by London James
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I look up, my blood pounding in my ears. “I’ve never liked you? Do you not realize how much shit you’ve put me through in my life?”
“What? Disciplining you? Pushing you to be your best in everything you did? Paying for a world-class education?” he says. “Where would you be if it wasn’t for me? You sure as shit wouldn’t be a CEO of anything.”
He can barely lift a cup filled with water, but he might as well have slapped me across the face hard enough for me to stumble backward. Again, he’s right. He did push me to do my best, which led to me getting straight A’s, always. I was always at the top of my sport, no matter what it was, because he made me get up and practice early even if there was a foot of snow outside. I didn’t even have to worry about student loan debt since he’d set aside money for my tuition. He always told me to work hard rather than complimenting my natural intelligence, which got me farther than some of my peers who had more talent. He was harsh, both then and now, but he got the job done.
I close my eyes, feeling a headache coming up behind my eyes. I don’t cry, but the headaches I get from frustration are almost as bad. I don’t have a comeback for what he said.
“Take this bullshit and get it out of my house,” he says, gesturing to the papers. “And don’t you ever try to foist some nonsense death-trap treatment on me again.”
I get up as if my body is being controlled remotely, put the papers back in my bag, and leave. I stand outside, waiting for a car to pick me up, tearing up the consent form that came along with the paperwork. I crush it into a ball and stuff it into the recycling bin.
Chapter Seven
Briony
I wish my day job was as satisfying as working on BloomBrightly. I work in marketing, which I need to do for BloomBrightly, but this is marketing for insurance companies. Literally nothing is more boring, even though it pays well, and I get to work from home. I only have to physically go into the office about once a week.
Of course, not all of BloomBrightly is fun, but that’s what Zara is for. She’s the business operations and finance person, and I’m everything else, more or less. She finds that part engaging—or at least she looks like she’s engaged. We sit at our kitchen table—ok, our table that’s next to the open kitchen because our apartment is tiny—blasting music and working away. Sometimes we toss popcorn into each other’s mouths or crack some jokes, then get right back to it. Going back to my day job after evenings like these is torture. I’m not sure if anyone has cracked a joke there in months without it flying over everyone’s heads.
I look over the beta version of the website one last time before I switch gears to Ben and Daisy’s wedding. Things on the site still aren’t efficient enough for me to use it to plan this time around, but I’ll be able to soon. For now, I have a spreadsheet with the flowers listed, each marked with their arrival date and what I have to do with each, along with information for the people who will be helping me transport the arrangements from my apartment to the engagement party venue. My notebook is open to my sketch page, where I’ve taped a few test photos I took. Sometimes working on paper helps me think the arrangements through a little better.
“Ugh, got another polite ‘thanks but no thanks’ from that new Brooklyn brides publication,” Zara mumbles. She must be checking our joint company mail.
“Did they give a reason why?” I ask, my mood dipping.
“No, just a ‘not a great fit at this time’ form rejection.” Zara sighs. “Sorry, B.”
“It’s ok. They aren’t the only publication out there.”
They aren’t even in my dream publication list, so my mood pops back up again. If we got a rejection—or hell, even any kind of response—from Modern New York Bride, my heart would have exploded. Our company or my work getting featured in it would be a dream come true. They’re the top-rated publication in the region, and a lot of small businesses have taken off by being featured there. And it’s the first publication that made me realize that being a professional floral designer is even a thing. I was at the orthodontist of all places when I was twelve and thumbed through it in the waiting room. I have no idea why it was in that waiting room, but I’m happy I stumbled upon it.
We pitched BloomBrightly to the magazine a few times in the past, to no response. At a networking event, someone told me that they rely heavily on personal connections and word-of-mouth in choosing their content. I’ve done everything besides straight-up stalking their editors, trying to get in front of them, but they’re almost as impossible to get to as the president. Or at least a junior senator. If I keep trying, I’ll get there eventually.
