The café has gone quiet, and all I hear is an odd buzzing in my ears. The couple sitting next to us is staring at me as I take deep breaths and struggle not to lose it. The girl has a pink nose ring that matches the streak in her hair. She looks down when my eyes meet hers, but it’s too late; I already read her pity.
Emily stands up and comes to Luke’s side, as if I’ve attacked him and he needs her protection. They are a united front, and I’m outnumbered.
I never thought I’d have to face this humiliation again. Not surprisingly, it’s just as shitty as the first time. I take a step back. And then another. Retreat feels like my only option.
“It was a long time ago,” Emily says, like that makes everything okay. As though there’s an expiration date on betrayal and heartache. “Don’t ruin this for us by being petty.”
“Petty?” I repeat.
“Haven’t we all moved on?” she asks, tucking a red strand of hair into place.
My anger flares—a welcome relief, because it lances the pain and weakness seeping out of me. Bless Emily and her bitchy comment; she has killed cowardly, dumbstruck Sam.
I turn to Luke. “She do all your talking now? Were you always this much of a pussy, or is that a new thing?”
Luke’s face turns disapproving and cold. I remember that look well, and for the briefest moment I feel the familiar discomfort of disappointing him. Luckily, it’s a brief, phantom feeling that I don’t have to care about anymore.
“You never were very classy,” Emily says.
Luke’s eyes dart to the floor, but he stays silent.
I bark out a bitter laugh. “Yes. I should paint a portrait of you spreading your legs for Luke and hang it in the Louvre.”
I turn back to Luke and ignore Emily. She was never the problem. “How in the world did I ever date a spineless little prick like you?”
His shoulders slump.
Ridiculing Emily feels amazing. Belittling Luke feels even better. But I know in the long run, nothing good will come of it, and I’ll be the one left with an emotional hangover tomorrow.
I don’t want to be angry girl anymore. So I turn and leave, just like I did two years ago. Except this time, I’m choosing to walk away.
“What’s wrong?” Lizzie asks when I get home.
Thank God she knows me so well, spares me from trying to pretend everything’s cool.
I sit on the couch and stare into space. Lizzie sits down next to me.
“What is it? You’re freaking me out.”
“I saw Luke and Emily.”
Lizzie folds her legs underneath her body, settling in for a serious talk. “Crap. How did it go?”
“I made a fool of myself, obviously.” I sink into the couch. “You know, I’ve fantasized about this moment before. But I was always on the arm of some hottie, looking gorgeous and unaffected. Instead, I spilled coffee on myself and almost cried.”
“I’m sure you were amazing. And you’re allowed to do whatever you want. They’re the jerks, not you. You don’t have anything to prove.”
I pluck at the hem of my T-shirt. “They’re getting married in June.”
Lizzie puts her hand on my shoulder. “If Luke begged you to take him back, would you?”
“Hells no.” I’m relieved that I actually mean that.
“Then why are you sweating him?”
“Don’t know. I shouldn’t care that they’re getting married.”
Truth is, Luke and Emily are a perfect match made in hell. I was placed in a dorm room with Emily freshman year. She was a nervous little thing—the type of girl that talked in a whisper and disappeared down back staircases. She confided in me that she’d always had a hard time making friends, so we started hanging out. I dragged her to parties, invited her to dinner with friends. Luke hadn’t liked her—said she was uptight. But, really, it wasn’t a surprise that he changed his mind. Luke wanted someone to follow his lead, and Emily needed an anchor.
If I had married Luke, he would have resented me, and I might have murdered his judgmental ass. “She did me a favor,” I admit.
“That’s not what I mean, exactly,” Lizzie says, interrupting my vengeful thoughts. “It’s been a long time since Luke. Why are you letting him keep you celibate and miserable?”
“I’m not. I’ve hooked up with other guys.”
“Exactly. Hookups. Nothing longer than a few weeks. And they were all questionable.”
“Not all of them. What about that guy, Dane?”
