by Meika Usher
“I am rather fond of you, Nathaniel Kim,” I said when we parted, resting my forehead against his.
He pushed his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck and smiled. “I’m rather fond of you, too, Bernadette.”
And, in that moment, I was so fucking happy it was ridiculous.
“Heads up, bitches,” Anya said, swinging the front door open. “Better cover your bits, because I’m coming in.”
Well, I thought as I yanked my t-shirt over my head and tossed Nate his sweats. Moment gone.
But as Anya trampled into the room, wolf whistling as she took in the scene, I looked at Nate. And then I looked at my wrist, at the crooked heart, and I knew. Even once the marker tattoo faded and disappeared, Nate had definitely left his mark.
Permanently.
45: Nate
“I swear to balls,” Sunny said, pulling her tablet out of her bag and putting it on the counter. She’d met me at Floppies after close a few days later to get some last minute Zombitch work done.
Super last minute. Because I was hardcore dropping the deadline ball. Which meant that, tonight, I had to get shit done. Lots of it. Otherwise, I was pretty sure Sunny would murder me.
“If Cat doesn’t back off soon,” Sunny continued, and I forced my attention back to her,“I am going to strangle her pretty little neck.” She sat down and began setting up her workspace. I mentally told myself to kick my focus into hyperdrive. She was already feeling murderous. I didn’t need to give her a reason to act. “Which would make Jude hate me and never speak to me again,” she went on. “Also, you know, prison.” She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “But it’d be worth it for some peace and quiet.”
I opened my laptop and nodded sympathetically. I could one thousand percent sympathize. Cat had been driving me insane, too. Of course, I couldn’t tell Sunny that. Surprise engagement party and all. Which I already knew was a terrible idea, but Cat was a persistent little thing. And now, instead of a low-key shindig at their apartment, the party was going to be at Jack’s restaurant. Which meant more people. Which meant an even angrier Sunny.
The thought was terrifying.
“What did she do now?” I asked, shoving that thought aside. Though maybe extra angry Sunny was just the motivation I needed to get something accomplished tonight. “And doesn’t she know that I’m the maid of honor?”
“Well, since Cat doesn’t think you’re maid of honor material, and Birdie is, apparently, too irresponsible, she’s taken the job on herself.” She sighed and straightened. “Which would be fine if she weren’t trying to hijack the whole ceremony.”
I took the chair opposite Sunny’s, bristling at the not maid of honor material thing. I was maid of honor material. I was so maid of honor material. But I didn’t say anything more, the fear of getting stabbed by Sunny too strong.
“It’s like this isn’t my wedding at all,” Sunny continued as she pulled her sketchbook from her bag and dropped it on the counter.
I rested my elbows on the counter and met her eye, a thought crystalizing. “Maybe it isn’t.”
Sunny frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, this all sounds like it’s been very well-thought-out. And none of it is tailored to you.” I shrugged. “Maybe Cat is planning her own wedding.”
Sunny’s eyes traced over my face, realization dawning. “You might be right. Except...”
“Except?” I prompted when she didn’t finish.
“I don’t think Cat and Jude ever plan on getting married. I mean, sure, they’re engaged. But it’s been, like, three years. If they were gonna tie the knot, they would have done it by now.”
“Very valid point,” I said, tilting my head her way. “Doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one of those Dream Wedding binders teenage girls kept under their beds.”
“I never had one of those,” Sunny said, grabbing a stack of Magic cards from beneath the counter. As she thumbed through them, she added, “But I bet Cat did. And I bet it was full of spring wedding aesthetics.”
“You gotta take back the power.” I took half the deck from Sunny and straightened them. “You gotta get your wedding back.”
“Goddamn right, I do.” She held up a card, facing me. “I’ve got to channel my inner badass. Do you think I can pull off this outfit?”