At least Ash’s compliments on the business have kept me going more than I want to admit. I can push aside all of our drama to recognize a genuine compliment. If anything, I’m good at remaining professional.
My phone alarm chimes under the pulsing sounds of whatever song Zara is playing. Ugh, it’s already six? I have a date in a little over an hour. Even though I’m not excited in the slightest, I can’t roll up to the bar wearing a big t-shirt that says COOL CAT LADY in hot pink letters and some running shorts from high school with a hole in the butt.
“Hey, want to help me with an outfit for this date I have?” I ask, standing and stretching.
“Ooh yes, of course.” Zara shuts her laptop and stands, too. “Tell me all about this guy.”
“My nice coworker set me up with him a few weeks back, so I can’t just blow him off.” I sigh and go into the bathroom, leaving the door open. “But I’m not excited.”
I start the shower and undress while Zara putters around in my bedroom on the other side of the wall. She pops into the bathroom a few moments later.
“More details, please,” she prods. “Not excited because he’s not cute? Not excited because you think he’s an arse? And where are you two going?”
I sigh again and grab my plain body wash. He’s not worth using the fancy stuff. “Not excited because I’m just over dating. And we’re going to that casual beer garden that I mentioned the other day. It’s outside.”
“Why are you going if you’re over it?” she asks. I can’t see her because of the shower curtain, but I know she’s wearing her ‘girl, why?’ face. If I’m the mom friend, Zara is the ‘bad cop mom friend’—she’ll hold you while you cry, but once she’s comforted you enough, she’ll tell it to you straight.
“Basically, because I might as well.” I smooth my hands over my belly, then down my sides. “I feel like I should give the guy a shot, at least. He’s not bad-looking, and he’s a veterinarian. Based on my Instagram stalking, he’s pretty decent. Not that looking good on Instagram means anything.”
“Mmhm.” She is definitely not convinced. “What’s his vibe? Like, outdoorsy vet, or bougie vet who only deals with fancy dogs?”
“Mm, probably closer to outdoorsy vet, but it looks like his patients are regular cats and dogs based on his Instagram.”
He has a cat, so at least we have one thing to talk about. We might have a lot of things to talk about—he’s perfect on paper. Maybe my dread is coming from the fact that he’s yet another first date. I’m so damn tired of first dates. I need a break, like I’d promised I would take, but I have to sit through this last one. I can do this.
I finish up my shower and dry my hair hastily, not bothering to fool with my diffuser or keep my curls tidy. After I have my tiny bit of makeup done, I go into my bedroom, wrapped in my robe. Zara has laid out a cute outfit on my bed: high-waisted denim shorts and a vintage t-shirt, plus a big floppy hat. We’re the same height, but our bodies are basically opposites—she’s fine-boned with what she affectionately calls an elegant board body where I’m curvy and clearly born of ancestors who had to plow fields and milk cows all day. Picking out each other’s outfits is kind of a ‘how the other half lives’ experiment.
“Is this a good blend of being cute, cool for the weather, but not too try-hard because you’re probably never going to see this guy again?” Zara a
sks.
“Yeah, it’s cute.” I get dressed, then come out of my room to do a twirl.
“Go get ‘em,” Zara says, slapping my butt before I can block her. “But not too long, though, because I want to watch the next episode of Great British Bake Off with you.”
“Ok, I’ll tell him that I have to leave promptly so I can yell about rough puff pastry with my best friend,” I say dryly, gathering my purse and phone.
“Great, he’ll be so accommodating.” Zara smirks. “Rough puff is important stuff.”
“I wish. See you soon.”
I head out, taking the train two stops and making my way to the bar. I find him right away, sitting in the window. He’s cuter in person, at least—longish brown hair and a nice smile. And yet, I don’t feel much actual attraction. It’s like I’m looking at a nice painting and understanding that it’s aesthetically pleasing, but not feeling compelled to stand in front of it for more than a few seconds.
“Hey, Briony?” he asks, standing when I come inside.
