A Guy Like Him

by Amanda Gambill

  “Skylar,” Dad said, his voice breaking through my frantic tone. “Why don’t you let Dean answer some of these questions? They’re simple questions.”

  My eyes dropped to the floor as he faced Dean.

  “When did you graduate?”

  I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to remember to breathe, my palm digging the moon into my skin.

  I winced as he answered, “I didn’t. I dropped out.”

  Mom actually gasped. Dad, stoic as ever, drew a breath.

  “What kind of company would hire you as an art dealer without a degree?” he asked, his tone measured.

  “An art dealer?” Dean repeated, and I felt him looking at me, too. “Skye, no, sorry, Skylar told you all I’m an art dealer?”

  “An independent contractor,” Krista said slowly, sounding confused. “Right?”

  Dean kind of laughed. “I guess technically you could maybe call it that. I’m an artist. I’m a painter.”

  “A painter?” Mom repeated, barely holding her poised self together.

  For once, I wasn’t the one who interrupted Dean. Instead, Kyle’s parents walked into the kitchen, having no idea everything was crumbling.

  “There are the two lovebirds,” his mom said with a smile, and we all looked at Krista and Kyle. “I hope you all don’t mind the interruption, but we’d love if you could come out to the living room. We’re going to give a toast in just a few minutes.”

  They left, kicking us into motion. Mom glanced at Dad, both of them exchanging silent words, and as everyone walked out, Dad told me to wait. Krista hung back as Dean and Kyle stepped out, guided by Mom.

  “Skylar,” he said, no longer holding back. “What in the world is wrong with you? What in the hell are you thinking?”

  I shook my head, the knot in my stomach tightening. “Dad, I know this isn’t what you were expecting but—”

  “This isn’t even one fraction of an inch close to what I was expecting,” he fumed. “I have never been more disappointed in my entire life in you. Out of every decision you’ve ever made, this one takes the cake. You aren’t even thinking, are you?”

  “You just don’t know him,” I said, feeling tears form behind my eyes. “He’s not what you think—”

  He held up his hand, silencing me with one look. “I don’t need to know anymore. He’s a college dropout, an artist,” he said it like it was a joke, “and he clearly doesn’t care to get a real job anytime soon since he’s covered in those tattoos.”

  “He has a real job,” I tried to explain, fumbling over that he had a gallery show, that he actually made money doing art, that he was so incredibly talented, but I couldn’t get any of it out.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” he said, cutting me off as I tried to make my words make sense. “And I don’t need to hear it. I am so tired of this, Skylar. I thought you were mature enough to make the right choices, but it’s clear that you’re just going through silly phases.”

  I shook my head, covering my face with my hands.

  “Dad,” Krista interjected. “I know this is a lot. You and Skylar should probably cool off before discussing this in depth. What if we all just get through my wedding, and then we can figure this out—”

  “If you think for one second that I’m going to let someone like that even be near the wedding I’m paying for, in front of all these people who know us, with my daughter, you’re being more irrational than your sister, Krista,” he snapped, making her fall silent.

  “Dad, please,” I said. “You just need to get to know him—”

  “There’s no way you even know him, Skylar. You’re being so reckless. How long have you even been with this guy?”

  I took a deep breath, thinking total honesty could help.

  “I’ve been with him for almost a year,” I said, sniffling, trying to stop my forming tears.

  “Almost a year?” he exploded. “You mean to tell me that for twenty-six family dinners, you’ve sat next to me at our table, and you’ve never mentioned him? Not once? Listen to yourself, Skylar.”

  He took a deep breath, calming down to grow serious, his gaze unwavering.

  “If you, for a year, didn’t mention him to your own family, you kept him a secret, then you know what that means. You’ve thought about having a relationship with a guy like him, and you’re ashamed. And it’s time that you admit it. You’re ashamed of him. And you proved that point tonight,” he said, shaking his head, so angry, so incredibly disappointed in me.

  I was frozen, unable to protest, unable to say anything at all. I covered my face with my hands, just trying to breathe, trying to form the words that he was wrong, trying to build the courage to stand up for Dean, to push past this fear, but I couldn’t.

  And I didn’t have time.

  Because Mom cleared her throat, and we all turned. And I knew, in an instant, that Dean had heard what my dad had just said, and most importantly, what I hadn’t.

  ★☽★★☽

  We sat in silence for three minutes and 21 seconds. Then Dean took a deep breath, turned on his car, gripping his steering wheel two percent harder than necessary, and pulled away from Kyle’s parents’ driveway.

  “Dean—”

  “An art dealer?” he said tensely.

  “You don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Oh, believe me,” he said, scoffing. “I definitely understand. I’ve got the message, loud and clear.”

  I shook my head, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  “If all you wanted was a football-loving, meat-eating business bro, why did you invite me to this party?” he asked after a moment.

  “I never said I wanted those things,” I said, trying to get him to understand. “You know my parents want something very specific for me, and I thought you got that.”

