Loving My Best Friend

by Reid, Roxy

  Tracy frowns like she’s going to keep pushing it.

  “So, how’d it go with the two guys? Which one turned out to be the better sexter?”

  “What? Oh, that.” Tracy throws her head back and laughs. “Fuck, that was a disaster. I should never take romantic advice from you. But it actually led to me getting this great idea for a story, and my editor’s all over it.”

  As Tracy launches into a detailed story about the intersection of the expansion of technology and international dating etiquette, I do my best to listen, but it’s hard to ignore that photo on the cork board.

  It’s even harder to ignore the man in the kitchen, the one I need to walk away from one more time.

  This time, it needs to be forever.

  24

  Jack

  No, I did not get robbed in Greece. Yes, I did mean to write a check for $100,000 to a midwestern academic I have no connection to. Please process the check.

  —Jack McBride, email to his personal financial manager, age thirty

  “What is this, an intervention?” I joke as I’m herded into the kitchen by Mel and my parents. Then I see Mel’s face. “Fuck. You told them?”

  Mel crosses her arms. “No, I didn’t tell them, but you’re going to.”

  “Tell us what?” my mom says as she looks from Mel to me. Then her face pales. “Is something wrong with the baby? Or Eva?”

  “No! No, everything’s fine with Eva and the baby. They had their first checkup a few days ago. Which is earlier than normal, but you know Eva,” I say.

  Both my parents sigh in relief. My dad squeezes my mom’s shoulder comfortingly.

  “That’s good,” my dad says. “Everything else can be fixed.”

  “No, Dad,” I say, my voice cracking. “It can’t.”

  I break down and tell them. I skim over the details—there are some things parents just don’t need to know—but by the end of it, they have the gist. We were dating casually before the paparazzi got that photo. So, we came up with the engagement story to solve the problems that posed. Then, we fell for each other for real, and it looked like it was actually going to work out until she got pregnant, and we fought, and she realized I wasn’t what she needed for the long haul.

  When I finish the story, my mom’s jaw is hanging open.

  I can’t blame her. I haven’t fucked up this badly since, well, ever.

  I’ve never fucked up this badly.

  “I’m sorry I lied to all of you. I was trying to protect you.”

  My mom purses her lips. “Oh, trust me, we’ll be talking about that later. Right now, we’re going to be talking about why the mother of your child thinks you aren’t good for the long haul. What did you do? Because if this is your fault, you’re going to fix it right now. If it’s not your fault, then I don’t care how much it embarrasses you, I am going in to talk to Eva right this very second. You are a good boy—”

  “Mom, I’m thirty.”

  “—and she doesn’t get to treat you like this!”

  I sigh and scrub my hands over my face. I don’t want to get into the details with them. It doesn’t do any good, and it’s fucking humiliating. If the alternative is my mom storming into the living room and reading Eva the riot act, though, I need to come clean now.

  “It’s not her fault, Mom. When she told me she was pregnant, she could tell I didn’t genuinely want a kid yet. I told her I’d do whatever she wanted, but she didn’t want to be with me if I was just going through the motions on this. So, I asked her to give me time so that I could try and get genuinely excited the way she was, but she said she couldn’t do that because it would hurt too much if I never got there. What she wants is for me to leave her alone and just be friends. So, I will.”

  I take a deep breath. “It’s not Eva’s fault, but it’s not something I can fix, either. I just need you to stop talking about the wedding or the marriage and focus on the baby that’s coming. Because that is real, and I can’t wait for you guys to meet our kid.”

  For the first time in this conversation, I find myself smiling as I talk. It’s a small smile, but it’s there. “Mom, you’ll finally have a grandkid to run around this place like you’ve always said you wanted. Dad, I’m going to need advice from you about how to run Rose Hotels and still be there all the time for my kid, the way you were for me. Mel, before you ask, I will let you take the kid to protests, but only when they’re ten and only the ones that are so peaceful, they’re boring. I know it’s important to learn how to be invested in your community and speak up for what’s right, but this is my kid, so it’s safety first, okay?”

  I spread my hands. “I know my situation isn’t what you hoped for, but this kid is going to be everything you hoped for. Plus, it’s Eva’s kid, so you know they’re going to come out smart. We’ll probably barely ever have to help them with homework,” I joke.

  My mom looks like she’s going to cry, and for a second, I think my big speech has failed, but then she gives me a brave, tremulous smile. “Okay, baby. If that’s what you need from us.”

  “It’s what I need,” I say firmly. “So, if we could all go back into the party before Eva wonders what the hell we’re doing in here—”

  “Just one question,” my dad says. “Are you genuinely excited about this kid now?”

  I look up baby equipment and read dad blogs at night. It’s the only thing that can make me happy when it’s one in the morning and I can’t sleep for missing Eva.

  I straighten my shoulders. “That’s not relevant.”

  “If the reason she broke up with you no longer applies. I think that’s relevant,” my dad muses gently.

  I grit my jaw. “She made her decision, and she asked me not to fight her on it.”

  “She made her decision a few weeks ago. You’ve got a lifetime ahead of you. I think one more shot at clear, open communication would be acceptable. So long as it’s mature and measured, without any attempts at emotional manipulation.” He looks at my mom. “What do you think, honey?”