“Yes, and you’re Drew?” I go in for a handshake, but he goes for the hug. It’s just as awkward as I expect it to be. He’s wearing cologne, but it doesn’t appeal to me one way or the other. It’s a step up from Axe body spray, I guess.
“Nice to meet you.” He smiles again and pulls out a seat for me. A gentleman, at least. Maybe the date won’t be too bad.
Thankfully, he hands me the menu, so I have a few moments to not speak. I can feel him studying me, but I’m not sure if it’s interest or him comparing what my coworker said about me and the reality. I order a glass of white wine, and he orders a beer.
“So…” he starts, filling the awkward silence.
I glance at his hands, which have a long, but shallow scratch that crosses both of them. “Is that from one of your patients?”
“What?” He looks down. “Oh, right. It is.”
“A cat?”
“No, a parrot.” He smiles again. He clearly had braces in the past—his teeth are too perfect. “People underestimate birds, but they’re really smart and can get a little moody.”
“Do you like being a vet?” I ask. A very lame question, but the struggle is already apparent. What is with me? I’m not shy, but sometimes my social faucet gets clogged.
“Yeah, I love it. I’ve always been big on animals.” He thanks the waiter when he puts our drinks down. “Do you have any pets?”
“A cat, Chunk.” If there’s anyone who won’t be turned off by me whipping out my phone and showing off pictures of my cat, it would be this guy, right? I show him my screen background—which is Chunk sitting in his favorite spot on my windowsill—and then launch into my photo album of him.
“He’s well-named,” Drew remarks after scrolling through my album.
“I know. His vet told us to put him on diet food, and he just ended up eating a lot of that instead,” I say, laughing. “So, we’re cutting his portions. He’ll always be a big boy, though.”
“Yeah, cats are stubborn when it comes to food. He looks like he’s a big cat no matter what his weight is. I hope he’s taking his diet well.” He takes a long sip of his beer.
“Not really. He stares at us while we eat dinner. It’s a little sad.”
And the awkward silence comes back with a vengeance.
We revert back to small talk—where we’re from, what we like to do, things like that. He’s from Maine. He likes hiking and rock climbing, which are two things I would probably never do. It’s going perfectly fine.
But that’s the problem. Fine isn’t enough anymore. I keep thinking of Ash and what he would do or say in this situation. He would probably make some joke that would make me roll my eyes and grin like the idiot I am around him. I’d feel that something in the air that I couldn’t put into words.
I throw back my wine, trying to push the feelings away. I can’t think about another guy who is 100 percent unavailable while I’m out here on a date with a perfectly nice and decent-looking person who didn’t run away screaming at my cat pictures. That alone is a miracle. God, I suck.
“Do you want fries or something?” he finally asks, grabbing the food menu in desperation.
“Sure,” I say before immediately regretting it. Sure, we’ll have something to do with our mouths, but we’re only extending this bland blind date even more.
“It’s been really nice outside lately,” Drew says. Oh god, we’ve gotten to the weather. The lowest form of conversation.
I look out the window, watching the heat roll off the sidewalk. Yeah, really nice, if hell temperatures do it for you. I just smile and nod. And then my breath hitches because Ash walks by, holding a bag filled with groceries. We have lived in the same five-mile radius of each other for years, but now I run into him? Granted, it isn’t that weird since this is a major street. I might have passed him tons of times without noticing. But still. I’m not sure if I should be excited or nervous.
He glances up at just the right time and sees me staring at him, wide-eyed, like a true idiot. Instead of waving and walking by, he strolls right in. Oh god.
“Briony, hey,” he says, his expression as close to bright and beaming as it ever could be. “Can’t believe we’ve lived in the same borough for years and never bumped into each other until recently.”
“Yeah,” I say weakly. Good lord, he looks amazing. The way his t-shirts stretch across his muscular torso should be a crime or come with a black box warning. He must be on the way to the gym because he’s wearing running shorts that show off his muscular thighs. I have to be blushing. Here I am, in front of a date someone was nice enough to set me up on, ogling some other guy. I’m the literal worst.
