A knock on my door has my head whipping up, my heart galloping at the thought of seeing Erin on the other side. Maybe she’d come to tell me she was sorry she’d overreacted. More likely, she’d come to punch me in the balls for using the word divorce when it applied to us. I’d take either happily.
Except when I swing it open, my face screws up like I’ve just eaten a lemon.
“What’re you doing here, Renée?” I don’t say it to be rude, I guess I’m just completely shocked.
If you looked up the definition of “just-had-sex hair,” there would be a picture of Renée. Dark black curls that spread down her back like inky silk, with eyes almost the same color, she looked like a sun-kissed Victoria’s Secret Model. She was gorgeous, probably one of the best looking women I’d ever dated.
But she was also high-maintenance and vapid in a way that could be downright nasty at times.
“Hi, sweetheart, good to see you too. Remember our text conversation? I said I wanted to get together. Well … I never heard from you so I figured I’d make the trip out to see you face-to-face.”
Did I also mention she could be batshit crazy when she wanted to be?
“Um … you should have told me you were coming.” I was still kind of dumbfounded.
She waltzed in, looking around. “Now why would I do that? We would have argued, and you hate it when we argue.”
“We don’t argue anymore. We’re not together.” I often had to remind her of reality.
“Nice place, by the way. A little masculine for my taste, but it’s nice. How have you been, baby? I’ve missed you.”
For the first time since we broke up, I realize that I haven’t missed her. Not one bit. But she’s missed me, and it’s nice to be missed. It’s better than being doubted and teased every moment like I was with Erin.
Could I do this with her? Wouldn’t it be easy? A thousand times easier than trying to cajole and convince Erin? Renée and I had been good together. A little tepid, a little fake at times, but we had laughs and good sex and she took care of me.
“Do you want anything? A glass of water, a beer?” I figure if she’s flown all the way here, the least I can be is courteous.
She chuckles. “I always did love the way you said water. More like wooder, with that Philly accent.”
I walk to the fridge with no response, because she was always annoying about my “accent.” There she was, dropping bless your hearts and y’alls like it was a religion, but the way I said water was funny. It makes me snap back to myself, and I don’t want any part of this. I want Erin.
“I’m with someone, Renée.” Because in my mind, Erin and I had just hit a speed bump, not a dead end.
“Seriously?” She scoffs, looking pissed. “Already? Jeez, Reese, I knew you were a player, but to be in another relationship so fast?”
My smile is tight and grim. “Renée, I haven’t even seen you in five months. One, that’s not that quick. Two, I’m not a player. Three, I’m surprised you didn’t see it since you stalk her blog religiously.”
I can’t help but drop Erin’s blog into the conversation. Renée always got so jealous when I brought up how well my best friend was doing in her entrepreneurial endeavors.
“Wait … you’re seeing Erin?” Her eyes go livid with that big green monster stomping around in her brain. “Well, maybe she can finally tame the ladies’ man. Hell knows I couldn’t, and I’m way more beautiful than her.”
Her voice is grating on my nerves, and I want her out. Now. “Do not ever talk about her that way in my presence ever again. In fact, I’m busy. It was good to see you.”
It really wasn’t, and I started walking her to door.
“Maybe she’s good for you. She’s watched you flirt with other women for years, so maybe it’s okay in her book.”
In that moment I hated her, because she was holding up a hypothetical mirror to my face. For so many years, I’d gone from girlfriend to girlfriend, discarding them when I got bored. Subconsciously, Erin had probably watched it all through her lens of disillusionment. Did she think that I was going to do that to her?
I managed to push Renée out, all but slamming the door in her face. Just as quick as she’d spun in, did she spin out. And in the process, had restored a fight in my pathetic, sulking heart.
I had to get to Erin. I had to tell her that she was my only one. That she’d only ever been my only one.
Where she has doubts, I have none. Where she has given up, I’ll fight. For us.
Forty
Erin
Typically, the one person I would call at a time like this was Reese.
That’s what I got for deciding to fall in love with my best friend.
Reese and I hadn’t spoken in three days, not since I dashed out of his apartment. So far, I’d been through three bottles of wine, two pints of coffee ice cream, and four seasons of The West Wing. I had vowed never to be that mopey, depressed, heartbroken girl when it came to getting over a guy.
But I hadn’t accounted for being heartbroken over the one guy in my life that meant everything to me, not just as a fiancé either. Any other fuckboy, I could have just gotten over. Probably would have gone complaining to Reese about how all men were the same, and why couldn’t I just sleep around and not conform to society’s pressure to marry.
Except … that fuckboy was Reese. And he really wasn’t one, he was just an insensitive asshole. He is my fiancé, or at least he was. I hadn’t even wanted to be engaged or in a relationship with him mere months ago, and now I couldn’t fathom what I was going to do without him. Without our relationship.
Because the truth was, I didn’t just miss my best friend. I missed my boyfriend. The man I was going to marry. The one who had spooned me in bed for the last couple of months even though he knew I didn’t really like it and got overheated. I used to slide out of his grasp as soon as he fell asleep, kissing his nose before turning over and spreading out like a starfish.