  “I disagree,” my mom says to my dad, shocking me.

  Then she turns to me. “Pull out all the sappy, romantic, emotional manipulation in your repertoire. You think I got your dad by playing fair?” She shakes her head at the folly of that idea. “I agree, you’ve got one shot. She’s about to be a mom, which means she doesn’t have time to waste. You can tell her one more time that your feelings about this child have changed. Then, whatever decision she makes, you accept it. Mel, what do you think?”

  “I’m with Mom,” my big sister says. “But be smart about it. Eva’s not going to fall for champagne and rose petals. She’s going to need real proof you’ve changed.”

  I cross my arms, trying to feel irritated. Which is hard, because I’m dangerously close to feeling hopeful. “If we’re done designing my love life by committee, we should really get back to this baby shower you insisted on throwing.”

  Mel rolls her eyes, but she heads to the living room door. “Don’t forget what I said. She needs proof.” The door swishes closed behind Mel.

  My mom pats me on the cheek. “You’ll do fine, dear. She loves you. And you love her. Don’t be afraid to wear your heart on your sleeve.” Then she follows Mel.

  I look over at my dad. “Any last words?”

  He walks over and, to my surprise, gives me a hug. “Just be honest and respectful. That’s all you can be.” He picks up a newspaper and heads back out to the party, leaving me to stare at the living room door.

  Eva’s on the other side of that door.

  I know I told her I’d give her anything she wanted, but she also told me that my focusing exclusively on what she wants is just a way to avoid making decisions. I know the decision I want to make. My family agrees it’s a good idea.

  On the one hand, my family is biased. On the other hand, those three never agree on anything, but they agree on this.

  My heart is pounding a mile a minute.

  What if it isn’t over?

  What if I
’ve got one more shot?

  * * *

  Eva’s quiet as I drive us back to the city. Maybe pretending to be a couple, even for a little while, is making her rethink our break-up. Maybe this is the perfect time to bring up that my feelings have changed.

  Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse. Still. No time like the present. I take a deep breath and open my mouth.

  “I need to move out,” Eva says.

  I snap my mouth closed.

  Eva continues talking, staring straight ahead like she can only get this out if she doesn’t look at me. “I thought I could get over our romance and keep living with you, but I can’t. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I still want to be your friend. We can keep up the fake engagement. I just can’t live with you.”

  I hesitate. If she’s not over our romance yet, then maybe I can still say something. Maybe it’s not too late. I take a deep breath. My hands clench on the steering wheel. “Eva—”

  “Please don’t argue with me, Jack,” she says. Her voice is tired, a little broken. “This is what I need, but I’m not strong enough to fight you for it right now.”

  It’s the admission of weakness that does it. Eva hates letting anyone see her this vulnerable, including me. It’s easy to tell myself that if I speak up, she’ll be happy. That I can fix everything, just by telling her what I want.

  I could be wrong, though. I’m probably wrong.

  I’m pretty damn selfish, but I’m not selfish enough to fight her when she’s begging me not to.

  “Just drop me off at a hotel,” she says. “I’ll move my stuff out tomorrow.”

  “No,” I blurt, and then I amend, “I’ll move out to the hotel. You stay where you’re comfortable. If anyone asks, we’ll just say I have a lot of work, so I’m staying at the hotel to focus on it.”

  It’s even kind of true since I still need to decide what the fuck to do with that ballroom in upstate New York.

  * * *

  Five days later, I’m sitting in my office, staring blankly at the plans for the new upstate New York hotel. I really, really need to make a decision.

  More than that, I need to ignore the fact that this is Eva’s last day working for me. Makeda came back from maternity leave this morning. Eva’s in there with her now, going over everything that happened while Makeda was out.

  I only ever see Eva at work now since I’m staying at the hotel. Which means after today, I won’t see her at all.

  That’s not true, I tell myself. You’ll see her at the baby’s next doctor visit. You’ll see her at the wedding. You’ll see her for all the childcare-related stuff. And you’ll see her when you get divorced.

  The despair gnawing at my gut is so powerful it’s nearly impossible to focus on the design plans in front of me. The team has presented me with a dry, practical layout that breaks the ballroom up into conference rooms and other small spaces. I know I should just sign off on it.

  If I sign off on it, it feels like I’ll be doing what Eva accused me of that night in Greece—going through the motions just to make other people happy.

  I’ve thought about telling her a million times in the past five days that my feelings have changed, but what if she doesn’t believe me? What if she thinks I’m just saying what she wants to hear so I can get her back? I need a way to show her, but I can’t think of a damn thing.

  My office phone rings. I grab for it blindly, grateful for the distraction. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Jack,” my assistant says. “I have someone named Cameron Robbinson calling for you. Do you want me to transfer him? He says he met you in Greece.”

  For a moment, I stare blankly ahead, trying to figure out who the fuck she’s talking about.

  “He says he understands if you don’t have time to talk to him, he just wanted to thank you again and let you know how much he’s enjoying Montana.”

