“I didn’t do it to prove I was better, I did it to prove I was worthy. That we could be friends, that we liked the same things.”
That shuts me up all right. “I never saw it that way,” I confess. “I’ve always assumed you were competing with me.”
“No. And, Nik, you didn’t get the shallow end of the gene pool. You have bigger boobs…” And a bigger ass, I comment inside my head. “…and you won’t believe how much I envy your dark, straight hair. I hate my golden curls.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re a natural blonde; half the women on the planet would kill for hair like yours, including me.”
Julia grimaces. “Guess we’re hard-wired to want what we don’t have.”
“Are you really saying you’ve never wanted to compete with me?”
Julia smirks. “Maybe a little, but everything I did was mostly to impress you.”
I stare at my sister as if I’m seeing her for the first time.
“Wow, we should’ve had this conversation ages ago.”
“I know. And I’m sorry for everything…”
“Me, too.”
“Well, you did nothing wrong, whereas with Paul… I screwed up big time. But I’m so happy you’re over him now. And I’m also over the moon for you and Diego.”
A small knife jacks its way into my heart at the mention of Diego’s name.
“Are you?”
“Yeah, I was so relieved when you brought him home.” Julia chuckles. “I mean, I was also a little jealous, to be honest, because he’s really a guy out of a fantasy. I even went as far as accusing you of not really being together, and of having brought home a friend to play your fake boyfriend just to steal my thunder… How absurd.”
“Ha, ha, ha…” I chuckle along with her. “Crazy, right?”
“But Mom made me see how much you two love each other.”
The knife in my heart twists, and the wound I’ve been trying so hard to seal starts bleeding again.
“I hope he gets that job in New York,” Julia continues. “And we should all go out to dinner once we’re back in the city.”
“That would be wonderful.”
I don’t have the strength to tell her Diego and I are over, finished, caput. Once the scar is a little more healed, I’ll come up with a credible breakup story. I can’t deal with the unavoidable family’s sympathy that would follow such a revelation; not in person, at least. Better to break the news to my parents over the phone once I’m safely back in Manhattan. And I can go out with Julia in the city, and lie to her for the last time, as soon as I’m a little better. But not today, not this week, not when the memory of Diego’s lips on my skin is still so fresh…
“Sisterly hug?” Julia gets up, stretching her arms wide and bringing me out of my mental reverie.
I lift my butt from the chair and pull her into a tight hug. “Love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, too,” she replies, choked.
We hang on to each other for the longest time, closer than we’ve been in years. If nothing else, something good came out of this dreadful holiday break.
***
After my heart-to-heart with Julia, the rest of my stay at home passes rather uneventfully. I try my best not to think about Diego, even if every time I catch sight of the snowman adorning our backyard, it’s like a million arrows puncture my chest at once.
Diego really picked the perfect spot; the damn thing is not going to melt, ever. It’ll probably still be there come spring. More than once, I’m tempted to march outside and kick the wretched thing back to powder. But then I’d have to explain to my family why I’ve suddenly turned into a snowman-killing maniac. So I just cope by avoiding the windows that overlook the backyard.
During the day, I keep myself busy with work. But it’s the nights that are the hardest. There’s no escape in the dark and silent witching hours, when all the demons tormenting my heart are let loose. This room is haunted by the ghosts of our kisses and touches and… I shouldn’t be thinking about that!
I hope that once I get back to my apartment, I can finally shake off every last, painful memory of Diego. We never shared a room in New York, and I’m so grateful for that now.
It’s that expectation alone that allows me, two days later, to leave my parents’ house filled with a decent amount of self-imposed optimism. After loading the trunk of the rental car with my luggage, I honk twice to signal Blair it’s time to go. I’ve already hugged my family goodbye, and I’m ready to get back to New York and turn the page on the worst December to date. The new year will help with that. I’ll write a list of resolutions and try to stick to them for once. First item on the list: avoid memories of a certain dark-haired, green-eyed person at all costs.
I watch as Blair and Chevron burst out of their house. The dog is wearing paw booties and looks absolutely ridiculous. But we’re trying to keep the rental car as clean as we can, so as not to forfeit the deposit.
Chevron, however, has different ideas. Halfway down the walkway, she strays into the front garden, drops to her back, and rolls in the snow. If she were human, she’d be making angels. Blair drops her bags and runs screaming after her, but the damage is done. Dirty paws are the least of our problems right now. There’s a head-to-toe wet mutt Labrador to transport.
My parents, who must’ve followed the scene from the windows, promptly come to the rescue. They help me line the backseat with trash bags, which we lock in place with duct tape. It’s not the best cover job in the world, but it should do the trick.
“I’m so sorry,” Blair pants, dragging a now-leashed Chevron behind her. “I don’t know what got into her.”
We both turn to stare at the dog, who tilts her head and gives us a first-class show of contrite puppy-dog eyes.
“I’m not buying it, Miss,” Blair chides. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Chevron whines and uses a paw to cover her eyes.
“She’s good,” I say to Blair.
“Too good,” she agrees.
“On with you.” She opens the car’s rear door. “Get in.”
