by JD Hawkins
“Hey!”
It’s a nonchalant, friendly shout, and the voice is familiar yet foreign enough to cause me to turn and look.
Asher’s sitting there on the edge of the stone fountain, two blonde women tending to his own bruises like angelic nurses. When I turn and stop, he stands up and thanks them before walking toward me. The two women glare as if they’re angry at me for taking him away, or ruining his beautiful face.
He peers at my face, my cut, then laughs good-naturedly.
“Is that all I did to you? A measly cut? I need to work on my form.”
“Stings like a bitch though.”
“Look at the size of this welt you gave me,” he says, turning his head to show me. “Good thing I got long hair.”
“Ah, it was a sucker punch. Once you were in the fight, I didn’t land a single clean hit.”
He laughs again and I laugh with him this time. The fight’s drained from my body, and Asher’s got a friendliness about him that it’s hard to hate.
“You getting a cab?” he asks, nodding down the long driveway.
“No,” I say, turning and starting to walk. “I parked a little down the road.”
Asher laughs again as he walks beside me. “You crashed the party, huh?”
“I had to. Maeve didn’t invite me.”
We walk down the long, oak-lined driveway, nursing our bruises.
“You leaving?” I ask, once he’s walked with me enough for me to realize he isn’t turning back.
“Yeah… I’ll call a cab from the road.”
We walk on for a while longer, and I don’t ask the obvious question, not wanting to hear the painful truth. Eventually, Asher is the one who brings it up.
“I don’t wanna pry or anything… And I think I can pretty much get a rough idea of what happened…” he says. “But I’d just like to know—why the hell did you start a fight with me again?”
I turn to look at him as we walk, and with a mixture of humor and seriousness say, “Because I’m in love with your girlfriend.”
Asher stops to look at me with intense confusion. I take one more step and stop myself, turning to look back at him.
“My girlfriend?”
“Yeah…” I say as Asher starts walking again. “Or whatever it is you two got going on. Fuck buddies…public relations thing…I dunno.”
“I think there’s some crossed wires here somewhere,” Asher says confusedly. “Maeve and I went out once, technically. If you don’t count the dinner date we were set up on, but—”
“Look, buddy,” I say, stopping to face him, “you don’t have to explain anything to me, or talk me down from a ledge or something… I’m the last person who can hate a guy for being into Maeve—Jesus Christ, that’s my whole problem. I get it.
“As far as you’re aware, you were set up with an incredible woman, you went out on a date, you fucked her, she invited you to a party—and then suddenly some guy comes along and hits you in the face. And that’s about all you know of the situation. I get it. And I guess I should say I’m sorry, but I doubt it’ll make the bruise hurt less.”
I start walking again, but only take two steps before realizing Asher hasn’t moved. I turn back again to look at him.
“We didn’t sleep together,” he says, then finally gets walking again.
“Oh really?” I reply sarcastically.
“Really. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to. She gave me all the signs too… And then as the night was winding down she said she wasn’t feeling too good. I drove her home and that was it.”
I look at him, searching for a sign he might be lying, covering for something, but he’s not the type of guy, and this isn’t really the kind of moment he’d lie in. The punches have already been thrown. He’d tell me if it happened.
After about a minute’s walking, the gates of the entrance in view now, he laughs to himself and says, “You know what she was saying to me right before you rolled up and clocked me?”
“I don’t—but it looked like you were both enjoying it.”
“She was giving me the ‘you’re a nice guy but’ conversation. ‘I had a great time last week but…’ ‘I really like you but…’ She didn’t quite get to the ‘but’ part, but I could put the pieces together. Now I’m not saying she’s into you, but she isn’t into me, that’s for damn sure—not that much, anyway.”
“She’s into me,” I insist. “She’s just into her whole lifestyle even more… I just can’t seem to make her understand…”
“She’s a tough woman.”
“You’re telling me…” I say as we near the gates.
After a few seconds, Asher says, “Don’t give up though. I think you stand a chance.”
I stop at the entrance to look at him, hope getting the better of me. “You think?”
Asher shrugs and nods.
“Yeah. I don’t know why. Something in the way she acted toward you at dinner, and how she looked when you suddenly showed up tonight… Even the fact that she just suddenly left our date when it was going so well. I think you’re under her skin.”
We pass through the gates, nodding at the security there, and stop on the road.
“Hey, Asher,” I say. “I’ve got a confession I got to make.”
“Yeah?” he says, pressing his bruise and wincing.
“I should have passed that ball. You were right.”
Asher laughs heartily, and smacks my shoulder. “At least you scored it.”
“Luck.”
He pulls out his phone and starts swiping it.
“You calling a cab?”
Nodding, he says, “It’ll probably take them half an hour to get out here if I’m lucky.”
“Fuck it then,” I say, gesturing for him to follow me as I walk down the road to where I parked. “I’ll give you a ride. Then we can call it even.”
24
Maeve
“What a success!”
“Even I didn’t think it would be this big.”
“Did you see the photos?”
“Oh! They’re good enough to make a coffee table book!”