I looked at the card in her hand. A purple-skinned woman, with a giant rack, in a gilded bikini top and flowing skirt. Completely impractical outfit for going to battle, if you asked me. “I mean, your eyes already glow red when you’re angry,” I replied. “You’re halfway there.”
She flicked the card at me and I caught it, laughing.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the card back.
“For what?”
“Talking me down. I’ve just been so...” She lifted her hands to either side of her head and shook it, making a blergh noise. “You know?”
Oddly, I knew exactly what she meant. I nodded. “Welcome.”
Spreading the cards out onto the counter, she glanced up at me. “So...lots of work tonight, right?”
She was holding back, I could tell. What she really wanted to say was, All right, motherfucker. We have work to do. Probably, she toned it down because of my pep talk.
I nodded. “Absolutely.” I flipped open my notebook and powered up my laptop. “I’m almost done. Just a few tweaks and we’re good to go.”
“Excellent,” she said with a nod. “Deadline waits for no man.” Then, she popped in her headphones and got to work, leaving me to do the same.
I plugged in my own headphones and opened the word processing program. I really was almost done. I just had to figure out the perfect pithy reaction for the moment Rowena confronted her evil twin sister, and—
Beside me, my phone buzzed. I glanced over. Birdie. Smiling to myself, I slid open the message and read:
So, I’m at work and all I’m hearing is, WHO IS THAT GUY FROM THE OTHER NIGHT? Apparently, you are not what they expected.
My eyes lingered on the last word. Expected.
And then my brain called up our conversation from the other night. I’m tired of being what people expect of me.
The dots connected in one long, bright neon line, and I didn’t like the direction it went. The implication it pointed to. That Birdie was with me because I wasn’t who anyone expected her to be with.
That was bullshit.
Right?
Shaking my head, I flipped my phone over and turned my attention back to Rowena. I’d text Birdie back later.
As soon as I delved back into Zombitch, my phone vibrated again. With a glance at Sunny, who was laser-focused on her tablet, I reached for it. Anya this time.
I told Wyatt about your con idea, she wrote. She thinks it’s brilliant!
Wyatt was a mutual friend we’d met a few years back. She was a cosplay queen. She was also a friend of Sunny’s. Which meant that if Anya told Wyatt, word would get back to Sunny soon. I really hadn’t planned on talking to her about it till after we met our Zombitch deadline. Sighing, I sat the phone down and glanced Sunny’s way.
As if she felt my eyes on her, she looked up. “What’s up, man?” she asked, pulling an earbud out. “Need to brainstorm something?”
I pulled my own headphones out and shoved my glasses up, scrubbing my hands over my face. Welp. Guess now was as good a time as any.
“Kind of?” I replied as I slid my glasses back into place. I wasn’t sure where to start. “You know Port Agnes Con was this weekend, right?”
Sunny snarled. “Ugh. Yeah.” She sat her stylus down and reached for her drink. “The events guy called me last week to ask if I’d be on their panel—apparently, someone dropped out last minute. But after last year’s clusterfuck?” She shook her head, disgust oozing from her face. “And now they’ve raised their booth rates. I actually think they’re trying to go under.”
“Right?” I leaned in, the electric excitement from the other night zapping me straight to my bones. It hadn’t waned.
In fact, the more I thought about starting my own convention and the things I would do differently, or the same, as other cons, the possibilities, the opportunities, the...
Argh. I couldn’t wait.
I just hoped Sunny would get it.
“So, I was talking to Anya the other night, and I had an idea.” I balled my hands into fists in my lap and exhaled. Here goes. “I wanna start a con.”
The words fell from my mouth and landed in the space between us with a boom, loud like a bomb. Sunny blinked, sat back, and blinked again. “You wanna do what now?”
“Start a con,” I repeated, slower this time. “You know, like Port Agnes Con, only not ass?”
“Right. I know what you mean.” She picked up her stylus and tapped it against the counter. Her eyes narrowed on my face. “I was just kinda hoping I’d misheard you.”