  “Oh! Him! Yes, yes, I did meet him in a bar,” I say, belatedly remembering my drinking buddy in Nafplio. “Transfer him over, please.”

  I drum my fingers on the desk until I hear Cameron’s polite midwestern, “Hello?” on the other end of the line.

  “Hello! Cameron. I’m so glad you called. I could use some good news. How’s Montana?”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful. I mean, not so much Montana, although that’s lovely, too. I’m really enjoying the new job, but I just wanted to let you know. Thomson and I are getting married, and it’s because of you.”

  I sit back in my desk chair, smiling. Sometimes, being rich is really fucking awesome. Still, honesty makes me add, “I highly doubt that. I’m sure you two would have found a way to work it out one way or the other, but I’m happy to have been able to help.”

  I prop my feet on my desk. “Congratulations on the engagement!”

  “What about you? How did things work with your Evvie?” he asks.

  I feel myself deflate a little. So much for the phone call being a distraction. “I’m really looking forward to being a dad,” I say honestly. “ I think with enough time, Eva and I might be able to be real friends again.”

  “Oh,” Cameron says sympathetically. It’s so much less than what my parents said when they found out, but in a way, it’s so much more because Cameron knows exactly what it’s like to fall in love with your best friend and lose them.

  “So, tell me about Montana! Tell me about the wedding! I’ve got a meeting in about ten minutes, unfortunately, but if you’ve got time to kill until then …”

  Cameron chatters on about his new home, his new job, and how Thompson proposed in the middle of a noisy, family-friendly restaurant of all places.

  “We never used to go to places like that when we were younger, but it’s great food just around the corner. It’s kind of fun to see all the families and be part of the neighborhood. I actually love the place, but I never thought Thompson would propose there. I was expecting somewhere more glamorous. But then he did it, and it was so perfect.”

  My feet slam to the ground as the idea comes to me.

  That’s it. That’s how I show her.

  “Are you still there?” Cameron asks.

  “I’m sorry, Cameron, I have to go. Thank you so much. You have no idea how helpful this has been.”

  “Of course! I don’t want to keep you. You need to get to your meeting.”

  “Actually, it’s not that,” I say as I stare at the plans spread across my desk. “I’ve just had a break-through.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Cameron says, polite but confused. “A break-through about what?”

  I feel a grin spread across my face. “I think I just figured out how to move to Montana.”

  25

  Eva

  Jack doesn’t think I stand up for myself enough, so he’s started doing this thing where every time I ask him what he thinks, he says, “I don’t know, Evvie. What do you think?”

  He is SO. ANNOYING.

  —Eva Price, journal, age fourteen

  I stand in my office—Makeda’s office—and finish giving Makeda the last of the marketing updates of everything that happened while she was gone. Makeda’s a tall, beautiful black woman who looks like she takes her style inspiration from Michelle Obama. I already knew what she looked like from the wedding photo of her and her husband she keeps on her desk, but there’s a softness to her face when I see her in person. She’s obviously glad to be back in a job she’s amazing at, but she’s also still got that new-mom glow. When she sets her designer purse on her desk, I notice a tiny pink baby sock caught in the zipper.

  That’s going to be me in a year, I think. Then I blink back the mixed emotions rising in me and focus on my wrap-up with Makeda.

  “All of your marketing campaigns are proceeding on schedule,” I say. “It’s been a privilege to work with a team as well-oiled as yours. The only thing that’s still stalled is the preliminary marketing materials for the new upstate hotel. We could only get so far on that without a decision from Jack on the remodel details.”

  I hand her a file of m
y notes. “In case it’s helpful, here are my notes from all the meetings I attended in your stead. Feel free to call me if anything in there is unclear. It’s been a pleasure keeping the seat warm for you.”

  “I appreciate the work you’ve done here,” she says. “I admit, I was hesitant about the idea of an interim marketing director. Often, by the time they’re trained enough to be genuinely useful, it’s time for them to leave, and I didn’t want to create extra work for my team. But they had nothing but good things to say about you.”

  She holds out her hand, and we shake. I pick up my purse and take my coat off the coat rack for the last time.

  This is it. Last day. One fewer tie with Jack. I should be happy about leaving, or at least certain, but all I feel is a sort of vague reluctance.

  As I turn to go, I see Makeda carefully take a framed photo out of her purse. It’s her and her husband with their baby. They’re all smiling, perfect and happy together.

  A deep yearning washes over me. I almost had that.

  Suddenly, I find myself thinking all these thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid.

  Maybe I was too hasty?

  No. You don’t compromise when it comes to whether or not your child grows up knowing they are wanted.

  But emotions are messy. You weren’t happy when you first found out you were pregnant. You needed a few hours to adjust.

  What if all Jack needed was a few hours to adjust?

  And then the worst thought of all steals over me. What if I didn’t need Jack to be certain for the baby’s sake? What if I needed him to be certain because I wasn’t? I had too many doubts, and so I needed him not to have any.

  I look back at the photo and make a split-second decision.

  “Makeda? Can I ask you a personal question that I have no business asking? About being a mom?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up, then she glances quickly in the direction of Jack’s office, but she must be a pro in business negotiations because she keeps her face smoothly neutral, not giving anything away.