by Julie Olivia
“About last night—”
“Nia, I don’t really want to talk about it.” He averts his eyes, finding some part of the railing to focus on.
I cross my arms. “Well, I’d quite like to.”
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
“Something has changed. Yesterday—or more like the past decade—you’ve been the biggest bother of my life. Now look at you.” I throw my hand out, palm up, waving it up and down from his head to his knees. “You’re a shell of the ridiculous Ian I know. What happened last night?”
“You were drunk, and you tried to drive,” he says. “That’s what happened last night.”
“What?” I ask, baffled. What is he talking about? I didn’t drive.
“Nia, come on.”
“Come on, what?” I say incredulous. “I didn’t drive.”
“I’d just told you something the night before, the one memory I don’t tell anyone,” he says, leaning in to whisper, though it comes out as more of a hiss. I lean back instinctually. “I told you I lost my best friend, and then, not even a day later, I find you behind the wheel, drunk off your ass, laughing with your foot on the pedal of a car.” It’s like with every word, I can feel the tension getting thicker and thicker between us. His eyebrows furrow in the middle. I feel sick. “Now, I’m not self-important enough to think you would have my feelings about drunk driving in the back of your mind at all times, or that you would do it maliciously, but…don’t play stupid. You’re not stupid, or at least I really thought you weren’t.”
“Ian, it’s not what it looked like, I swear.” I’m trying not to sound like I’m pleading, but the hurt in my voice isn’t nearly as bad as the pain I see in his eyes.
He did tell me something meaningful, and he thinks I immediately disregarded it. Of course he doesn’t want to talk to me.
“I just don’t think this is going to work out,” he says, and it’s like someone punched me in the stomach.
“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice catches, but I try to clear it discreetly. “I wasn’t going to drive. We were joking. I know what that means to you. You have to believe me.”
“I don’t think I can.” He turns to leave, decorations shoved under his arm, but I reach out to grasp his elbow.
“Well, wait, hang on. Can we just talk about this?”
He rounds on me, figure towering over my small frame. If I weren’t so infuriated, I might be scared. “What is there to say? I don’t have time for irresponsible drunks.”
I freeze and my breath hitches. Is this how he feels? Does he truly think I would endanger the lives of everyone around me—especially after hearing his story one day earlier? Not only does this assume I’m ignorant, it also implies that his story didn’t resonate with me. How heartless must he think I am to believe that didn’t affect me?
“That’s extreme,” I say quietly.
“Sorry. I just… It’s a lot to think about.”
“Clearly.”
“Sorry I annoyed you for nine years,” he mumbles. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you anymore.”
He turns to leave again, and this time I don’t reach for him or ask for more clarification. I have all the clarification I need.
The world around me seems dulled. I only distantly see the outline of Ian walking away, meeting Wes, and approaching the elevator doors.
The other women down the hall start moving, and I take that as my cue to join them. I’m still lost in my hazy dream state, but the hum of speech finally hits me when I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear Corinne say, “You okay, Nia?”
“I won’t bother you anymore.”
I’m nothing to him.
“Yeah, I’m just exhausted from last night.” My vision is glazed over and I know I’m speaking in a monotone voice, but I can’t muster any inflection. “Just nursing a headache.” Admittedly, my hangover headache disappeared a few hours ago when I popped ibuprofen, but it is starting to come back rapidly.
Corinne glances from Ian waiting at the elevator and then back to me.
“Guys, I’m so silly. I forgot my purse!” she suddenly says, slapping herself in the forehead with a goofy smile. “Geez! Hey, Nia, come with me? We’ll circle back with you guys in a few minutes!” She couldn’t be more obvious, and I’m sure Ian and Wes hear the awkward exchange from the elevator, but they don’t turn around. Before Grace or Ramona can protest or ask any questions, Corinne’s hand is entwined with mine and she’s tugging me back to her room, scanning the keycard, and shutting the door behind me.
“What?” I ask. It comes out harsher than I meant it to, but I can’t bottle my frustration any more.
“You look dead,” she says, tilting her head to the side, and I let out an offended exhalation. “Hey, just being honest.”
“I’m just tired,” I say.
“Lies. You went on and on about Ian last night, and now he’s acting like he doesn’t even know you.”
“I did not.” I do faintly remember gabbing about him. It’s hazy, but at one point I might have said, “He’s a god.” Judging by Corinne’s expression, that’s probably an accurate memory.
“That’s not what it—”
There’s a knock at the door. Corinne opens it, and both Grace and Ramona slide in through the crack.
“Secrets, secrets…” Ramona whispers, shutting the door behind her.
“You didn’t forget your purse,” Grace says, her arms crossed. Then somehow, as if through telepathy, all of their gazes shoot to me.
“Is my brother being an idiot?” Ramona says, bored, as if this is the last thing that could be news for her.
My heart skips a beat. I already miss Ian’s snarky comments. They’re infuriating, but they’re also clever and flirty. He has the type of grin that lights up a room—until he opens his mouth, of course…a mouth that was on mine just one day ago.
Grace’s eyes grow wide and she runs to the bed, hops on, and slides a pillow underneath her chest, feet waving in the air behind her. She looks like a little girl at a sleepover, ready for a good time.
