by Becky Monson
CHAPTER 8
University of Connecticut, Freshman Year, Winter
“You wanna know what I think, Bridge?” Ian asked as we sat at a small, round table, chairs side by side in the Dairy Bar eating ice cream. Actually, he had finished his and had moved on to mine.
“What do you think?” I asked, not truly wanting his opinion on the subject.
“I think you’re jealous.” He cocked his head to the side, his mouth turned up in a typical Ian smirk. His insanely green eyes were penetrating mine. I looked away.
I slapped him on the arm. “I’m not jealous,” I exclaimed. “You’re an idiot.”
“Come on,” he said, tapping his spoon against the side of the cup of ice cream. My ice cream, which I had wanted to finish, but somehow he was eating it. Typical.
“Why would you think I was jealous?” I asked, starting to feel annoyed.
“Because of the way you’re acting right now,” he said, pointing at me with the spoon.
“I’m not jealous,” I said with finality. He had some nerve. “And how am I ‘acting’?” I used air quotes, sarcasm oozing from my voice.
“I don’t know. There’s just something different this time,” he said, lifting one eyebrow as he looked my face over.
“You’re an idiot,” I said, once again.
“So if you’re not jealous, then why do you care if he’s going out with someone tonight?” He looked out the window at the snow-covered ground, and my eyes followed. The powder was fresh, and it twinkled from the night lights.
“Huh?” He pestered me for an answer, poking me in the arm.
“I don’t care!” I exclaimed a little too loudly. Glances shot at me from around the room.
“Okay, fine,” he said, relenting, both hands up in the air as if I had a gun on him. His right hand still held the spoon.
“What about you, anyway?” I said, punching him lightly on the arm as he went back to finishing off my cookies and cream.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, didn’t you call dibs on her?” I asked. I tried to raise one of my eyebrows, but I could never do it like he could. I’m pretty sure I looked like I had some sort of eye twitch problem.
He lifted one perfect eyebrow to mock me, knowing exactly what I was trying to do.
“Yeah, so?” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Doesn’t that go against the bro-code, or whatever?” I asked.
“Nah, it’s all good. He can have her,” he said, polishing off the last of my ice cream.
I rolled my eyes. Typical Ian. He never wanted to ruffle feathers, always keeping the peace. Especially with his roommate, Brandon, who could be so infuriating. Brandon was a typical male of the species. Ian was not. I wasn’t used to someone like Ian.
Of course, I wasn’t of the mind to ruffle feathers, either. Jenna was my roommate, after all. Who knew Ian’s roommate and mine would hit it off so well? I sure didn’t. Huh. Maybe I was a little jealous. Of what, I wasn’t sure. I liked Brandon, and I didn’t know why. He was tall and doughy—not fat, just not fit. I liked that when he hugged me I felt so feminine. He was like a big teddy bear. He was also funny as hell. Jenna was not the smartest cookie in the jar. I doubt she would ever get his jokes.
Oh, gosh, I was jealous.
“Aha!” Ian exclaimed. “I saw that look. I was right.”
“What did you see?” I looked away from him. Ian was a master at reading people’s faces. Well, really, my face. He could tell exactly what I was thinking just by looking at me. Damn him.
“Okay, fine,” I said, folding my arms and sitting back in my chair. “Maybe I’m a little jealous. But it only just dawned on me. I hate that you know me so well.”
He put an arm around me. “But then who would be there to call you out on your crap?” he asked with a smirk.
“Yes.” I puckered my lips in full pout. “It’s so much fun being called out on my crap,” I mocked.
His smirk turned into a smile, and he pulled me in for a side hug.
“Well, I guess if Jenna and Brandon are out tonight, then you and I are stuck together.”
“I knew you liked her,” I said, shaking my head slightly, and also not liking it at the same time. He could do so much better than her. Oddly, I felt that way about all of the girls Ian had dated or shown interest in. I was protective of him, so that must have been the reason. I got the idea he was protective of me, as well. Without him saying it, I knew he didn’t approve of my interest in Brandon, either.