“Oh, don’t scowl at her,” I defend Chevron, and scratch her behind the ears. “She’s too cute to be told off.”
“Woof.” Chevron lets out a grateful bark and takes her seat in the back of the car. She’s now the picture of a well-behaved, educated dog.
We say our last goodbyes to the crowd of parents and neighbors that has gathered around, hop in the car, and drive out of town. I can’t believe this break is finally over!
Blair keeps quiet for the whole of fifteen minutes before she puffs her cheeks full of air and blows it all out in one annoyed huff. “So, I guess we’re not talking about why Diego isn’t in the car with us, or why you’ve been avoiding me for the past two days?”
“Nope, I’m not touching that.”
“Are you all right, at least?”
“Super,” I snap.
“That’s total bullshit.”
“Woof,” Chevron agrees.
“Hey.” I stare in the rearview mirror. “I was the one defending you just moments ago; you should side with me.”
Chevron howls in response.
“What do you think that meant?” I ask Blair.
“That she is on your side, and because of that, she wants you to open up with us and tell us what the hell happened because it’s the best thing for you.”
“And you got all that from one howl.”
“Absolutely.”
“Awooooh.”
When I still keep quiet, Blair snaps, “Oh, come on, do I have to beg?”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “It’s just too raw still.”
Blair thinks for a second. “Better or worse than when Bambi’s mother dies?”
“You can’t use Disney parents being killed off; it’s too sad, and against the rules.”
“Oh, we have rules?”
“Mmm
-hmm. No Disney deaths.”
“Okay.” Blair concentrates on the road ahead for a couple of blocks. “Mmm… Better or worse than when Bridget Jones finally gets Daniel to sleep with her, and he discovers her granny underwear?”
Despite myself, I chuckle. “Worse. That wasn’t such a bad moment. Kind of cute and romantic, actually.”
“Yeah, it was cute. Hugh Grant was so hot in that scene.”
“Way too hot.”
“So… so… so… Aha!” Blair hoots. “Better or worse than when Kristen Wiig brings the bridal party to the Mexican restaurant before the dress rehearsal, and everyone ends up with food poisoning, and there aren’t enough restrooms in the dress shop, so Lillian ends up taking a dump in the middle of the street while wearing a wedding dress?”
I laugh at that. Bridesmaids is one of our favorite movies. “That was funny-tragic; my situation is tragic-tragic. But, yeah, you could say I feel as humiliated as if I’d just pooped in the middle of the street.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Diego and I had sex on Christmas Day.” I can’t bring myself to say we “made love,” even if that’s what it felt like. “And the next day he bailed on me without as much as a note and returned none of my calls afterward.”
“Just like that? Nothing happened between the sex—How was it, by the way?—and him leaving?”
I ignore the sex question. “A lot happened before and after.”
“So tell me!”
I do. I start with Paul’s Christmas present, the argument with Diego about my feelings for my sister’s fiancé, and our night together. Then I tell her about the food fight with Julia, and Diego overhearing that I picked him to be Julia’s fantasy and not mine. I end with the second fight about Paul, with me leaving to set things right between him and Julia and coming home to find Diego gone.
“And you really don’t see why he left?” Blair asks, a bit exasperated.
“No! You do?”
“Let’s try on the situation in reverse. Imagine you were dating this wonderful guy, and were falling for him…”
Easy.
“…Then, when things get serious, you find out that until a few days ago, he’s been madly in love with a woman who’s already taken by his brother.”
“‘Madly in love’ seems like a bit much,” I protest.
“Would ‘mildly in love’ work better?” Blair asks, sarcastic. “Point is, you’ve been obsessing over Paul for years.”
“I don’t see where you’re going with this.”
“Be patient. Get back in the story: You’re dating this guy, and things are going great until you find out he’s had feelings for this woman for the longest time before meeting you. Still following?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you overhear this big argument between him and his brother, and you also discover you’re not exactly his type. That he went out with you only to piss off his brother. You’re super mad and want to understand where you stand with him. But in the meantime, the other woman breaks up with the brother. So, she’s now technically free and available. Now, once the fight between the brothers is over, you ask your guy to talk with you, and he blows you off to run after this other woman… What is your first thought?”
I try to censor my answer before it even pops into my head, but there’s really no point. “That he still cares about her more than he does about me.”
“See? Diego could’ve misinterpreted the situation in a million different ways.”
“There was nothing up for interpretation. Yes, I ran after Paul, but only to make him go back to Julia.”
“Did you mention that specifically to Diego? Or did you just go on one of your incomprehensible rants: Paul-Paul-Paul-I-have-to-find-Paul-we’ll-talk-later-bye?”
I want to say I made it clear why I was chasing Paul, but… “I’m not sure if I spelled it out, but it seemed obvious to me.”
“To you, yes. To Diego, maybe not so much.”
“Okay. Let’s say, for the sake of arguing, that you’re right. Diego assumed the worst about me running after Paul. So, what? Should his first reaction really have been to give up? Step aside. Run away.”
“Did you two ever talk feelings?”
“No, it all happened so quickly. And then he was gone.”
