by Staci Hart
“Oh, not mad, I guess. He just doesn’t like the idea of you with someone who doesn’t treat you well, or his version of well, I suppose.”
“Huh.” I contemplated that as we approached the window that faced the sidewalk.
Maggie stepped up first. “Can I get a slice of supreme and…” she turned to me.
“Make it two, please.” I reached into my bag for cash and passed it through.
The pizza boy nodded and winked at us before flopping our humongous slices on the crappiest paper plates ever and pushing them through the window.
“Thank you,” we chimed and headed toward the building.
I folded my slice in half, salivating, and shoved the end in my mouth. “God, I love New York.”
Maggie laughed with her mouth full.
“You were right, you know.”
“About what?”
I adjusted my grip. “Pizza makes everything better.” I took another massive bite.
“I’m glad you’re feeling a little better.”
What I felt was life-worn. “It’s been a bad day. A really stupid, long, bad day.” I started to take a bite, but lowered my hand. “I misbehaved tonight, didn’t I?”
“Maybe a little.”
I sighed. “I embarrassed West.”
“Maybe a lot.”
Guilt slipped over me. “Do you think he’s very upset with me?”
“I don’t know. He actually looked more worried about you than angry with you.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow, try to make it right. I shouldn’t have mouthed off. The whole thing just threw me. Plus, vodka.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna make a blanket statement and say that vodka does not make everything better.”
I laughed, and every bite of cheesy goodness made my world a little more bearable.
WHERE'S THE WHISKEY
West
CHRIS CHATTERED ON AS WE walked to the subway, still hanging on my arm, but I was barely listening — my mind was on Lily. I’d never seen Lily belligerent before. I’d seen her weepy and sentimental when she was drunk, but mostly she was just adorable and hilarious. This whole thing with Blane had her sideways.
I added it to my list of reasons why I didn’t like him.
We descended the stairs and were walking through the turnstile when I finally calmed down enough to think about Chris’ performance. For her to be so public with me, grab me like she owned me? And in front of my friends? The whole thing made me uncomfortable, but I was the only one to blame. I never should have had her meet me at Habits.
In any case, it seemed that she definitely believed we were on a date, despite our conversation specifically about going as friends. She knew I didn’t want more, but here we were, boarding the train with her gripping my arm like I’d run away if she let go.
We took our seats, and Chris laid a hand on my thigh. A couple of teenage girls a few seats down giggled and whispered, looking in our direction. Chris was sitting close enough to me that I had to put an arm on the back of her seat to buy myself a little space. Except that seemed to be what she wanted because she immediately leaned into me. I leaned away, hoping she’d get the signal.
No such luck.
So we sat on the train with Christine still talking, requiring very little from me in the way of conversation. Had she always talked this much? How had I not noticed before?
I grappled with what to do about her. I didn’t feel comfortable pretending, but I didn’t want to upset her, either. My instinct was to get through the night and end it on the way home. If I said something now, she’d have gotten all dressed up for nothing, gone to all the trouble just to get dumped.
But I thought about the other side of it for another beat. Why end it? Maybe I could give it a try with her. On paper, she was everything I was looking for. We were in the same place in our lives, in our careers, shared the same group of acquaintances. It would be convenient. But as she pressed herself against me in the subway car, I knew. I didn’t want to be with Chris — not like that.
All I could do was endure the night and try to let her down gently at the end of it.
I felt a little better having made a decision, finding it easier to participate in the conversation through the rest of the train ride and toward Amanda’s apartment. We walked up the stairs to her building and through the open door to the sound of indie folk rock and the lingering smell of weed. There were hipsters as far as the eye could see, standing in groups with wine glasses and beer bottles.
Rose’s fortune telling skills were bang on.
Chris tugged me through the crowd, stopping here and there, talking to everyone like she wanted to be sure they all saw us together. Someone brought us drinks, wine for Chris — noir, as suspected — and a beer for me, an IPA. I didn’t even like IPA. Give me a stout or even a honey blonde. But if the choice was between the two, I’d take beer over wine any day. Some of the guys nearby were discussing little-known craft beers like some people talk about underground bands, and as I took a sip of the bitter ale, I wished very much that I hadn’t agreed to come.
Christine wound her fingers through mine and pulled me to the door, up the stairs and to the roof, and I was quick to grab the roof door for her, using any excuse to let go of her hand. She wasn’t making it easy to play along, not with the parade and fanfare. The minute we were outside, she slipped an arm around my waist and dragged me toward her friends.
“Amanda!” Chris waved across the roof to Amanda, who waved back, dark eyes bouncing back and forth between us. I tried to give her a smile, but could feel the halfassery of it, and when we made full eye contact, I knew she knew it.
We — meaning she — talked to Amanda, and I sipped my tragic disaster of hops and barley. One thing was clear: the whole night was a charade.
I drained my beer. “Need another drink?” I asked Chris, needing to get away.
She beamed up at me. “I will by the time you’re back.”
I nodded and pulled away from her, feeling like I’d shed shackles. “All right.”
“Hurry back,” she cooed.
