“Um,” I said, stepping into the aisle. “I don’t think so. I think it would frame the space really well. The photos would look amazing.”
She smiled. “See, was that so hard?”
Our tour guide launched into a spiel about the organ, saying whatever song Krista walked down the aisle to would sound beautiful.
“Well, I’m definitely walking to the traditional ‘Bridal March,’” Krista replied. “That’s what Dad would want. That’s what I want.”
“How come Kyle isn’t here?” I asked.
“He doesn’t care about this kind of stuff,” she said as if I just didn’t get it. “He just wants me to be happy with the decision. He’ll care about, like, the cake and stuff.”
I was jealous, wishing I could just eat cake and call it a day.
“I feel like I’d want my fiancé to be part of all the planning,” I said as we walked out of the church, headed to another venue.
Krista sighed, clearly stressed. “Well, you don’t really know because you don’t even have a boyfriend,” she said, ignoring the look I shot her. She realigned her focus on the directions and asked if I was prepared for my economics presentation.
I groaned. I hated presentations more than anything. No matter how many times I practiced, I’d crumble under the pressure. I hated all eyes on me, waiting for me to fall, to come crashing down, to fail in front of everyone. I could crunch numbers any day, but a spotlight on me made my hands shake, my chest tighten, and my face flush.
“I need to borrow your navy pantsuit. Our outfit is part of our grade. Which I think is stupid.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not stupid. Appearances matter. Life is kind of always grading your outfits, how you look, how you seem, who you are in the world, you know that.”
I hated to admit she was right. That sentiment had been ingrained in us as kids, reinforced in our teens, expected as adults.
I changed the subject, asking if she was excited about going to the lake house with Kyle. She perked up, distracting herself from her venue stress, chattering on and on about all the things they had planned when they were there: s’mores by the fire, wine on the heated patio, Scrabble after dinner, the Jacuzzi at night. I nodded, assuring her that it did sound perfect, that she was going to have so much fun, that, yes, I was so happy for her.
CHAPTER THREE
“It was fine,” Lindy assured me. “You didn’t seem nervous.”
I shook my head, knowing she was a better friend than a better liar. I had totally bombed my economics presentation.
“Did I least look okay?” I asked as we walked in the coffee shop. The line was long, the final day of midterms making people desperate for caffeine and warm comfort.
“You look great,” she said, patting my shoulder.
I sighed, not really believing her. This morning, when I’d looked at myself in Krista’s pantsuit, I had expected to look as good as she had just a few days ago. But once again, no matter how hard I followed in her footsteps, I could never get as close to perfect as her.
“Like five guys have checked you out since you’ve been standing in line. You’ve got this whole sexy business woman vibe going on. Your glasses seal the deal,” Lindy said as we moved forward in the line. I’d opted to wear my dark-rimmed glasses instead of my contacts, hoping they would make me look smarter, knowing I only had my looks going for me for this project.
“If only my grade was determined by that,” I said with a groan. “I said Facebook had grown to 1.23 users by 2013. Not 1.23 billion, just 1.23. Do you know how stupid that sounds?”
Lindy laughed. She was relaxed, having killed during her presentation, looking so put together in her floral top, heels, and pencil skirt, not stumbling over any of her words.
“Sorry, sorry, but it is kind of funny, right? The professor knew you didn’t mean that.”
I tried to push the memory out of my head as my phone rang. It was my dad, wondering how it had gone. I regretted mentioning the presentation to Krista, knowing she’d mention it to our parents.
“Hey, Dad,” I said as we scooted up in line. Dean was working the register while two other baristas traded between pulling espressos and making foam. He glanced over in my direction, not registering that I was standing in line.
“Hi, sweetie. How did the presentation go? Krista said you were really nervous. Did you two practice?”
I closed my eyes briefly, annoyed at my sister. I could imagine Dad sitting in his office between meetings, glancing at his calendar where he kept little reminders about us so he was in the know, always prepared with an agenda when he called. He was a planner, making sure he never forgot any detail. I could even picture his calendar, reading Skylar, econ. presentation in his tidy block print right next to Krista, leaves for lake house. I’d bet money that he also had what time he would be going to dinner with my mom and when he needed to leave to arrive on time also penciled in, never late to anything.
“Lindy said I was great,” I said, figuring it was easier to tell this truth instead of answering his question directly.
“Well, I just wanted to check in. I know lots of people blow off midterms, but they’re important. It will set you up for success later,” he said, already in lecture mode.
Lindy stepped up to the register. “Do you guys have pumpkin spice lattes yet?”
Dean shook his head, his marker poised over a cup. “Nope, sorry, not till closer to Halloween.”
“Awh, that’s too bad,” she said, tapping her chin, considering the menu. “I guess I’ll get a nonfat half caff white chocolate mocha with no whip. Does the whip really add 70 calories?”
“…and I know that you’re working really hard, sweetie. Krista has told me how much you’ve been studying, but you can’t just coast either,” Dad continued, on a roll, having given us the same version of this speech since we were kids. “You’re in some of the most important years of your life. Junior year is the big one, you know. It’s easy to get distracted. I just want to make sure you’re staying focused on the path in front of you…”
“I honestly don’t know,” Dean said to Lindy. “I can give you a cup of whipped cream on the side.”