“With the ice sculptures and that house…”
“Amazing.”
“And the trending for Maeve’s name went through the roof.”
“It still is.”
“I saw—it’s the goodie bags, right?”
“Among other things.”
“I didn’t even see half the stuff that people are saying happened at the party…”
“That’s because you spent all night in that DJ room of yours!”
“Oh look who’s talking! Every time I saw you, you were planted face-first in that actor.”
“I was not!”
“Yes, you were! And I can see the layer of concealer on your neck from here. Let me guess, you probably have so many hickeys it looks like you were mauled by a bear.”
“Let’s not get off topic.”
“Of course.”
“Point is, this was sensational.”
“Right.”
“We got what we set out to get.”
“Much more.”
“Attention for Maeve.”
“And a sense of excitement around her name.”
“Absolutely.”
“So now…”
“Now we have to think about how we can shape it in the run-up to launch. Right, Maeve?”
“Maeve?”
“Maeve?”
The terrible twins have been bouncing off the walls during our Monday meeting so much that I’ve tuned out. Partly because I know they’re too excited to say anything of importance, partly because the whole party feels less than important to me now. All but one part, at least.
You can’t even say it… I can have you… I hate that I’m in love with you…
Those aren’t the rules of the game. Toby knows that.
You don’t put your emotions on the table like that. You don’t bet on them. Life is easy when you put emotions aside. When you live for the
senses rather than the heart. Toby knows that.
So what the hell was he doing?
“Are you okay, Maeve?”
“What?” I say, the strange tone in Harriet’s voice snapping me to attention. “Yes, yes. The party was fabulous. The question is now what, isn’t it?”
Harriet and Brent start excitedly talking over each other again and I suddenly feel suffocated by them, by work, by the weight of my own inescapable thoughts.
I hold my palms up to stop them and immediately stand, gathering my phone and purse.
“Actually, I’d rather we did this tomorrow. I need to get some fresh air. Whatever you two decide, go ahead and do it. You can explain it to me later. But I’m sure it’ll be fantastic. Go do your thing with my full blessing. Ciao.”
I’m out of the room before they can answer—not that they would. With carte blanche they’re probably already signing me up for a photo shoot in Russia, or arranging an appearance for me at a silver refinery.
Right now, however, I’m only worried about my own sanity. My mind feels like it’s on uneven footing, unable to move forward properly. Something deeply unsettling at the core of my being. A sense of something very wrong.
After scrambling outside, the fresh air makes me feel less hot and flustered, but not really any better. I’m still reeling. Still feeling the aftershock, so that trying to assess the damage is impossible.
What the hell has Toby done?
He’s potentially ruined a seven-year relationship with my best friend. Created a potential future of awkwardly avoiding each other at any event involving Mia. Let alone all the places and people we might share in common.
And then, of course, my jewelry line is now going to be a complete botch job. I have only three months to finalize it and there’s no way Toby and I can work together now. I’ll have to make all the contacts, the deals, and let alone the designs, from scratch. Three months meant that every week—every day—mattered. I might even have to push the whole thing back. All because he’s such an idiot.
Because he’s so fucking reckless and childish and impulsive and petulant and arrogant and selfish and brash and I l—
You can’t even say it…
Absent-mindedly, driven only by the frustration of my thoughts, I find myself pacing toward my car, and then—without any idea what I’m doing or why—I get inside. Inexplicably, I feel both lost and trapped. Stuck and falling free. Aimless and yet unable to let things lie. There isn’t a word for what I’m feeling.
Body still acting on its own, my mind lost among memories and abstractions, I find myself grabbing my phone and sending a text. To Mia. My only friend. The only person I can really turn to. My near-infinite phonebook seeming ridiculously pointless in this moment of crisis.
I ask her if she’s free, and she texts back quickly to say she could spare a moment for coffee at a place near her apartment. I start driving, already feeling the pain of having to sit with her holding in this terrible secret. But I feel alone, and for once I’m not happy to feel that way—and Mia is the only person who I can comfortably feel alone with.
The café is a cutesy hipster place we’ve been to a few times for brunch. Vintage wallpaper on the walls. Plush, colorful couches and padded chairs. The tables a random mixture of metal garden tables and aged woodgrain, as if the furnishings of the place had been randomly picked from a street market. Which, maybe they have.
It’s the kind of place that attracts all kinds of clientele, from businesspeople working alone on their laptops to trendy young men who sit by the window watching the girls go by. The kind of place where the staff are so relaxed and casual it’s impossible to tell them from the customers.
Heading inside, I feel at odds with the place. A couple smiling at each other in the corner seem like alien beings to me. I’m so mired in my own heavy, complicated feelings that any sign of simple joy or people just getting along feels almost inconceivable to me. For the first time in a long time—perhaps ever—I’m self-conscious.
“Are you all right?” Mia says when I find her at a table by the window and wordlessly sit in front of her.
“Yes, of course,” I say, unable to make it sound genuine.
“Are you sure? You look a little pale.”