Christine didn’t seem to notice my weak smile the way Amanda did — she grimaced at Chris’ enthusiasm behind her back.
I let out a heavy breath as I headed down the stairs and into the apartment, working through an exit strategy as I headed into the kitchen.
Wine bottles were lined up on the counter, all reds, and I picked the noir with the most interesting label — it was called Complicated, which seemed appropriate — to pour her a glass. My next priority was to find something, anything else to drink. I would have even settled for rum. But there was nothing. I reached into the fridge and grabbed another IPA with a sigh, wondering just how the night could get worse.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Weston Williams.”
And there it is.
I turned to find Simon Phillips standing behind me, looking smug. He was a decent looking guy, shorter than me, but not exactly short in general. He looked rich, which was appropriate because he was. Rich, entitled, and an absolute asshole. Columbia’s finest, people. One of those fifth generation kids who’d never had a real job, never had to work hard for anything.
It wasn’t the fact that they had money that bothered me — I mean, one of my best friends was heir to a billionaire’s fortune. It was that they expected the universe to give them all they wanted. The sad part? With the money they had at their disposal, the universe generally complied.
That privilege potentially included the delivery of the last spot in the doctoral program.
“Hey, Simon,” I said. “How’s life as Dr. Cox’s favorite tool?”
“Funny, Williams. We’ll miss you at Columbia next year. Tell everyone at NYU we said hello.”
“Tell them yourself.”
He smirked. “I saw you were here with Chris. I don’t know what she’s doing with you when she could have someone like me. You’ve got no standing at Columbia. My father—”
“No one cares,
Simon.” I stepped around him, and he grabbed my arm. I stopped and looked down at his hand, then back to his eyes. He let me go.
“You scholarship shits are all the same. I don’t even know why they don’t do away with the program all together.”
“Who would’ve thought Columbia would actually give a damn about quality over bluebloods?” I shook my head. “No one likes nepotistic assholes except other nepotists. Two weeks and we’ll know for sure. I’ll be sure to send you a parting gift.” I walked away.
“Fuck off, West.”
I flipped him off over my shoulder without looking back.
My mood was deep enough in the gutter by that point that I found myself rolling through excuses to leave in earnest. Once I was on the roof again, I scanned the clusters of people looking for Chris, but I couldn’t find her. I’d almost given up when I walked around a corner to see if she was behind the stairwell entrance.
“I swear, he’s this close to committing,” I heard Chris say.
I stopped dead.
“You think?” Amanda knew better by this point, it seemed. Her voice was heavy with skepticism.
“I know. We hooked up in Blackwell’s office again the other day, and he did that thing where …” Her voice dropped off, and I leaned forward, straining to hear what she was saying.
Amanda giggled. “Oh, my god, Chris.”
“I told you I’d woo him with my vagina.” They snickered. “I mean it, though. This is our first real date, and I think there’s a serious chance we’re going somewhere.”
“God, the whole department would be so jealous, even crotchety old Cox. I don’t know how Simon doesn’t see Cox has a boner for Blackwell. That’s really why they’re rivals.”
Chris laughed. “Everyone’s already jealous. Every time we talk about West, all those bitches gather around and eat up the details, but they walk away talking shit. I mean, tonight I met his friends, and even one of them, Lily, was totally jealous. I don’t know how she couldn’t see that we were together.”
My blood boiled, and I stepped around the corner just as she said, “That bitch better back off, because I will not share.”
Chris’ back was to me, but Amanda’s eyes flew wide the second she saw me. Chris turned, the sleazy smile melting off her face when she saw the look on mine.
“Could you give us a minute, Amanda?” I asked quietly, never taking my eyes off Chris.
“I, uh … of course.” She hurried past us, embarrassed.
I glared at Chris. “I didn’t realize I was so close to committing.”
She smiled, trying to play it off. “That’s just girl talk, you know? I didn’t mean it like that. Like, I get that you want to take it slow—”
“I don’t want to ‘take it’ anywhere, Chris.”
She waved her hand, bracelets clinking together. “You don’t mean that.”
“I was going to end it as soon as we left this … party. How’s that for committing?”
Her smile slipped, and she took a step toward me with a hand outstretched. “West, I—”
“And if I ever hear you badmouth Lily again, we’re going to have even bigger problems.” I handed her the glass of wine. “Have a good time, Chris.”
And with that, I walked away, tossing my shitty beer in the trash without a second glance.
JUST SAY NO
Lily
I TROTTED UP THE SUBWAY steps the next afternoon during my break, heading to the burrito joint where I was meeting West for lunch. I’d been anxious to see him all day, worried about his reaction to my little show the night before. So I’d apologized via text and asked for his forgiveness, which he gave, then asked him to lunch. I owed him a decent lunch and a face-to-face apology after my behavior. When I pulled open the door and saw his smile as he waited for me at a table, my anxiety fell away.
He stood and walked toward me, that tall drink of water dressed in jeans and a button-down, hair in a messy bun. We met halfway, and he pulled me into a hug.
“How are you feelin’ today?”