“Are you being serious?” Lindy asked, confused, not noticing the faint teasing smirk on his face.
“No, I’m kidding,” he said, halfway smiling at her. I noticed he had a dimple on his left cheek when he did that. “I guess I could if you wanted me to. But I think people only do that for dogs.”
“I am focused, Dad,” I said, trying to sound light and airy. It was as if he knew I was lying about my presentation. “I need to go. I’m about to order coffee.”
Dean glanced at me and then did a slight double-take when he realized it was me. He briefly looked me up and down, taking in the pantsuit, the blazer, the glasses. I didn’t know him well enough to know if he liked what he saw or not.
“Okay, sweetie, we’ll discuss this more later,” Dad said as I quickly hung up. Lindy was distracted by pulling out her wallet, not noticing how Dean had looked at me.
“Oh, and I’ll get whatever she wants,” she said, gesturing to me. “She’s had a rough day.”
“I have not,” I said with an eye roll, stepping up to the counter.
“You should get something fun,” Lindy said before I could order, not caring that the line was getting even longer behind us. “Something other than your typical.”
Dean held his tatted hand over the cups, waiting.
“Uh, just black coffee is fine. I can’t really think of anything else on the spot,” I said to Lindy as she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t plan on switching things up.”
“What about a latte?” she suggested, not letting this go.
“I don’t like lattes,” I said, looking back at Dean. “Just a black coffee, please.”
“What size?” he asked, distracted, glancing at the growing line.
“Small—”
“Large,” Lindy interrupted.
“No, small. Lindy, stop,�
�� I said as he sat the large cup down, picking up a small instead.
“Actually, can you add whip to mine? I mean, what’s 70 cals, right, Skylar? Midterms are over now. I deserve it,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, really not caring that she was taking up so much of everyone’s time. People were shifting behind us, and someone even sighed. This transaction had taken four times longer than normal, and I was starting to feel stressed.
Dean grabbed her cup from the side to add a symbol to it. “Is that all?” he asked over his shoulder as he poured my coffee.
“So you guys don’t even have, like, pumpkin muffins?” she said, pulling her card away as he reached for it.
“Nope, no pumpkin,” he said on autopilot, probably used to repeating this a hundred times a day to girls like us. I tried to imagine how he saw us: two blondes in blazers and heels, fretting over their coffee orders.
“Lindy,” I whispered, flustered. “This is taking forever.”
She rolled her eyes at me and handed him her card. I said thanks quickly as he slid my coffee across the counter, already moving to take the person’s order behind us.
After we’d moved to wait on her drink, I nudged Lindy who had become distracted on her phone.
“What do you think about that guy?” I asked, nodding to Dean.
She looked over at him, her expression changing as she looked at him for real for the first time today. “Oh,” she said, nodding. “Yeah, wow, he’s hot. Why?”
I shrugged. “No reason. Just curious.”
“Can you imagine him giving an econ presentation though? In a suit? Or even in a classroom?” she said with a small laugh, moving on before I could respond. “How are things with Brad?”
I blinked at her, having forgotten that I’d lied about the night I’d first had sex with Dean in his car. “Oh, right, yeah, things are great.”
“Have you seen him since your first date?”
I glanced at Dean. He was smiling at a customer, probably making another stupid coffee joke as he took their order. I was annoyed I’d noticed he had a dimple and that somehow made him more attractive.
“Uh, yeah, a couple more times.”
“Really?” Lindy said, shocked. “You haven’t seen a guy a couple times in forever. Are you two going to hang out over fall break?”
“Probably not. What are you doing for fall break?”
“Brandon and I going to his parents’ lake house. You?”
She and Brandon had been together since high school. He was so part of the equation that I almost forgot he existed, likening him to something so normal, functional, so part of her every day, like a dog or a house plant. Nothing really interesting enough to have its own stories anymore, no new updates. He and Kyle were great friends.
I looked over her shoulder. There was a lull in the line, so Dean had moved to smoothly making drinks, calling out names and orders in a bored tone, and talking over his shoulder to the other baristas as he pulled levers and held pitchers, all of them laughing every so often, a little unit, an army for caffeine consumption.
“I think I’m just going to hang out at home,” I replied to Lindy. “I was double-checking the syllabus for my accounting class, and I’d love to get ahead of my homework, you know, so I can really focus on bringing up my econ grade.”
I thought of my dad. He was already probably texting my mom, giving her the update on what I’d said. I made a mental note to scold Krista for telling him I’d been nervous about the presentation.
“You don’t even know what grade you got yet,” Lindy said.
I didn’t tell her that it didn’t matter because when Krista had the same class, she had made a 97, and that’s what mattered.
I thought of that fact later that night as I sat in front of the television with my accounting textbook, playing reruns of shows I’d already seen. By the time I’d arrived to our apartment, Krista was already gone, leaving behind a casserole and note that said she’d see me Wednesday morning. She’d also placed several bridal magazines next to the dish, asking me to flag my favorite floral arches, and a list of venues she wanted me to schedule tours with for next week.