  “And what about you?” he snapped. “What do you want, Skylar? Because you certainly weren’t going to say it then, there, in front of your dad, were you? You can barely say it to me without hiding behind some sort of double-meaning, some sort of contract, amendments, whatever.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, reaching out to take his hand, but he jerked it away from me, making me feel a sharp pain of rejection, something he’d never made me feel before.

  “I can handle your parents not liking me,” he said, his voice growing angrier. “I get that people like that aren’t going to like me within seconds of meeting me. What I can’t get over is how you made me feel in there. Not your dad, not your mom, but you. You made me second-guess every single part of myself. You made me feel ashamed for being who I am, that I’m somehow not good enough for you? That I don’t deserve a girl like you?”

  “I never said that,” I said, growing more and more frustrated that I couldn’t get a word in with anyone. No one was listening, and he, the person who listened to me best, refused to hear me. “Couldn’t you have played along just a little? I tried to help you out. I wanted my parents to know you for who you are. But you kept bringing up all the things you had to have known they wouldn’t have liked. I tried to set you up for success.”

  He laughed at the idea. “Oh my god, are you serious? You didn’t do anything to help me out in there. You were supposed to be on my team, and you lied every chance you got when someone asked a question about me. An art dealer, Skylar? What the hell?”

  I groaned, wishing he would just listen.

  “I never said you were an art dealer, okay? I told Krista you were an independent contractor because she’d already asked a bunch of other questions I didn’t know how to answer when I first told her about you, and then my mom just assumed when I said you worked in the art business—”

  “So you never could have just said ‘he’s an artist’?” he interrupted. “It’s a pretty simple fact for people to understand. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? All the things you said I kept bringing up tonight, the things I had to have known they wouldn’t like, those are just facts about me. Just little bullet points that you can in
clude in your stupid date notebook, all in the cons column.”

  I stared at him, my mouth dropping open. “What? Why are you bringing up my date notebook? That is not relevant. That’s not what we’re talking about.”

  “But aren’t we?” he said, stopping at a red light, facing me, his expression frustrated. “Because you told me you keep a pro and con list on every guy because dating is just a big math problem and that you’re looking for perfection. That what you want and perfection is the same damn thing. So tell me, Skylar, where the hell do I fit in the equation?”

  “You know that’s not how I feel,” I said, my voice rising. “You know I like you.”

  He shook his head, facing the road, clenching his jaw, not responding.

  I groaned. “You know this isn’t easy for me, Dean. Have you ever considered that this isn’t as easy for me as it is for you? That I don’t have this chill and carefree lifestyle where I don’t have to think about others? My whole life is built around doing what other people—”

  “Don’t,” he cut me off. “Don’t even try to tell me that I don’t understand what it’s like to care for another person. Because while you’re bickering with your dad over place settings, I’m moving mine into assisted living, and he doesn’t even know who the hell I am while I do it. So I’m sorry if I don’t really give a shit if people care that I have tattoos or not.”

  “I didn’t say that!” I shouted, feeling like I’d been slapped. “I never said that. You keep putting words in my mouth. You don’t get to make me into a villain,” I said as he turned into my apartment parking lot. “Why can’t you understand that I was trying to help you? I just needed my parents to like you—”

  “And then what? I get an invite to this stupid wedding?” he said, turning off his car and facing me again.

  “What?” I said, shaking my head at the conversation whiplash.

  “You were never going to invite me to your sister’s wedding,” he said, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. “You were never going to believe that I was good enough to be there, be your date, in front of everyone.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, covering my face with my hands. “You know that’s not true. You know me, Dean. I go out with you in public all the time. I haven’t thought about Rule 3 or Rule 8 in months.”

  “No, apparently I only know one version of you, and whoever the hell that was in that kitchen, that wasn’t her.”

  “Oh my god, I tried,” I shouted. “I just needed more time.”

  He rolled his eyes, not believing me, and got out of his car. I sat there, not ready to leave, needing just a little more time to explain. He opened my door, waiting for me to get out.

  “Dean, you’re refusing to listen to me,” I said as he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you would just let me try to figure out a way to make this right—”

  “God, I’ve been so stupid,” he said, glancing at me and shaking his head. “You were just supposed to be a fling. And you kept pulling me under, you kept showing up with your stupid little skirts and your witty retorts and your ever-present accounting textbook—”

  “You can’t do that,” I said, my voice rising again as I got out of the car. “You can’t blame this all on me. We both made up all those stupid amendments, breaking every rule we laid out. We both knew what we were doing, and we did it anyway.”

  “Well, now I don’t know what we’re doing,” he said, slamming my door and stepping back to walk to his driver’s seat. “I’m not an angry person, and I’m so mad right now. I just need time to chill out.”

  “Dean,” I called after him, trying to grab his hand, but he pulled away again, tears already forming in my eyes, but he didn’t notice because he wouldn’t look at me. “Wait.”

  He turned, taking a deep breath. “No, Skylar. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of overthinking this.”

  As he drove away, I felt my breath being knocked out of me, doubling over as I burst into tears, pressing my palm against my chest, my necklace cold against my skin, the sky above me, no moon, no stars, nothing but darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I’d been in exactly 67 pageants in my life, well over enough to expertly know how to turn on my best, brightest smile, to pretend I didn’t feel like my world was crashing down around me, to look happy, to be perfect.