I missed holding hands while we walked to our bench in the park with donuts. I missed his cooking, since I’d eaten nothing but junk food on my couch this week. I missed how he knew every single thing about me, and me about him.
I didn’t just miss having my childhood friend. I missed everything that was going to come for us.
How pathetic was I? I’d become the very thing I’d always tried to avoid.
And although Reese had been insensitive to my history with divorce, if I hadn’t reacted the way I did, we wouldn’t be in this position. We would have talked it out, annoying each other like we always had. He’d call me a brat and I’d call him a dick. And then we would have apologized and had sweaty makeup sex or something.
I’d have to tell Morgan soon. I’d been hiding out in my apartment like it was a bomb shelter or something. I’d have to take the ring off. I’d have to tell my followers, something that made my cheeks heat in embarrassment. I’d already gone public with a perfectly staged engagement photo of my hand and Reese’s. My followers were freaking out, and the amount of new followers I gained from that post was enough to put me on the radar of two fashion companies that were interested in using me as one of their brand reps. One of them was huge, and I was crossing my fingers it came through.
“Of course I’m still here, you asshole,” I yelled at the TV when my Netflix went off, asking me that silly question.
And that’s when I realized that I’d been inside for way too long, and I needed to get out. My inner couch potato protested, and I pouted while tying my shoelaces on my sneakers, but once I got outside and began walking, I felt marginally better.
My headphones were plugged into my ears, an audiobook on Coco Chanel playing, when someone tapped my shoulder. I might have grown up outside the city, but I was a Philly girl through and through. I would cut a bitch if anyone got too close, especially in a park as the sun was setting.
I rip out an earphone and whirl around, while someone practically yells in my face.
“Oh my God, are you Erin Car
ter?”
“Uh, yeah …” I’m still disoriented and confused.
The woman, a tall redhead that looks to be around my age, gushes, “I just love your blog! Gah, I must look like a total loser right now, but those Steve Madden sandals you posted last month? I bought them because of you! And they’re amazing! Oh! Congratulations on your engagement, I absolutely love the story. Can I see your ring?”
I blush, both internally and externally, that I’ve been recognized. Is this what it’s like to be famous? Because I could get used to this. And the fact that she just said she bought a pair of shoes because of me? That has me beaming with pride.
I hold out my left hand, Reese’s face popping into my head and the moment he got down on one knee rippling over my memory. “It’s just a placeholder right now.”
What a lie. I was going to have to take off this rubbery piece of plastic soon.
“I love the story about how he asked with a Ring Pop.” She winks at me.
“Thank you so much.” I feel like a complete liar accepting her congratulations, knowing that Reese and I aren’t speaking right now.
“Can I tell you something?” She looks nervous, like I might think it’s weird if she confides something in me.
“Of course …” I hope she doesn’t tell me something too personal. I am bad at hiding that expression that looks like I’m uncomfortable and don’t want to hear your business.
“I obviously don’t know you well, but I’ve always admired your sarcastic tone while also giving great fashion finds. Like, you just seem like a totally normal girl to me. Not one of these prettily perfect bloggers who craps rainbows and has never had a broken nail. I honestly always thought, from your posts, that you didn’t really like to have boyfriends. I’m not sure why, I just got that feeling. And then you post about Reese … it just is so sweet! Makes you even more relatable. I guess I’m just trying to say that … thank you for your blog. Somedays, it’s the only thing that makes me smile.”
I’m speechless. Which seriously, doesn’t happen a lot for me. But I’m dumbstruck, not sure how to thank this woman for putting everything back into perspective for me. I thank her and keep walking, my chin tucked to my chest as my pace quickens.
What she said rang so true. I’m not perfect. I don’t pretend to be. So why should my relationship be? Why should marriage be? Life was messy.
And as corny and rom-com as it sounded, I wanted my life to be messy with Reese.
Forty-One
Reese
I’m about to knock on Erin’s door, when it suddenly opens.
I’m knocked back into the wall outside her door, my chest cushioning her running figure, an ooph coming from my throat.
Dark brown eyes blink up at me, her hands resting on my pecs. “I was just coming to see you.”
“You were?” I hold her against me, breathing in her scent and feeling her warmth.
I missed her so much, and it’s only been three days. I don’t think we’ve ever gone three days without talking in our lives, except when she’d accidentally jumped in a pool with her phone in her pocket during an impulsive, drunken night in college.
“I had to talk to you.” Her hands scale up my back, like they need my shirt to disappear so they can feel my skin.
“Can I come in?” I look down at her from where I tower a head above her.
She nods, and it’s one of the only times that I feel like Erin is shy.
Before we even fully make it inside, I’m the picture of contrition. “I’m so sorry, peas. I should have never said what I said. I didn’t mean it, you know that. I know that you know that. When I said I wanted to marry you, I meant that I wanted to be with you forever. I know we joke and make fun of love, but I do. I love you.”