“I never said that.” He shook his head, but I could tell by his face he liked Jenna. He wasn’t the only one who could read faces.
“Movie?” he asked as we stood up to go.
“Yep,” I said, and then smiled to myself.
I had Ian. And right now, that was enough.
CHAPTER 9
“Oh, Ash, I’m so sorry,” I hug her at the door of Gram’s apartment. She’s just shown up, red-faced from crying, after being rejected yet again for another part.
“I just don’t get it,” she says, coming in and taking off her light-weight jacket. We were headed toward warmer weather, but the evenings could still be fairly chilly. “They told me I was what they were looking for, asked me for callbacks three times, even told my agent I was who they wanted. I thought this was it. This was finally it.” She hangs her head in defeat.
I don’t get it, either. Ashley is practically oozing with talent. She’s the whole package. She can sing, dance, and act. Plus, with her stunning red hair and her amazing skin, which I covet, I have no idea why she hasn’t been snatched up yet. It makes no sense. Sadly, this isn’t the first time she has made it so far, only to be dropped at the end.
I guide her into the living room and grab a box of tissues that’s sitting on an antique end table, pulling out a few to hand her.
“Thank you,” she says, taking the tissues and blowing her nose loudly into them. “I’m so glad we didn’t have to work tonight,” she says after she finishes trumpeting with her nose. “I don’t think I would have been able to be cheery and customer service-y tonight.”
“Ash, I don’t know what to say. What can I do to cheer you up?” I grab her hand and hold it, trying to give her some comfort.
“Oh, nothing, really. I mean . . . chocolate would help.” She sniffles, dropping my hand and falling gracelessly onto the couch.
I go into the kitchen, searching for chocolate. There’s a bit of a lack these days. Gram and I decided we needed to eat better, so we threw a bunch away. Knowing Gram, though, she probably has some stashed, just in case.
I grab a chair and stand on it, reaching up into the cabinet above the refrigerator—the place that has always been Gram’s not-so-secret, secret hiding spot. She’s been hiding things in the cabinet above the refrigerator since my sister and I were kids. We always knew where to find the good stuff.
I feel around blindly with my hand because I’m not tall enough to see directly into the cabinet. I land on something that seems bar-like and could possibly be chocolate. Bingo. A large Symphony bar. Perfect for Ashley to eat her feelings with.
“Where’s Gram?” Ashley asks as I walk back in the room, carrying the extra-large chocolate bar.
“She’s out seeing a movie with her bridge club ladies tonight.” I sit down next to Ashley and begin unwrapping the chocolate.
“How come you didn’t go?” she asks as I hand her a large chunk of chocolate, which she immediately starts eating.
“Didn’t feel like it.” I break off a chunk of the chocolate bar and nibble on it.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. I didn’t want to go home to my roommates. They’d pretend to be sympathetic, but would really be happy I didn’t get it. And Justin would have been no help.” She sniffles and takes another bite of chocolate.
“Yeah, Justin isn’t exactly the sympathetic type.” I smile to myself, thinking about Justin and his lack of emotional intelligence.
One time when Adam and I had gotte
n into a huge fight, I somehow ended up seeking some comfort from Justin, and all I got was a couple of impersonal pats on the shoulder and then a “you cool now?” Super helpful.
“He’s probably too busy running his underground drug ring anyway,” Ashley throws out, apathetic.
“Or doing some live-action role playing,” I say, and she gives me a small laugh.
“I don’t know,” Ashley says after she swallows some chocolate. “Maybe I should just give up. Call it good and go start my career in a job where wannabe actors go after too much rejection. Any idea what that might be?” She looks up at me.
“Working for Ursula?” I give her a wry smile. “And no, you’re not giving up. Come on, I’m sure all of the super famous got lots of rejection to get where they are now. The part—the part—will come along. I know it.” I pat her on the knee.