“Why?” I leaned forward, an elbow on the counter, frowning. This wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d anticipated. “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”
“No, I think it’s a great idea.” The invisible but hung in the air between us. She was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound the whirring of my ancient laptop’s fan as it struggled against overheating. Then, finally: “It’s a great idea for someone with better time management skills, maybe.”
I stiffened, her words like daggers aimed for the chest. “What?”
“I’m just saying,” she said, setting the stylus down to fold her arms over her chest. “It’s a great idea, and we definitely need a good con in this area. But, let’s be honest, Nate. You’ve been shit at hitting deadlines lately. You’re unfocused and scattered and...starting a con is a lot of work.”
“I know that,” I said, my voice coming out low. “Just like I know I spent years making every single Zombitch deadline. It’s only been in the last few months that I—”
“That you’ve completely dropped the ball.” She lifted her brows. “I’ve had to remind you and poke you and bother you for months. I’ve felt more like your babysitter than your co-writer.” Our eyes clashed as she said the words, each one sharper than the last. But none were as cutting as the next question. “Don’t you think your focus is better spent on the obligations you already have?”
I exhaled and sat back in my seat as he question rang loud and true in my head. She was not wrong. Not even a little bit wrong. But...
“I know it’s ambitious,” I said, striving to keep my voice level. “And I know it will be difficult to balance everything. But I think I can do it.” Reaching across the distance, I put a hand on her arm and added, “And I’d appreciate my best friend’s support while I try.”
Sunny looked at my hand on her arm, then back to my face. She didn’t speak for a long moment, searching my face with her eyes. Her expression was unreadable—which was unnerving as fuck, because I had always been able to read Sunny like a goddamn book. My stomach tightened. My pulse quickened. Dread settled itself heavily in my gut.
Finally, she spoke. “What does that mean for Zombitch?”
The question was like a bucket of ice cubes dropped over my head. I knew she’d ask it. I expected it. But it still hit hard.
I didn’t want to tell Sunny that the reason I’d been cutting it so close on our deadlines lately was because I just...couldn’t focus on Zombitch. I didn’t want to tell her about the enormous amount of pressure I felt each time I sat down to write. I didn’t want to tell her how...uninspired I’d been by the newest storyline.
I didn’t want to tell her any of those things.
I didn’t want to think about any of those things. Because she was my best friend and I didn’t want to disappoint her.
But, for the first time in months, I was excited about something. And I didn’t want to let go of that, either.
“I can do both,” I answered finally.
A short laugh erupted from her. “Oh, really.” She closed her sketchbook and shoved it into her backpack. “When? Between Floppies and Zombitch and whatever the fuck else you’re doing that’s got you so distracted?” She looked up, her gray eyes flashing. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re supposed to be my maid of honor, too.”
“I am your—”
“You’ve left me to deal with Cat and her batshit fucking crazy demands alone for weeks now.” Her tablet joined the sketchbook in her backpack. “I’ve needed you to run interference here. To kill her ridiculous ideas and help me plan a wedding that I actually want. Instead...” She stood up and yanked on her coat. “I’m pretty sure I’m about to get married in a goddamn garden filled with roses and daisies and all kinds of girly shit while everyone around me is wearing pink.” Shoving her chair under the counter with a bang, she looked up. “Pink, Nate! I fucking hate pink!”
“I’m sorry,” I started. “I know I haven’t been—”
“No, you haven’t.” She zipped her coat with more force than necessary. “I’ve needed my business partner. I’ve needed my maid of honor. And I’ve goddamn needed my best friend. But instead, all I’ve gotten is...” She trailed off and gestured a hand my way. “Whatever the fuck this is.”
I sat back like she’d hit me. “Sunny,” I started. “I—”
“Look. Do whatever you’re gonna do. I don’t even care anymore.” Sunny crossed the store and reached for the door handle. “See you at the wedding. Don’t forget your bubblegum pink bowtie.”