Erin throws her hands up, walking away from me. “Why do you even want to do this? You could have any little preppy housewife, who would fold your clothes and cook your meals. If it has something to do with honoring the pact, you’re off the hook. Seriously, Reese.”
“Yeah, I could have any other woman, and she’d be a hell of a lot less difficult than you.”
Erin huffs, annoyed. “Yeah, you could. So go get one.”
“But I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I always have. You want the truth? I’ll give it to you.”
Wrapping her arms around her body in a self-defense move, she looks unsure, like she needed to brace herself for this.
“I had a crush on you the first time I ever saw you. I just agreed to be best friends because you asked, giving me a mud pie to celebrate, and I wanted to be as close to you as I could possibly get. And over the years, whenever I tried to tell you, I chickened out. You’re strong as hell, and have always known what you want and how to get it in the most determined fashion. What if I messed things up? I couldn’t think about a life without you in it, so I just kept quiet … kept things the way they were. But every time you went out with someone else, each time you said that love was a farce and you didn’t believe in it, it killed me a little inside.”
I may sound dramatic about all of this, but I have to get my point across. To show Erin that I’ve always been here, waiting quietly. I have to suck in a breath, because this next part is the scariest thing I’ve ever done.
“The night I fell in love with you? That party at Mitch Callister’s house, remember the party down by the river? We were freshman and it was the first senior party we’d gotten invited to, and we had foamy keg beer. Mitch noticed you, knew you were Morgan’s sister. He flirted with you, and you were gawking at him. I knew then, with that big green monster on my back, that I had to do something. That I had to have some kind of insurance policy, because I was in love with you. And do you remember what I did the next morning? We were sitting in your backyard, and I proposed the pact. Because I wanted to make sure, that after it all, after we grew and made mistakes and sowed our oats, that we would come together. Because I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a very long time. And it doesn’t have to be that romantic, sweep you off your feet, take a bullet for you love … although I’d do that. Love can be quiet and patient. It can wait for the other person to be ready, while also laughing and spending time with that person. That’s why I want to fulfill the pact, because I actually meant it when I proposed it at fifteen. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to marry. It’s probably why I could never get a relationship right, because I was just biding my time until you softened to the idea.”
Slowly, I walk to her, kneeling down again in front of her on one knee. When I take her left hand, I notice she hasn’t taken off the pink silicone ring I’d picked out as a placeholder.
“I’ve only ever loved you, Erin. I realize you may have seen me with other women, but you are it for me. I’m yours. Whether you want me or not now, I will never be with anyone else. You are my end game, the reason I put that pact in place. I would have never married anyone else. And on the lucky chance that you hadn’t, I had my insurance. Times up, we’re here. I love you. I’m in love with you. I didn’t say that the first time I proposed, but I love you. I should have started with that. I am in love with you. Marry me. Be my partner, my best friend.”
Looking up at her, I see the tear that streams down her cheek. She touches it, looking at the tear on her finger and then me. “You made me cry.”
I’ve only ever seen her cry three other times in all the years I’ve known her. “Does that mean I broke you?”
“I think it means you fixed me.” Erin huffed, looking up at the ceiling. “God, that sounded cliché. But … I guess I am. Because I’m going to marry the boy next door like some kind of Meg Ryan movie. And by the way, I love you, too.”
My mouth went dry and my hand tightened around hers. My other went to her ankle, sliding up her leg to the top of her tight black workout shorts. She’d answered my question with the exact three words I’d been waiting to hear since the day I’d met her.
There was nothing else to talk about. So I kissed her.
Forty-Two
Erin
Hands on skin.
Lips on flesh.
Teeth biting into the inside of thighs.
Nails scraping down muscles.
It was all a blur as Reese and I went at it like wild animals, the kind of makeup sex that you only read about in books. The kind that breaks lamps and shakes the foundation of the earth and all of that other life altering crap.
One minute, we’re standing in the entrance to my apartment that opens up into my living room. And the next, Reese is throwing me down on the bed after he picked me up, attacking my mouth at the same time as he walked. How could he see? How did he not walk us into a wall, or trip over the seven pairs of shoes littering my kitchen floor. You know that high that people get when they’re on a crazy dangerous drug, the one that allows them to like, flip a car over? Maybe sex does that to Reese. Because if I had just attempted to foreplay with a woman while walking backward in an apartment that wasn’t my own, I would have ended up with a concussion and a broken toe.
“Stop thinking,” Reese growls, his eyes the most intoxicating shade of jeweled green, as he rips off the shorts I was wearing and dives in without another word.
And that right there makes me stop thinking. All I can focus on are his lips and tongue working me like a well-trained violin player plucking at the strings. Higher and higher, I’m making notes that I hadn’t even known were humanly possible. Gasping for air as I writhe on my bed, trying to grind his face into me in such an unladylike way, it should be illegal. But I can’t help it, my body just keeps making those motions.
“That’s it, use my tongue.” Reese smirks into my core, taunting me as I get so close, I ball my fists into his hair and pull hard.
I’m about to come undone, the tingles in my feet have started, when he comes up for air.
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