Ashley sighs, her eyes crestfallen. “I guess if I give up now, then my parents would be right, and I would hate for that to happen.” She gives me a weak smile.
“Yes, and we wouldn’t want them to ever be right, so you just need to keep working at it.” I give her a confident expression.
“I’m tired of thinking about it. Let’s talk about something else.” She brightens up slightly. “How was your lunch date with Ian?”
“Oh, right. It was good, I think.”
“What do you mean, you ‘think’?” She asks, an inquisitive look on her face.
“Well, I never really got to apologize. He wouldn’t let me. Said it was ‘water under the bridge’ or something like that,” I grab a piece of my hair and start twirling it, contemplating.
“Let me see a picture of him,” she says, nudging me with her hand. “I didn’t get to see him up close at the event. I need a visual.”
I go to my room and grab my old scrapbook from college.
“Damn, he’s hot,” Ashley declares, after looking through all the pictures of Ian and me together.
“Yeah, he still is,” I say and then sigh. These pictures carry so many good memories of my time with Ian. I can even remember how I felt when we took some of them. Happy. Elated. I just wish I had been able to express myself better back then.
“So, will you see him again?” Ashley asks, reaching for what’s left of the chocolate bar sitting between us. My, how quickly it’s disappearing.
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know? He said he would call me, so we’ll see.”
“Do you want to see him again?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean, I think I do.” I look downward, pensive.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Ashley asks, taking a bite of chocolate.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, it was great to see him, and yes, old feelings did resurface—for me at least. It seemed like they did for him, too. But I don’t know if we can get past everything. He said it was in the past, but is it truly? Plus, and I know you don’t want to hear this, I still can’t help but hope things will work out with Adam.”
“Bridge . . .” she trails off, the disapproving tone of her voice saying it all.
“I know, Ash. You don’t need to say how you feel. I already know.”
“And by the way, Justin told me about this whole ridiculous charade you have planned for Friday night. Bridgette, that’s a recipe for disaster.” She gives me a reproving look.
Sometimes, I really do hate that Ashley knows me so well. I’ve only known her for just over two years, and she knows me better than my own sister. Better than Gram, even. I also hate that when it comes to Adam, she has been pretty much on the nose. We even stopped speaking for two weeks because she told me Adam was all wrong for me and would eventually break my heart. I don’t know about the all-wrong part, but the heartbroken part was right on the money.
“You’re probably right. But I have to see this chick Adam’s dating. And I want to see his family, too.” The family part was interjected as an afterthought, although true.
“And you also hope him seeing you with Justin might make him jealous,” she adds, cocking her head to the side knowingly.
“Maybe that’s part of it, too.” I smile sheepishly. It sucks to be called out on all your crap, even though, in hindsight, I do usually appreciate it. It’s in the here and now that I hate it.
“Okay, well, you know how I feel,” Ashley reprimands, and I nod and roll my eyes. “That being said, you’re gonna have to look extra hot if you’re going to meet this tramp. So, let’s go figure out what you’re going to wear.” She gives me a conniving little smile and then stands up, grabbing me by the hand and dragging me up with her.
I do love that even if she hates my choices, Ashley still has my back. That is a true best friend right there.
CHAPTER 10
“Come in, come in,” Carla says from the doorway of the Dubois family condo on the Upper East Side. Calling it a condo is an understatement, really. “Have a seat in the sitting room, I’ll just be right back.” She ushers us toward the sitting room.
Justin and I walk into the sprawling residence, and I see Justin go bug-eyed at the sight before him. I’ve been around the Dubois Family and their money for a while now. I’m used to it, and I never really cared about it. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated it. When Adam and I were in the good part of our relationship, I got to go with them on some fantastic family trips. The money, while nice, did not define them to me, though.