“So he’s a little impulsive. Shouldn’t you give the guy a second chance?”
“Me? He doesn’t want a second chance, Blair,” I say, exasperated. “I called him, texted him, wrote him an email basically begging him to pick up the phone. Nothing. He ignored me. Shut me out completely. Our night together was probably a one-night stand while on a job to him, and nothing more.”
“Then why leave and not stay to finish the job if he didn’t care?”
“Maybe he really had a better offer back in the city, I don’t know. This isn’t a fairy tale, Blair, there wasn’t an evil queen who forced him to leave. He left because he wanted to, and the story doesn’t have a happy ending. Happily ever afters don’t exist in the real world.”
“But—”
“Don’t you dare say you found yours with Richard, and it’s only a matter of time before I find mine. It’s what coupled people say to singles, and we hate to hear it.”
“Okay, I won’t, but I’m still not convinced Diego left because he doesn’t care. Did he give the money back?”
“Yeah, why?”
“See? He cares.”
“It changes nothing. The only positive fact I can see out of this whole situation is that I won’t start the new year broke.”
“I don’t know.” Blair plays with her hair as she thinks. “Seems to me you guys are just being two stubborn idiots.”
“Arrrhf-woof.”
“You agree that I’m being an idiot?” I ask the dog.
Chevron gives two positive barks in response.
“Well, what am I supposed to do, in your mighty opinions?” I ask. “I already tried calling him and texting. I’m not going to knock on his door to beg him to talk.”
“No, you’re right.” Blair nods. “It shouldn’t be you,” she says, and spends the rest of the journey staring out of the window, deep in thought.
Twenty-two
New Year’s Eve
On the last night of the year, I sit on the toilet lid and watch Blair do her makeup as we chat. I’m not quite able to squash my resentment.
“When is Richard picking you up?” I ask.
Blair peeks at her watch. “Should be here in less than an hour. Gosh, I have to hurry.” She gives another brush to her lashes with the mascara wand. “Could you please plug in the flat iron for me?”
“Sure,” I snap.
I catch her throwing me a side stare in the mirror while I comply with her request.
“Are you sure you’re not mad I didn’t invite you to the party?”
“Blair, I’m not mad.”
I’m so mad I want to strangle her.
“It’s just that it’s all couples,” she repeats for the hundredth time. “You would’ve felt awkward, I’m sure. What with being the only person with no one to kiss at midnight?”
True, I would’ve hated it. And I also would’ve rather cut off my right arm than go to an all-couples New Year’s party. But that’s not the point. As my best friend, she should’ve begged me to go with her, and insisted that I go at least a few times after my every stubborn “no.”
“Really, it’s no trouble,” I lie. “You know I hate couples’ dinners.”
“Well.” Blair coats her lips in a bold shade of burgundy, smacks them together, and stares in the mirror, satisfied. “It’s not going to be exactly a boring dinner. Richard’s friend is famous for throwing the best parties.”
Oh, I gasp inside my head, what a bitch!
I get that her life is perfect, and she has the perfect boyfriend, and that they’re going to the best New Year’s party in the city. But does she really have to rub it in my face? Tonight, I d
on’t recognize my best friend. Not as the kind and loving person who has been super supportive since we came back to New York. No idea what happened to turn on her mean girl switch, but it’d better turn back off quickly if she wants us to still be friends next year.
Pretending I’m busy with the flat iron cord, I turn away from her to hide my seething look of outrage.
“Cool party or not, it’s still going to be a cheesy PDA shit show,” I say, harsher than I meant.
“Right,” Blair agrees. “I’d so rather spend the night in watching TV than having to get all dressed up and go out in the cold for a whole night of partying.”
As she says this, she pulls on the expensive new dress Richard brought her from London and admires how it perfectly hugs her figure in the mirror. She doesn’t look like someone who’d rather spend the night in and order takeout pizza for dinner.
She twirls around once, and then turns toward me. “Mind getting the zipper?”
“Not at all.” I pull the back of her dress together and slash the zipper up in one rough movement.
“Hey,” Blair protests. “Careful there, I don’t want to rip the dress off.” Then she winks at me through the mirror. “Not unless it’s Richard doing it later tonight.”
I swear, I want to take her head and smash it in the mirror until she shuts the hell up.
“I’m hungry,” I say, as an excuse to leave the bathroom. I can’t stand her presence right now. “I’m going to order pizza.”
I’ve just hung up with the delivery guy when Blair comes marching into the living room surrounded by a cloud of perfume. With high heels, her new dress, perfect makeup, and a stylish coat on, she looks one hundred percent like a character from The Devil Wears Prada.
“Richard just texted,” she trills. “He’s downstairs. Is your pizza arriving soon?”
“No,” I sulk. “Apparently there’re a lot of people spending the night in and ordering pizza.”
“See? I told you it’s the best way to spend the night.” She smiles, and sighs. “New Year’s is so overrated, really.”
My eyes turn to slits. “Absolutely.”
“I really gotta go now.” She shrugs. “I’m staying at Richard’s tonight, so don’t wait up for me.”
A Christmas Date Page 17
