if she was going on a date with someone she was trying to impress for the first time. A black dress that hugged every curve, soft waves in her blond hair, the kind that I would like to tangle my fingers in. Her shoes looked sharp enough to murder, or dig into my waist …

  I was getting way too ahead of myself, and tried to discreetly readjust myself under the table. For her, these thoughts might freak her the fuck out. But for me … I’d been having these since we were twelve and had gone in the pool for the first time before eighth grade. She’d been in a red floral bikini and I’d nearly creamed myself, I was such a horny tween.

  Her brown eyes were dark and mysterious, and I knew that I had to break the ice.

  But Erin spoke before I could. “You’re not going to order for me, are you? I hate that, when guys do that. It’s cheesy and unromantic. Like, I’m a human and am fully capable of reading this menu and making a choice without the assistance of a man, thank you very much.”

  Chuckling, I lay my hand on hers. Maybe that was risky, but she doesn’t move it. “I wouldn’t dare get between you and your food. Although, I know you, and you’re going to get the penne vodka.”

  “Maybe I won’t, just to spite you.” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Don’t deny yourself what you want just to make a point.” After I said it, I realized how well it applied to us.

  The waiter came, offering us wine or spirits, and we ordered two glasses, white for her and red for me.

  “Straight out of ‘Scenes from an Italian Restaurant,’” I quipped.

  “Remember when you thought that it was Brender and Eddie?” Erin started to laugh.

  “It definitely sounds like he says Brender! I thought it was about two boys who were the popular steadies.”

  We chuckle as the waiter sets our glasses down, and we each take a big gulp before he comes back with bread and asks what we want. I go with the chicken parm, I’m boring and traditional when it comes to meals. And Erin goes with the penne vodka like I’d predicted, and looks damn happy about it.

  Once he leaves, we both practically down our wine, alternating between people watching and awkwardly smiling at each other.

  “This is a little weird, you have to admit it.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

  I laugh, tension breaking over me as I relax. “Okay, so it’s weird. It’s not a normal date, I basically know everything about you, even when you had your ugly phase in middle school.”

  “Hey! I never had an ugly phase.”

  I tilt my head. “Come on, you had braces and you had tried to dye your hair pink but it came out bleached and fried instead.”

  “Okay, fine, that was bad,” she concedes. “But seriously, Reese, do you ever think there can be romance, not that I believe in it, between us? We know too much.”

  God, how I wished I could take all of those preconceived notions of love out of her head. She was only getting in her own way, so much hurt and scar tissue left from her parent’s divorce.

  “But maybe that’s a good thing. For once, can you try to swallow the negative thoughts? Look at the bright side, I’m not a creep—”

  She cuts me off. “Debatable.”

  I rai
se an eyebrow and then go on. “You don’t have to worry about if I keep dead bodies in my basement. You know where I come from, that I have a good family. You know that I don’t have weird habits, like collecting my toe nails or gambling until I’m twenty thousand in debt. I’ll treat you right, I’m good-looking, won’t get too drunk to the point where I can’t get us home safely … just let go, Erin. Don’t let it be weird and it won’t be weird. And if you try to let go hard enough, maybe it can be a little romantic.”

  She blinks slowly at me, and I think it’s one of only a handful of times that I’ve seen her speechless.

  “For instance, I forgot to tell you how beautiful you look tonight.” I say it quietly, with no sarcasm or teasing.

  And it’s so quick that you might miss it if you didn’t know her better … but, Erin, she blushes.

  Right there, I can feel it. That something that’s always been bubbling beneath the surface with us. Like a dormant volcano always on the edge of erupting, something was just keeping it from exploding.

  The pact, maybe it would be the thing to set us over. To set the world around us on fire.

  Twenty-One

  Erin

  He walked me home from the restaurant as the streetlights came on, the summer heat making the air buzz with humidity.

  It was like a scene out of Lady and the Tramp or something. Except I’d never share my pasta with him. Pasta was too precious.

  “Do you have work tomorrow?” I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

  This was a date. If it was good, which by all standards it had been, we would be holding hands. But my arms limply hung by my sides, like wet noodles that didn’t know how to act.