Now, seeing the condo through Justin’s eyes, well, it truly is a sight to behold. Everything is white with subtle gold accents. The carpets are plush and white, the couches, end tables, lamps, counters, cabinets—all white. It was a little nerve-racking when I first saw this place. I felt like I was in a museum. I was so anxious I was going to spill something. But Carla is always walking around carrying a large glass of red wine, which at any second could splash (and has on several occasions), so I stopped being so uptight about it.
“Holy sh—,”
“Justin!” I exclaim in a stage whisper, whacking him slightly on the arm with the back of my hand.
“Sorry,” he says, now taking his voice to a whisper. “You never told me Adam was loaded.”
“Well, he’s not. His family is,” I say quietly as we sit on the couch. I don’t mention that when Adam’s dad retires, he will be in charge of the company, so then he will be loaded.
“Something to drink?” Carla asks as she enters the living room, carrying a monster-size glass of red wine for herself.
“I think I’m good for now,” I say, and Justin nods his head, agreeing.
I couldn’t drink or eat anything at this moment. There wouldn’t be much room with all the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I look around the room, expecting Adam and this witch he’s dating to appear at any second.
“Adam should be here any minute,” Carla says, as if reading my mind.
“Is that Bridge I hear?” F.J. says as he walks into the living room, breaking out in a loud and very off-key version of “Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water”—something he always does when he sees me. He’s gangly with a bit of a beer gut. He looks a lot like Adam, but with tacky taste. Unbuttoned shirts displaying chest hair and gold chains and bracelets abound.
“Who’s that geek?” he asks, nodding his head toward Justin.
“F.J.!” Carla exclaims, exasperated. “This is Justin, Bridgette’s boyfriend.”
“Really?” he asks, not convinced.
“Yes. Really.” Carla rolls her eyes at him. “Justin, please forgive my son. He has about as much class as a goat. F.J., go call your brother and find out where he is.” She gives him a dirty look.
“What? What did I say?” F.J. asks, shrugging his shoulders in innocence.
“Would you just shut up, and go call your brother?” Carla practically spits the question at him. “I have no patience for that kid. None.” She mutters “disappointment” under her breath while adjusting her ornate diamond-encrusted watch, looking at the time.
“I’m going to check on dinner. You sure you don’t want a drink?” Carla lo
oks to Justin. We both politely decline, and she walks out of the room and into the kitchen.
“What’s up with that F.J. guy?” Justin asks once Carla is out of hearing distance.
“Oh, he’s harmless. He’s a bit spoiled. Doesn’t want to work. I think he would rather live off his parents. He’s a good guy, though.”
“Good guy?” he asks, not believing me. “How come he was so shocked that you and I would be together?” he asks, bemused.
“Don’t know,” I shrug.
“I still can’t believe you never mentioned that Adam’s family is loaded,” Justin says, apparently already recovered from F.J.’s comments and clearly still in awe of his surroundings.
“It’s not something that’s important to me, so why would I?” I shrug.
“Well, it’s important to me. Does Adam have a sister?”
“No. He doesn’t.” I whack him lightly on the arm once more.
“What? It’s a valid question. I think I just found my new goal in life. To marry a rich girl,” he nods his head, liking his idea.
“What a respectful idea,” I scoff.
The front door opens, and my heart starts to speed up. In walks Frank Dubois. He puts his keys on the console table near the door.
“Bridgette!” he exclaims, as he comes into the living room. I stand up, and he gives me a big hug.
“It’s great to see you, Frank,” I say.
“You, too. When was the last time I saw you? When Carla and I took you to dinner last month?” He cocks his head to the side, pondering.
“Yes, I think that was it.” I smile warmly at him, feeling relieved it was him and not Adam. I don’t think I’m ready to see Adam and this girl yet. I may never be ready, and it’s about to happen.
“How ya been?” he asks, taking a seat in the plush white chair next to the couch Justin and I are on.
Frank Dubois is tall, thin, and balding. F.J. gets his body from him, for sure. Everything except the balding part. F.J. and Adam will never have that problem.