“Really? You called him ‘foot-fetish guy.’”
Yeah, and it turned out “fetish” didn’t just mean he liked the way I looked in heels. That was a shocker. “You’re not making a good case here. Most guys aren’t worth the effort.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, throwing her blond hair over one shoulder. “But some are. Kinda seems like you pick the losers on purpose.”
“Why start something with a guy when I’ll be leaving for med school?”
Lizzie gives me the stink eye, because she sees through that excuse. She knows I’m scared of losing my shit over another guy. When Luke told me he was getting his MBA, I applied to five schools so I could transfer and live with him wherever he ended up. They hadn’t had the best premed programs, and I would have been leaving my family and friends. But at the time, I didn’t care. I was ready to give up so much for Luke, and he hadn’t been worth it.
I don’t need to be a fool twice in one lifetime.
Lizzie is persistent, as usual. “You’ve got at least four months until you leave San Jose. Why not spend quality time with someone until then? Just to get yourself back out there?”
“We’ll see,” I say, standing up and heading for the kitchen. “I’m officially over this convo. Tell me what’s going on with you.”
Lizzie follows me, for some reason breaking out into her celebration dance, her tiny butt shaking back and forth. “I have news,” she says. “Jeff is moving here. In three weeks.”
“Wow! That’s umm . . . tell me all about it.” My smile feels like it’s going to crack my cheeks in half. Lizzie’s too excited to notice, which is good. I don’t want to rain on her parade. She adores her big Utah family, and to have one of them in California with her is a dream come true.
“He got a job at a venture capital firm. His fantasy job. He’ll be working a mile from here.”
“That’s amazing.” I take chicken and vegetables out of the refrigerator and set them on our beige tiled counter as I picture Jeff. Long chin, goofy grin, and a set of shoulders I wouldn’t mind being perched on. I’ve only met him once, but it was memorable. I wonder if he would say the same, or if I’ve been long forgotten.
“He needs to find an apartment,” Lizzie says.
“That should be doable.”
Something in my tone gives me away—probably forgot to dial down the fake perky—and Lizzie frowns.
“I know Jeff’s not your favorite, but he really is a good person,” she says.
“Of course he is. He’s your brother.”
Except, he didn’t seem like a good guy at first. When Jeff came out to visit last year, he and I were forced on a double date with Lizzie and Ryan—the guy she was seeing back then. I hadn’t been in a good mood, and I don’t think Jeff had, either. Or maybe we irritated each other.
Either way, when they shoved us in the back of Ryan’s car together, sparks flew. At some point I accused Jeff of being sexist, because he had this retro John Wayne thing going on that didn’t sit right with me. By the end of the night, my tune had changed. A lot.
Lizzie frowns. “Then why don’t you like him?”
What I wouldn’t give to be a much better liar.
“I do like him.” A little too much, in fact. “What made him decide to move?” I busy myself with washing my hands and grabbing a glass from the cabinet.
“He’s being vague, but I think he wants to get away from my family. He needs a change.” Lizzie digs out a pot from the cabinet and fills it with water. “I’m hopin
g to hook him up with some cool girls.”
I almost do a spit take with the water I’m sipping. “Pimping for him already?”
“I want him to have some fun. He can be a little uptight.”
Maybe Lizzie doesn’t know her brother like she thinks she does. Because he has a feisty side, too. It’s likely his nice-guy routine is genuine, but I saw behind the curtain into Jeff’s passionate nature—both when we were arguing and after. I don’t want to be in his crosshairs again; it made me have all kinds of feelings. Weird, panicky type feelings.
Not to mention it’s probably immoral to lust after your best friend’s brother. I wasn’t raised with religion, so I’m a little fuzzy on that.
Lizzie scoops rice into the water and puts a lid on. “I want to help him relax. He takes himself too seriously sometimes. And then he ends up with these girls that want his initials on their towels, and he freaks out.”