“Spill!” she says, fingers spread in a Go! gesture.
I consider saying nothing, but for once I also wonder if maybe I should. I’ve never had this many female friends, never had a group all looking at me like I’m the next hot gossip tea to fill their cups. Is sharing everything standard procedure with female friends?
“He thinks I was drunk driving.”
Ramona’s face drops. “Oh no.”
34
Ian
“I’m gonna be a dad.”
“Yep. Daddy Cameron.”
“Daddy Cameron,” he echoes.
“I think your aunt brought her dog,” I say. Cameron is lying on my hotel bed, staring at the ceiling with enough intensity to rival a hawk. Wes and I finished setting up the ceremony stage, and after showering, we’re just waiting for the rehearsal to commence and for the groom to stop brooding. I look at my watch. Thirty minutes of wallowing remaining.
“Makes sense she would do that,” he says, not breaking eye contact with the uninteresting tiles above. “She loves that dog.”
“I did see it’s wearing a bow tie, so at least he’s dressed for the occasion.”
“How thoughtful.”
“No, it’s weird,” I say. “Don’t encourage her.”
“You’re right. Also, hey, I’m going to be a dad.”
“I think I heard that somewhere.” I chuckle.
“Oh, right.”
Even though he’s in some zoned-out state of shock, a small smile still tugs at the corner of his mouth. I wouldn’t say he’s overjoyed, but the man is happy. Anything to do with Grace and their now growing family makes him happy.
Their family members have been arriving since this morning. Thankfully, Cam and Grace didn’t invite many people, so him hiding out in a hotel room isn’t the rudest thing he could be doing right now. Plus, this is helping me to avoid Nia as well.
I can’t deny it—I’m still cr
azy about her. I want her to tell me to shut up, I want to see her rolling eyes fueled by disdain for every word that comes out of my mouth, and I want to take her shorts off again. But, that’s beside the point.
There are few triggers in my life anymore. The accident ten years ago taught me not to take life so seriously, and I’ve been good at sticking with that outlook. People can take me for who I am, bullshit sense of humor and all, but I learned valuable lessons from my experience. For example, even if someone looks okay to drive, they may not be. I should have known better. I was smarter than that.
Nia is smarter than that. Isn’t she?
“Do you think I’ll be a decent father?” Cameron asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Well, you sure haven’t offered to swaddle me in a while, so I’m a bit biased.”
“Shut up.”
“So, what is the plan for the next half-hour?” I ask. “Are we continuing to hide out like a bunch of cowards?”
“Seems so.” He sits up, pulling one arm across his chest then the other, twisting to look at me. “I should go, shouldn’t I?”
“I’m not saying you’re being a pussy, but you’re being a pussy.”
He gives me the finger. I probably deserve it.
Only the wedding party, the parents, and some immediate family attend the rehearsal ceremony—though, from what I understand, this is most of the attendees anyway.
Cameron’s aunt, who has her chihuahua tucked under her arm, much to the dismay of the hotel staff, coordinates the faux ceremony. She says the groomsmen will not be walking the bridesmaids down the aisle, as there is an uneven number. We’re to wait up front and watch the bridesmaids.
Great. There’s no escaping Nia now.
I take my place next to Cam, nudging him in the side. “Ready to see your baby mama?”
“Fuck off.”
Cam is testy today. Noted.
Down the wooden stairs leading to the beach come the three bridesmaids. There’s Ramona, her curly hair pulled back in a bun, and then Corinne, tall and elegant. My gut jerks and I’m taking in Nia before I even register that I was looking for her to begin with.
Even in casual rehearsal clothes, she’s stunning. She’s wearing a long skirt that rolls behind her in waves with the wind. I can tell by how feverishly she’s trying to pat it down that she’s regretting the decision to wear it on such a blustery evening, but with the slit revealing her upper thigh, I’m quite satisfied.
I want to speak with her, but my brain fights with my heart. She’s not who I thought she was. I’ve always admired her responsible, no-nonsense personality. I’ve always thought she was perfect. After spending all this time pining after her, could I shift my attention to someone else?
Every person has their flaws, but there are some I just can’t overlook—no matter how long I’ve adored her. The only thing I can do is look at the ground and pretend she isn’t there.
It’s then I notice the precious chihuahua peeing on the stark white runner right in the middle of the aisle. Grace’s frustrated screams follow shortly behind.
The rehearsal ceremony leads directly into the rehearsal dinner, and we’re gathered in the same resort bar we’ve frequented for days now. I’m sipping on my water, zoned out as Grace’s mom and her stepdad, Nick, discuss plants and farming to me more than with me.
I’m trying not to stare at Nia, but it’s difficult. At least after this week I won’t have to see her again. Thank God we don’t work at the same office anymore. I don’t think I could stand it.
“You see, avocados are a fruit,” Nick says. “Most people don’t know that.”
“It has a seed,” I say.
“Bingo!” He laughs. It’s how I would imagine Santa Claus would sound: jolly, warm-hearted, kind. “Brownie points for the best man.”