And then the door slammed behind her, and the only sound in the shop was the residual ring of the bell above.
I stared after her, numb.
She was absolutely right, in every word she said. I likely had no business fucking with this convention idea. But that felt right, too. And I couldn’t keep doing what I’d been doing for years, just because that was what everyone expected me to do, could I?
Expected.
There was that word again.
In that moment, I understood exactly what Birdie meant. I also understood why she would go so far out of her way to avoid those expectations.
You are not what they expected, she’d said about her coworkers. For the second time that night, I wondered: was that why she was with me?
I shoved that thought aside and turned back to the counter. There wasn’t time to wander down that particular path. I had a livid best friend and an important deadline to focus on.
46: Birdie
The look on Sunny’s face said everything.
As soon as we entered Jack’s restaurant to a mob of people, my sister’s eyes narrowed to slits, her lips thinned, and steam practically radiated from her.
She. Was. Pissed.
I pressed my lips together to tamp down the stream of fucks and goddammits that were on the tip of my tongue.
I told Cat this was a bad idea.
I had been assigned the honor of getting Sunny and Ben to the restaurant while Nate was forced to help finish set-up. I’d have given anything to stay behind and arrange tables and chairs, or whatever it was he’d been doing all afternoon.
I’d have given anything to just be with him all afternoon.
Things had been kind of weird between us the last few days. He stopped by Rusty’s after his late-night work session with Sunny, and he was eerily quiet. Said he just wanted to say hi, but I could tell there was something simmering under the surface. I’d been hoping for some time alone to do a little digging, but between planning this godforsaken party and work and the constant presence of people at both our homes...it just never happened.
Now, catching a glimpse of him on the other side of the room, all I wanted to do was drag him into the back, kiss him stupid, and demand he tell me what was going on. Because something was going on. I could tell.
I wasn’t going to get the chance anytime soon, though, because Cat had just emerged from the sea of people, looking like the goddamn Little Mermaid with her long red hair flowing around her. “Happy engagement party!” she said, throwing her arms over her head.
“Ahh, fuck,” Ben muttered, securing his arm around Sunny’s waist and pulli
ng her to him.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to them as Cat approached. “We tried to talk her out of it. But she—“
“Please tell me there’s alcohol,” Sunny cut in, eyes scraping the room for the answer.
“Yes. Yes, there is,” I answered as I threw my arm over her shoulder. “Right this way.” As I led her away, I sort of felt bad for leaving Ben to deal with Cat. But as maid of honor—and sister—my duties lay with Sunny. And Sunny needed a drink.
We located the bar easily, and the bartender—who Cat must have hired—slid two glasses across the counter before we could say a word. Sunny picked one up and studied the pink liquid. “Is...is this sparkly?”
Grabbing the other glass, I held it up to the light. It was, indeed, sparkly. Pink and sparkly. “Is this even safe to drink?”
“Sure is,” said the bartender as he poured another two cocktails for a couple that had just wandered up. “And it’s full of alcohol.”
“That’s all I need to know,” Sunny said, taking a hefty gulp. She grimaced as she swallowed. “Tastes like unicorn jizz.”
“That sounds...appetizing,” I murmured, eyeing my drink skeptically. “Want mine?”
She took my glass with her other hand, then drained her own. “I’m gonna need a couple more of these,” she told the bartender, still wincing slightly. “Just keep ‘em coming.”
“Sun,” I said, smiling a thanks to the bartender as he slid another sparkly drink toward her. “You don’t know what’s in these. You might wanna slow down.”
“Listen,” she said, tilting her now-emptied glass my way for emphasis. “I have to spend my entire night pretending I don’t wanna murder our brother’s girl. Only way I’m gonna manage that is if I get a little fucked up.”
I put my hands up in front of me. “All right, all right.” Then, I turned to face the crowd, searching for Nate. Something told me I was gonna need backup if my darling sister kept hammering back those drinks.