I’ll bet. Jeff hides his true self behind pleasant manners and a good-ol’-boy charm. He’s the type that will pull your chair out for you. But by his own admission, he’s also the one who will wait until you fall for him, decide he isn’t in love with you, and then pull that same chair out from under you so that you end up on your ass.
I grab some coconut milk from the fridge to make my sauce. “I’m sure you’ll get him to lighten up.”
“Promise me you’ll give him a chance.”
The night I met Jeff, Lizzie spent some time making out with Ryan outside our suite, while Jeff and I had our own intense encounter on the other side of the door. But Lizzie knows nothing about that. So she doesn’t understand that he and I have already agreed to mutually dislike each other. Or something. I think. It was all a bit confusing. And I’m not looking for confusing. So the one thing I am sure of is that Lizzie’s brother is not good for my health.
Still, she is my best friend. I turn to her with the most sincere face I can muster. “Of course I’ll give him a chance.”
CHAPTER 2
Jeff
“Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we’re going to be stuck on the tarmac for a bit before we can disembark,” the pilot says in a garbled voice. It’s hard to hear him over the passengers preparing to get off the plane. “I’m keeping the seat belt sign lit. Please remain in your seats until we can get to the gate.”
I throw my head back onto my seat. I hate false starts. After the mental anguish of deciding to leave Utah, the dramatic announcement to my family, and the hasty good-bye speech made to Kelly, the girl I was dating, it’s anticlimactic.
But at least I’m in California.
The guy next to me is restless. I can tell by the way he fidgets in his seat. The woman in front of me calls out to the flight attendant, who is ignoring the lit button because she’s helping an older man two rows down. People are starting to fan their faces because the cool air is off.
I don’t blame them. We can all see the gate—so close but so far away. Still, I stay calm. Maybe because the agitation level is spiking, the captain comes back on to remind us we can use our phones since we’ve landed. Gadgets are pulled out at lightning speed, the guy next to me already hitting send on an e-mail.
I take my phone off airplane mode and see twelve texts. All from Kelly. I turn my phone off.
Packing my laptop and magazine back into my messenger bag only takes a minute. I eavesdrop on a few conversations, but those peter out as everyone starts notifying loved ones they have arrived but are stuck. Eventually, I have no choice but to turn my phone back on and shoot Lizzie a text.
We landed, but we’re being held on the tarmac. Be there soon hopefully.
Just got here. No worries. I’ll be waiting.
Ah, my baby sister. I can’t wait to see her.
But now that my phone is staring me in the face again, I have to man up and deal with Kelly’s messages. And there are some doozies. Guess Kelly doesn’t like false starts, either.
You left so suddenly . . .
You should have told me sooner . . .
I know it had only been a month but . . .
Thought we had something special . . .
Only a jerk does that . . .
And the worst one:
You’re not the man everyone says you are.
Her barb stings me, but it doesn’t wound me. Because if I’m being honest—the kind of honest you can only be in rare moments and only with yourself—I don’t care enough about Kelly for her comment to hurt. Even if we had dated longer—a year, maybe two—I still wouldn’t have been invested. That’s the way it’s always been for me, because women like Kelly have an agenda, and I just go along to get along. I’m too afraid to break up with them or to tell them the truth, until it’s so dire that their parents are calling me “son” and everyone has wedding bells in their eyes. Then, and only then, do I force myself to do the right thing, and the woman hates me for it. As she should.
So what Kelly doesn’t understand is that it was a kindness on my part to leave.
Just when the mood around me sours and the crowd seems ready to break open the emergency exit, the captain tells us we’re heading to the gate. A few people clap, and before we know it, we’ve reached the freedom of the terminal.
No matter what airport you land in, they all feel hectic. Some are brighter, some are newer, but every single one of them is filled with people trying to juggle all the stuff they’re carrying. I’m traveling light today, but in my own way, I’m loaded down with a different kind of baggage.