I sighed against his chest. “Meh, I’ve been better. This burrito should help.” He let me go, and we walked up to the counter. “So, tell me straight up — how mad are you that I was a huge ass last night?”
He smiled down at me with an eyebrow up. “Only a little. What are you getting to eat?”
I eyed the menu hanging above the girl behind the register. “I’ve got to take better care of my body before I hurt myself. So I’ll go healthy — veggie burrito, sauce on the side. And a side of fries.”
He laughed. “Healthy.”
“My hangover demands carbs, Weston,” I said with a shrug. “On Sunday, after we get through Noir, it’s a full-on juice diet for me. Until then, I’m compromising.”
“For you, sir?” The girl wet her lips as she looked him over.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Double steak California burrito with extra avocado, please.”
“Sure you don’t want fries too, West? Jeez.”
His lips bent in a lazy smile. “Nah. Mine’s got fries inside of it.”
I chuckled. “That’s so excessive.”
West pulled out his wallet, and I tried to block him.
“Stop it. This is on me.”
“No way, Lily.” He moved my hand and pulled out cash.
I tugged at his arm. “I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything. Here you go, miss.” He put the cash in her hand. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks,” she beamed at him, dreamy-eyed as she handed him the little plastic numbers.
I shook my head as we grabbed our drinks and took a seat.
I put my number on the table and fiddled with it, not wanting to meet his eyes. “So how did last night go with Chris?” Her name alone gave me indigestion. Could have been the hangover. Pretty sure it wasn’t, though.
A shadow passed across his face. “It was enlightening.”
“Oh?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too optimistic.
His lips were flat. “Chris had the wrong idea about her and me.”
“And what idea was that?”
“She thought we were together.”
“But you weren’t?”
He shook his head, eyes on his paper cup as he spun it around. “No, not really.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “Well, what were you?”
He shrugged and picked up his number, leaning back in his seat to inspect it. “She was just somebody I knew.”
“Knew in the Biblical sense?”
He laughed at that, which made me feel better.
“Yes,” he said after a second, meeting my eyes.
“Oh.” Even I heard the disappointment in my voice.
“Does that surprise you?”
I smiled at him, going for reassuring. “No, I guess not. I mean, I saw you together. It was pretty obvious that you were together in one way or another.”
The girl behind the counter brought us our lunch and made extra sure West was comfortable, that he didn’t need napkins or extra sauce or anything. I didn’t care that she ignored me, because as soon as I saw the fries, I stuffed a steaming hot, salty potato in my mouth and moaned.
“Damn, that’s good.” I ate another one and took a drink of my water. “Listen, I’m really sorry about last night. That was totally inappropriate and uncalled for.”
He snorted. “Yeah, it was.”
“I don’t know what got into me. I think I was a little hurt.”
West’s brow dropped as he unwrapped his burrito. “But why?”
“Well, I’ll be honest.” I watched him until he met my gaze “After our talk about Blane the other night, I was surprised to hear you were seeing someone.”
He shook his head like I was being silly. “I wasn’t really seeing her, though. If she’d been important to me, I would have told you about her and brought her around. I would have taken her on a date if I really cared about her.” He shifted his burrito, trying to figure ou
t where to start before taking a colossal bite.
“Ha, ha.” The thought that he really didn’t want her like that comforted me. “Well, I’d hope you would have told me if you felt something for her. I care about you, and I want to know what’s going on with you. I really did walk into that bar prepared to like her, for your sake. Your happiness is important to me, so if she was what you wanted, then I’d have found a way to get on board. Even if she wasn’t good enough for you.” I smiled and took a rude bite myself.
He nodded as he swallowed and touched his napkin to his lips. There was some guacamole in his beard, and I laughed.
I pointed at my chin. “Missed a spot, buddy.”
West pawed at his beard with the napkin, smiling. “So you met Chris for a grand total of five minutes and that gave you a good understanding of whether or not she was good enough for me?”
“Yeah, sound familiar, judgypants?” He laughed, and I shrugged. “It was just a gut feeling. I could see that you were uncomfortable, so obviously something was missing. What was the deal?” I took another bite.
He looked away, seeming to try to compose his thoughts. “She just didn’t move me in any way, do you know what I mean? Like, it was fine, to be with her. That was the most feeling I could muster about it. Sort of apathetic. But I’ve kind of always been like that. Whomever I end up with should make me feel. But then part of me wonders if I’m not equipped to feel more than that apathy. That’s my fear, I guess.”
I swallowed. “Okay, first, no one says ‘whomever’ in conversation. I feel like you should have a top hat and monocle on for that to make sense.”
He smiled crooked. “Sorry, didn’t mean to let my Lit show.”
I chuckled. “Secondly, I don’t think you have a problem feeling. Think about how you get about your friends. About Maggie. You’re passionate about literature and learning. And you have to admit that you get a little ragey when it comes to people you care about.”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t know, West. I think you feel very deeply.” I took a bite.
He seemed frustrated. “Then why haven’t I found that feeling with a woman? I mean, I was with Shannon for years and never felt really connected to her.” He shook his head. “I’m better at friends. Although …”