  But this time, I wasn’t convinced by the girl in my reflection.

  I studied my professionally done makeup, perfectly curled hair, brushing just so over my bare shoulders, hesitating, my breath caught in my throat, my hands pressed against the bodice of my dress. I remembered the exact moment when Dean had stood behind me, his hands on my skin, lightly rubbing my shoulder with his tatted thumb, his other hand on my waist, holding me close. I closed my eyes, almost able to feel it, the memory so clear. How I’d never wanted to lose that visual of us together.

  “Need some help?”

  I blinked at Lindy, her words jerking me out of my memories.

  “I can’t zip my dress by myself,” I said quietly, a wave of sadness hitting me in the gut. “Do you mind?”

  She handed me her bouquet and zipped my dress up effortlessly in an instant, not lingering.

  “You look beautiful, Skylar,” she said, smiling at me.

  “Thanks, Lindy. You do, too,” I said, turning away from my reflection, putting on my best smile. We stood next to each other, waiting for Krista to step out from behind the changing partition in the bridal suite.

  “You look absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart,” Mom said to her after we all gasped and fawned over how radiant she looked in her wedding dress. Mom hugged her, the camera clicking around us, capturing this perfect moment, and I smiled.

  “I thought I’d be really nervous,” Krista said softly, looking at herself in the mirror, unable to believe she was finally the bride in her dreams. “But I’m so ready,” she said, turning to beam at us and her bridal party. I smiled again, the camera capturing this moment, too.

  Mom turned to me, gently placing her hand on my wrist and instinctively adjusting a curl of my hair. When the camera stopped clicking, I stopped smiling, stepping away from her.

  “Hon,” she said, but I pretended not to hear her, glancing at my reflection again, trying to shake the heavy sadness behind my eyes.

  Krista stood next to me, and I smiled, not wanting to ruin a single moment of her big day. “You look beautiful, sis,” I said, putting my arm around her. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you for all your help this week,” she said quietly. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”

  I shook my head, cutting her off, not wanting the reminder of the past seven days.

  It had been wedding chaos, and during the final arrangements, run-throughs, and rehearsals, I’d been able to get through it all with a smile, trying my hardest to pretend it didn’t bother me that I hadn’t heard from Dean since our fight. I’d worked up the nerve to call him once, right after the rehearsal dinner where I sat between my parents, refusing to talk to them, but he hadn’t answered. I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe he would never ever answer again. That when he’d said he was tired, he’d really meant he was done.

  “There’s never been a chance I wouldn’t be there for you,” I said to Krista, hugging her hard as the camera flashed again. “Now can we please go get you married?”

  I glanced at my bare wrist, knowing the time without my watch because we’d practiced this part so much it was second nature.

  Krista took a deep breath, breaking out into a smile, and nodded. As our mom stepped out, leading the way for the rest of the bridal party, Krista and I hung back.

  “This is what you’ve always wanted,” I said quietly, glancing down at the ring in my hand, the one she’d give her future husband in less than 20 minutes.

  “No, Kyle is what I’ve always wanted. This day just marks the beginning,” she said with a laugh.

  I nodded, laughing with her, brushing away an errant tear, doubl
e-checking that I hadn’t messed up my makeup. There was a light knock on the door, and our dad smiled at us.

  “My beautiful daughter,” he said, taking Krista in his arms. I stepped back, letting them have their moment. “Are you ready? It’s almost time.”

  She nodded, glancing over her shoulder at me.

  “Just one second, Dad,” she said, quickly walking over to her bag and pulling something out. “Skylar, can you help me?”

  “Of course,” I said, immediately rushing to her side. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

  She laughed at my concern. “Okay, so I have something old.”

  “Mom’s veil,” I said, reaching out to smooth its beaded edge so it fell perfectly over her shoulders.

  “And something new,” she said, and we both gestured to her one-of-a-kind dress.

  “And you have something blue. The soles of your shoes. It took forever for those to come in. I called the place no less than fourteen times,” I said with a laugh.

  “But I don’t have something borrowed just yet,” she said, handing me a small silk bag.

  I looked at her, confused, and opened it. Two matching delicate gold bracelets fell out onto my palm. I held one up, reading the engraving on the small bar pendant. “Best friends,” I said, reading the other, “Forever.”

  Krista smiled at me. “I know that it’s tradition you always wear the ‘forever,’ and I always take ‘best friends.’ But maybe just this once, I could borrow ‘forever’?”

  I nodded, overwhelmed with love for my sister, holding my hands steady as I helped her clasp the bracelet, her doing the same for me.

  “Okay,” she said, stepping back, laughing so she wouldn’t cry. “Now I’m ready. Let’s go, lil sis.”

  The hard part was over. They were married, not waiting one second to kiss when the minister pronounced them husband and wife, everyone cheering. Mom cried through the whole ceremony, pulled herself together for the photos, and cried all over again during the first dance. I smiled through it all, through the cocktail hour and dinner, so happy for Krista.