As I step off the plane, a lady with a stroller bumps into me, and her bag goes flying onto the dirty gray carpet. I’m almost happy for the distraction. A little less time for me to think about the fact that I’m uprooting my entire life to move to a city I’ve been to once. Of course, it’s not so much that I’m running toward this place. More like I’m scurrying away from another, with my tail between my legs.
I bend down to help the woman pick up the random items that have spilled from her purse—hairbrush, pacifier, romance novel, wallet.
“Thanks,” she says as a man comes up behind her and puts his hands on the stroller handle.
“Your purse is twice as big as it used to be,” he says to the woman as she stands up.
She smiles at him and puts one arm around his waist. The gesture is casual but loving, and I try to ignore the funny feeling in my gut.
That could have been my life—almost was four years ago. Somehow that makes me feel guilty, sad, and relieved all at once, but I let it go.
I leave the happy family behind and wind my way through the crowds to the baggage carousel. As I stand and wait, my phone pings. It’s Mom, already calling to check on me, so I let it go to voice mail.
I take my one oversize duffel bag and head outside to the curb, where Lizzie is waiting.
I haven’t seen her in a while, and she looks different. Her face is maturing—no longer the round face of a girl, but the leaner face of a woman. Plus, she has a certain glow. When I lean over to hug her, I’m surprised by how comforting it is.
One thing hasn’t changed: Lizzie talks my ear off all the way to her place. I smile and nod in all the right spots, but she knows me too well.
“Am I talking too much?” She tries to look at me sideways as she drives.
She’s still in the beat-up Honda she’s had for ages. I, on the other hand, need a bigger car. Preferably American. It killed me to sell the truck I drove in Utah—that thing was a workhorse. But I don’t need it out here. I’ll be damned if I get one of those little hybrid cars that looks like an egg, though. I’m buying an SUV, first thing I can.
“My ears are bleeding, but other than that . . .” I laugh.
Lizzie parks in a garage, and we walk across the San Jose State campus to her dorm. The February skies are overcast, but it’s dry and snowless—already an improvement over Utah. Students are hustling to and from classes, some of them still in shorts and flip-flops. They seem carefree and happy, even though they’re probably all stressed out and overly
scheduled. Little do they know that school is nothing compared to working full-time and being out in the real world.
“I’m so thrilled you’re moving here,” Lizzie says, her voice quiet and soft. “You’re bringing a piece of home with you.” She steps in front of me and gives me a proper hug.
This girl kills me. She has since the day she was born. I may only have been three, but I knew I’d met my match the moment I saw Mom holding Lizzie in the hospital.
“I’m happy, too.” And for once I’m not saying that out of habit. I’m proud that I took a chance and made a change. But that’s going to take a while to sink in.
Lizzie’s place looks like it did last time I was here, which is strange because it’s a different suite. I guess all the rooms in this dorm are the same. Sort of like my life in Utah: Everything was a variation on a single theme.
“How come you never moved off campus?” I ask.
“Too much hassle and just as expensive. And Sam likes being close to her classes.”
Yes, Sam. Dark hair, bottomless brown eyes, and the personality of an angry rhino—only less charming. Except . . .
“You sure Sam’s okay with me staying here?” I ask Lizzie as I throw my bag in her room. “It shouldn’t be for long. I already put some apartment applications in.” I should have gotten a hotel, but Lizzie made a big deal about it.
“Absolutely,” she says, way too quickly. “What neighborhoods do you want to look at tomorrow? There are some cute areas outside of downtown that you might like.”
“I’m open to wherever I can afford the rent. I mostly want to learn my way around.”
“With your fancy job, I think you’ll do fine.”
Life at a VC firm isn’t as stable as Lizzie thinks, but I’ll leave her to her optimism.
We both flop onto the couch, which is industrial gray and almost as comfortable as it looks.
“How are things with you?” I ask.
She smiles at me—carefree and happy in a way I’ve never seen her before. I know her new boyfriend is responsible for that.
I chuckle. “Ah, enough said. Speaking of Mr. Wonderful, will Jude be around while I’m here?”
Tell Me How This Ends Page 24