Being in the apartment without her, knowing she wouldn’t return for several days, reminded me of when she had moved out when she started college, and I’d been a junior in high school.
She’d moved into a student apartment with some friends, leaving me to wait for two years until I was a college freshman and could join her in an apartment Dad would pay for. Back then, that first year, I counted down the days I was alone, feeling like the spotlight that had always been on her at home suddenly shifted to me for the first time in my life. Because even though Krista called every day and came by every weekend, her bright presence left a hole in our home.
Mom had been lonely without two daughters by her side, so it’d made sense that I’d spend more time with her. I joined her on even more volunteer excursions, sitting out cookies and tea for Junior League meetings, hosting PTA bake sales, organizing gift baskets and donated art for silent auction after silent auction for the string of charities she was involved in, and playing bingo at Sun Meadows, the local assisted living home. When I wasn’t volunteering, I was doing more pageants, letting Mom poke and prod me until I looked just perfect, ready for everyone’s eyes on me.
Dad had been worse without Krista. He paid even closer to attention to my schoolwork, asking me what I’d learned that day, what clubs had met that day, what did I think I would major in, knowing it would be accounting, just like Krista, just like him.
The second year she was gone, I stopped counting the days when she met Kyle and started coming by even more. She was unable to stop gushing about him to my mom, but mostly to me, her friends probably tired of hearing about him, how in love she was, how perfect he — and they — were. Then Kyle started coming to family dinners, and it was easy to fall back into the shadows, my parents newly obsessed with Krista plus Kyle, a whole new persona to become infatuated with.
That same year, I met Michael, a cute guy who sat next to me in AP Calculus. And, just like that, I had someone to bring to dinners, someone to gush about, someone that made me similar to Krista again, something to bring us closer when she was away. He’d been perfect in every single way, until he wasn’t.
I flicked off the television in our apartment, blinking at my lone reflection in the dark screen, not wanting to waste any more time going down memory lane.
★☽★★☽
I’d done everything on my to-do list by Sunday. I’d finished next week’s accounting homework, did all my laundry, cleaned the apartment, practiced a new double chocolate chip cookie recipe, went to kickboxing class, and even bookmarked all the Christmas presents I’d get my family.
By Monday night, I was bored. The day in my planner — where some guy’s name would usually be penciled in — was blank. I hadn’t had a night where I did nothing in months, maybe even years.
I sat in my bed, staring out the window, my breath fogging up the glass. I rubbed it away, squinting to see the stars, before clicking open one of my dating apps.
As the page loaded, I switched to my text messages.
I hesitated for just two seconds and then started typing, Hi, this is Skylar — I paused to look at the moon, and then deleted a few letters, restarting — Hey, this is Skye. Any chance you’re at the coffee shop?
Two minutes and 14 seconds passed by and then: Nope, closed early for fall break. Want to meet up somewhere else?
I hopped off my bed, trying to decide what to say next. I couldn’t picture Dean in my apartment, the one I shared with my perfect sister, feeling that his tattooed and pierced presence would be immediately detected once she returned. I glanced at the clock, realizing I’d been standing in the middle of my room for three minutes, considering what I wanted versus how to get it.
Dean’s place was 14 minutes away from campus, which meant he lived exactly 24 minutes from my apartment. The perfect amount of time to make me wonder, as
I followed my phone map’s directions, if this was even worth it. I sighed, pulling on the side of the road when I was 7 minutes away, and called him.
“Hey, what’s up?” he said so casually that I instantly felt annoyed.
“I think I’m not going to come,” I said, looking around. The houses were becoming more and more spaced out, perfect pools replaced with acres of grass, street lamps not as needed since the moon seemed brighter out here.
“Eh, I feel pretty confident that won’t be a problem.”
I paused, replaying what I’d said and his response, and laughed.
“No, I mean I’m going to turn around and go back home.”
“Oh,” he said. “Okay, that’s cool. No worries.”
I tried to picture where he was, what he was doing, but I had no idea.
“You don’t even care?”
“I’m not going to try to convince you or beg. Either you want to do this or you don’t, Skye. It’s your choice.”
I glanced at my watch. It was like a math problem for adults — If I turned around now, I would have spent a total of 34 minutes in my car for no reason. If I drove the last 7 minutes, I could at least get something out of this instead of wasting my time. I shifted my car back into drive.
“Okay, whatever, I’m coming,” I said, hanging up before I could overthink it again.
My map led me to a nice farmhouse-style home with a large lawn and an open backyard, trees dotting the property in the distance. I pulled into the gravel driveway, shocked he lived somewhere like this. Once I got out of my car, I sighed, fearing he was a barista and lived with his parents. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take before his cons outweighed how good of a kisser he was.
I put my hand on my car door and pulled out my phone, wondering if I should just stop, if I was making irrational decisions, when Dean walked up, greeting me. I was so used to his greeting, having heard it in the background for months at the coffee shop, that in this moment, it actually sounded comforting.
A Guy Like Him Page 5