“I’m Ash, by the way,” Ash says to Drew, reaching out to shake his hand.
“I’m Drew—nice to meet you.” Drew is still smiling, but some of the energy behind it has dipped. “How do you and Briony know each other?”
“Oh, we go way back.” The way Ash says it is vague enough for Drew to get all kinds of ideas about what he meant, but thankfully he follows that up with, “Her older brother’s my best friend.”
“Oh, cool,” Drew says, his energy still a little low. He grabs at his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I’m sorry, I have to take this call—it’s a work thing.”
He smiles apologetically and slips outside, raising the phone to his ear.
“I didn’t hear his phone ring,” Ash notes.
“It could have been on silent.” Or he could have been faking it. I don’t blame him.
“Uh-huh.” Ash leans against the bar. “Is this a date?”
“A blind one, yeah.” I watch Drew pace on the sidewalk, his brow furrowed.
“You looked like you were in a boring class.” He glances at the menu.
I cringe. “Did I look that bad?”
“Not really, but Ben makes the same expression when he’s bored.” He mimics the expression, his brow muscles going a little slack and his eyes wide. “So I figured I’d come in and save you.”
“Save me? Really?”
“If any friend besides me had stopped by, how would you feel about it?” he asks.
My eyes narrow. I would have been happy if anyone else interrupted because I could pivot the date into a clear ‘we’re just friends’ hang out. But with Ash, the vibe is entirely different. I know some women get jealous if a man has a beautiful female friend, but I didn’t know it goes the other way too. Even though Ash hasn’t said that we have a history, Drew still looks at Ash through the window, his annoyance palpable.
Why does Ash have to be right?
Drew comes back in a few seconds later and tucks his phone into pocket.
“I really hate to do this, but I got called in for a work emergency. A dog ate a sock and a grape, which is a bad combination,” Drew says. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I understand.” I smiled, trying to not seem as relieved as I am.
“I’ll grab the waiter and pay—”
“I’ve got it. Don’
t worry about it,” I say.
“You sure?”
I nod.
“Ok, then. I’ll text you, I guess?” He gives me a polite kiss on the cheek, the kind you’d give your great-aunt who smells like dust.
“Yeah, text me,” I say for reasons I can’t quite understand. We both know that we were going to politely friend-zone each other—why did I ask for that? That’s the thing I hate about dating. There’s so much posturing and nonsense when it would be in everyone’s best interest to just be straightforward. Then again, I’m a part of the problem.
Drew gives Ash a quick handshake and slips out, and the slight weight off my shoulders feels amazing. I push aside my guilt for being such a crappy date till later.
Ash takes Drew’s seat right as the fries arrive.
“Nice, fries?” Ash digs in immediately.
“Hey now, did I say you could have some?” I ask, playfully pulling the basket toward myself.
“Come on now, B. We both know that fries that are shared are better than fries eaten alone.” He pulls the basket back.
I finish my glass of wine, and the waiter comes by with a second not long after. “I guess I do need some help with them since Drew left.”
“You think he really had an emergency?” Ash asks. He drains Drew’s leftover beer like they were old friends and gets a new one. He smirks at the judgmental look I give him.
“He’s a veterinarian, so maybe. Dogs do eat socks and food that can kill them all the time.” I push a stray hair out of my face and reach for another fry.
“That’s true. Sarge once ate half a pillow.”
“God, why?”
“Who knows? He’s a smart dog, but sometimes he does dumb shit like that. Maybe it tasted good. I didn’t get down there and try it myself,” he says. “Anyway, sorry I tanked your date.”
He scoots closer to the table, which makes his broad shoulders brush mine. Drew is in shape, but he isn’t as broad as Ash is. My skin tingles where we’re touching.
“It was already in the shitter.” I groan and hold up my generously poured glass of wine. “At least I’m getting a buzz out of it.”