“Just trying a new look, sweetie,” I say, fiddling with my purse so as not to look Mia in the eye.
Mia laughs gently. “I suppose that party took it out of you. I was only there for a couple of hours and felt exhausted afterwards.”
“It was wonderful to see you there. And that dress of yours deserves longer than a couple of hours on show,” I say, feeling like I’m only mimicking my typical voice.
I finally look up at Mia and notice that she’s staring at me with a look of concern I find almost painful.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Most definitely,” I reply, still struggling to play my part. “I’m wearing one of the shortest skirts it’s acceptable to attend work in, and that waiter still hasn’t run over to take my order.” I raise a hand and draw the bearded waiter’s attention, then call out, “Cappuccino, please?”
“Maeve…”
“And also, where the hell is Alison, Mia? It should be implied that when I want to see you, I’m presuming you come as a package deal.”
“Maeve.”
“God knows she’s a better conversationalist than half the people I know.”
“Maeve…”
I pause, grateful for the waiter bringing my coffee at this moment. I make eyes at him then look back at Mia, ready to pass comment on his attractiveness and the benefits of a man who knows how to serve you—but she’s still looking at me, through me, in a way that makes me understand she won’t be distracted.
“Have you spoken to Toby?” I ask as nonchalantly as possible.
“No,” Mia says. “Colin called him yesterday to ask about soccer this week, but there was no answer.”
“Asher?”
Mia shakes her head. “He told us to leave the party when we wanted—he planned to get a cab home. That was the last time we spoke. Why? Is this something to do with him?”
I smile almost sadly as I whip the froth into the coffee, not speaking for a few moments, relishing our friendship as it is now, before I change it entirely. Still unsure how, but fully understanding it could potentially be for the worst.
“Maeve?” Mia asks, gently insistent. “Whatever it is… Just say it.”
I look at her and smile, wishing I was as ignorant of it all as she was, then I put my spoon down carefully.
“A while ago…Toby and I slept together.”
“You mean six years ago?” Mia says. “I know that.”
“No. I mean…a few weeks ago.”
Mia’s eyebrows almost shoot off her face.
“Uh…wh—how?” she stutters.
I almost laugh.
“How indeed… I’m not even sure myself. It just sort of happened. I suppose there’s only so long you can jokingly flirt and mock one another before it becomes more than a joke.”
She screws up her face in thought. “Was this before or after the dinner party?”
“Before.”
“So then…” Maeve’s eyes flick around the table like she’s trying to solve the Enigma code in her head.
“Yes,” I say. “It was rather awkward. Especially since, when you all weren’t looking, we ended up kissing a little.”
Maeve leans back in her seat so suddenly it’s as if I just punched her.
“Then…” I continue, “when I went to his shop to work with him on my jewelry line, we ended up… Well, you get the picture.”
“I had no idea…” Mia gasps.
“You still don’t,” I reply. “I haven’t told you the critical part yet.”
“Okay. Go on…”
I take a slow sip of coffee to steady myself. I might not show it as much as Mia, but I’m as nervous saying it as she’s going to be shocked to hear it.
“Toby showed
up at my party on Saturday, got into a fistfight with Asher, wrecked the bar, and then told me that he…he, um—well, that he’s in love with me.”
Now Mia does nothing, freezing so still that if there weren’t cars passing outside, I could almost believe that time had stopped. I watch her for a few seconds, not a twitch or a glimmer, and I’m almost compelled to remind her to breathe.
“Toby…” she mutters, so softly I’m reading her lips more than hearing her. “My brother…Toby…said he was in love with you?”
I nod, after a long pause in which life returns to Mia in parts—first the ability to breathe again, then the ability to move and look outside as she absorbs it all, and then finally the ability to look back at me and speak.
“And you?” she asks. “How do you…feel?”
I sigh and stare at my full cup of coffee. The million-dollar question.
“The problem, Mia, is that what I feel doesn’t matter, and I’m fully aware of that. I always have been. I’m not a teenage girl, or even your average woman—as arrogant and as offensive as that sounds.
“I got where I am, everything I ever wanted, by putting my feelings aside. My career, my status, my lifestyle… I’ve always put my feelings aside to pursue all of them. Do you remember what I told you when you wore that red dress for the first time?”
Mia smiles through the surprise and the seriousness at the flicker of this simple, affectionate memory. She nods gently.
“Something about…” she begins. “Feelings being a ‘choice’—so feel beautiful.”
“That’s it, honey.” I smile back.
After another long while, Mia says, “But there’s a difference there, Maeve. A difference between wearing a dress and being in love with someone. Some feelings are too big to choose.”
I say nothing, my own talents failing me as I struggle to think of an answer. I pick up my coffee cup but feel queasy at the thought of sipping, so I simply put it down again.
“Do you…” Mia asks, “love him too?”
I look up at Mia, my face full of defiant humor, composure and repose, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Me—the sassy bitch with a smart reply for everything, the unshakable, infallible, archetype of a confident woman… And I can’t think of anything to say even to my closest confidant.