He’s nice enough, but I can’t handle fruit talk right now. I bid him farewell then push past the crowd back to the elevator. I’ll order room service and a small travel-sized bottle of rum, or maybe even a full bottle. We’ll see what they have.
At the bar stand Cam and Grace, arms looped around each other as he places kiss after kiss on her forehead, running his hand over her belly. She’s grinning from ear to ear. I wonder if I’ll ever find something like that. I shut my eyes. Don’t think of Nia.
Full bottle of rum it is.
“Hey, where are you going?” Cam calls, elbowing through the small group of old men chortling over who knows what. They look like turtles poking out from their shells. “We were about to do some karaoke. They’re setting up the stage and everything.”
“It’s been a long week,” I say, forcing a smile. “Plus, your family is here. I’m sure they’ll want the spotlight I’ve been hogging.” I toss in a wink for good measure, and this seems to satisfy him enough.
“Okay…” He hesitates a moment. “Well, get some sleep. I’m depending on you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, bud.” I feel horrible. I don’t feel like a great best man, but also…I don’t exactly feel like a great person at all right now.
I make it to my room without anyone else stopping me and immediately call room service.
“Alcohol,” I say immediately after I’m asked for my order.
“Sir, what type of alcohol?” He seems bored, or irritated. I’m unsure. My life is essentially filled with people giving me a combination of the two.
“Your pick,” I say. “Also, do you guys have cheeseburgers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One of those too.”
“And how would you like that?” he asks.
“You pick.”
“And the side? Is that my decision too?”
“Funny.”
“I try, sir.”
I hang up, and there’s instantly a knock on my door.
That was inhumanly quick.
I yell for whoever it is to come in before realizing they probably need a key. I rise out of my chair and am greeted by my sister, brows furrowed in the middle and a frown reaching from her nose down to her chin. I didn’t even know real-life frowns could be so sad-looking and cartoony.
“I heard what happened,” Ramona says, inviting herself in.
“Oh.” I sigh. “Okay.”
She sits on the floor beside me, legs crossed over each other like some child preparing for story time at daycare. It’s reminiscent of when we were kids and I’d pretend I was presenting a case for her, the jury. I remember I would steal her Barbies and put them on my train track set, tied tight with a rubber band so she couldn’t get them loose, then present it like a reenactment. “So, as the jury can see…”
I wanted to be a lawyer even before I knew what it really entailed.
“Nia wasn’t going to drive, you know,” she says.
“Not the first time I’ve heard that, Ray.”
“I know things are still hard for you,” she starts, and I let out a stilted laugh. This conversation is oddly foreign to us. Even in the months following the car crash, while Ramona stayed in the hospital with me as often as she could, we only talked about school, or her new boyfriend, Wes, or whatever celebrity gossip she found interesting. Neither of us had the energy or strength to discuss why I was in that hospital bed in the first place.
“Are you putting on your psychologist pants?” I ask.
“No, I’m just trying to be a good sister.” She exhales, and I stare at her. She must take this as a sign to keep talking, and I allow it. “Travis’s death wasn’t your fault. Please tell me you know that. Even after ten years, I feel like you don’t.”
“I don’t,” I say.
“You were just in the passenger seat. Both of you were drunk. There’s no way you could have known.”
“He told me he was good to drive,” I mumble.
“And I’m sure he truly thought he was.”
I nod, but I don’t know if I hear her comment fully.
“You can’t keep holding on to this, Ian. Nia didn’t drive, and she really likes you, you kno
w. And she’s smart. She’s good for you. She would never do that—especially after you told her.”
“She was behind the wheel—”
“Yeah, but so were you when Dad drove you around in his lap as a baby. Were your little, chunky baby legs going to reach the pedals?” She laughs, causing me to choke out a laugh as well. “We said she could be DD earlier in the night. Then we joked about it later because she clearly couldn’t. Trust her. And, if you can’t, then trust me. That car wasn’t going anywhere.”
Is it possible to feel elation, confusion, and resentment at one’s self all at once?
“She likes you. Do you know that?” Ramona says, attempting to rise up on her feet again. I reach out my hand to help her up, and she walks over to the desk, no doubt eyeing the sacred DVD.
Nia likes me. I keep repeating the same words over and over like a skipping record. Nia likes me. Nia likes me.
The way I treated her this morning, the way I pushed her to the side like garbage…it was wrong. It drives me crazy to know I was so wrong.
“She likes me?” I echo.
I turn and find Ramona lifting the pornographic contraband. “Ew, why?”
“Gift from Nia.”
“Gross.”
“She likes me, you said?” I ask again, bringing the subject back.
“Why are you surprised?” she says. “Your names are anagrams of each other’s. You’re practically soul mates.”
“Ian doesn’t use the same letters as Polly,” I say with a grin.
She rolls her eyes. “I also see why she hates you.”
“I thought you said she likes me?”
“Yeah, it’s all very confusing.” Her hands wave in the air. “You were right—she’s complicated.”
“I like complicated.”
“I know you do.” She narrows her eyes. “I think it’s because of how simple our family was. You know—”
“No more psychologist stuff, Ray.” I point a finger at her face threateningly, and she laughs.
