I looked at it quizzically. “Smurfette? Really?” I’d liked the Smurfs just as much as any other kid, but I would never have said my interest would reach adulthood.
“I’m going to get you your own, I promise.”
I looked down at the pink helmet in my hands. “This is . . . your ex’s?”
Eddie nodded. “Sorry. Let’s buy you one at the swap meet today, okay?”
I nodded, wondering what sort of grown woman wanted a pink helmet with a smiling Smurfette emblazoned on the side. I mean, wasn’t she the only female in their entire Smurf species? It was all a bit weird.
“Hop on, baby.” Eddie slipped his helmet on over his head and revved the bike’s engine. I knew next to nothing about motorbikes—which was really quite miraculous, considering how much time I’d spent watching Eddie tinkering with his over the years—but I could tell this bike was an upgrade from the one he had when we were together. It growled, low and strong.
I slipped the helmet over my head, ignoring the whiff of Eddie’s ex’s favored perfume, slung my leg over the bike, and wrapped my arms around his waist. He pulled away from the curb, and we were off, zooming through the quiet streets, on an adventure together.
Only it was less an adventure and more like the opposite of an adventure: complete and utter boredom. As I waited at yet another stall for Eddie to buy yet another piece of something metal, my mind began to wander. I looked around at the other people at the swap meet. They were nearly all male, with the odd exception, and most of them appeared to be here alone. I spotted a woman about my age, leaning up against a post to one of the stalls, playing on her phone. She must have felt my eyes on her as she looked up, directly at me. I smiled and rolled my eyes to show I was bored, too. She smiled back, shaking her head.
My eyes skimmed the crowd, wondering if there was anyone here I might know—anything to relieve my boredom. I glanced at the back of a man, standing only ten feet away, and did a double take. I took in his dark, messy hair, his broad shoulders, his shorts and work boots. My heart skipped a beat. Nash. I bit my lip, waiting impatiently for him to turn around.
What would I do if it was him? What would I say? Too late, the man turned and looked directly at me. It wasn’t Nash. I smiled at him and looked away. It was a good thing. I was off the hook.
So why did my heart sink to the pit of my stomach?
Eddie appeared at my side, holding something metal in one hand and pushing his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans with the other. “They had exactly the part I needed, can you believe it? This bike I’m restoring is totally coming together.”
I ignored the feeling in my belly. “That’s great,” I said, smiling. I loved the way all this bike stuff made Eddie’s face light up.
He took my hand in his and kissed me. “You are amazing, you know that?”
“Yeah,” I joked, enjoying the flattery. “Why specifically?”
He shrugged, and we turned to walk away from the stall. “I don’t know. You get me. You get that this is a part of who I am.”
“You’re passionate about it.”
“Thank you, yes!”
“I totally get it. It’s like me with my singing.”
“Oh, yeah!”
For a fraction of a second, I beamed at Eddie, my heart expanding in my chest. He got it. He understood me. It made me feel appreciated, loved. It was a very nice feeling, one I wanted to stick around.
But then, he dropped my hand and walked away from me toward a stall. Turning back, he said excitedly, “They’ve got it! They’ve actually got it!”
“What?” I asked, confused.
Weren’t we talking about what I loved to do, what I was passionate about?
Without turning back, he entered the stall and struck up a conversation with a tall, bald, bearded guy who couldn’t have been more of a bike cliché if he’d tied a bandana around his head. I stood, openmouthed, watching Eddie talk animatedly to this man, a sense of unease, of déjà vu, rising inside me.
I glanced at the girl I’d had that moment of solidarity with a few minutes ago. She was still staring at her phone, stifling a yawn.
And that’s when I remembered. I remembered what it was like, what it was really like, back then, when I was with Eddie. Sure, we didn’t go to many swap meets because he wasn’t restoring a bike back then, but I sure did put in my time while he followed his passion. All those hours, sitting, waiting for him to finish at the side of the road.
And it did bother me. It bothered me I would miss out on things I wanted to do, it bothered me when we would be late for events because of him. Sure, Eddie was nice to me, telling me how much it meant that I was always there for him, but I was so lacking in confidence, putting his needs before mine felt natural, right.
I took in a sharp breath as it began to fall into place with a sickening thud.
Everything in our relationship was about him. I was riding along with him, but I wasn’t the main event in his life.
He was.
“I cannot believe this,” he said, appearing by my side once more. “I’ve got nearly everything I need.” He pulled me in and kissed me, his eyes sparkling. “I am so glad you’re here with me for this.”
“Me too,” I muttered, my head spinning.
“Let’s go and eat. I am going to treat you to the best green smoothie money can buy.” Eddie took my hand, and we made our way through the crowds to the drinks cart.
It was all I could manage to put one foot in front of the other, wondering how I had ended up back here, wondering what I had done.
* * *
Instead of going back to Eddie’s place that evening, I pleaded exhaustion and bid him goodnight with the promise I would meet with him tomorrow.
“Besides, it will give you more time to work on your bike,” I said as we stood outside my apartment building, my fingers interlaced behind his neck.
His face lit up. “True. Marissa, I love you so much. You always know what’s best for me.”
A bunch of bees began to buzz insistently in my belly. Just not what’s best for me.
I waved Eddie off and trudged upstairs to my apartment. It was late Saturday afternoon and Ryan, the man almost surgically attached to my sofa, was out. It was just me and my thoughts in my empty apartment.
I placed my purse on the little table by the door and shrugged off my jacket. I walked over to the kitchen. I sighed. I looked out the window. After about zero point three seconds, I’d had enough of the silence. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. They were saying things I did not want to hear, things that could change everything for me. And I didn’t want to have to listen to them.
I wandered back to my purse and pulled out my phone. I sent off a text to Paige, asking what she was up to. No response. Then, I texted Cassie. Also, no response. I let out a heavy sigh. I needed a distraction, stat!
I texted Bailey and nearly had a heart attack when she messaged me back straightaway. We agreed to meet for a drink at six o’clock, and I headed to the shower to freshen up, my spirits lifted immeasurably by the thought of seeing her—and not being alone.
A shower, some makeup, and a cute dress thrown on later, I met Bailey at O’Dowd’s.
“You look so glamorous,” I said, taking in her strappy black dress with the nipped-in waist, showcasing her hourglass figure to perfection.
“Oh, you’re just used to seeing me in my apron. Anything says ‘glamour’ after a ‘pinny.’”
I chuckled. Bailey was one of those women who always looked good, no matter what. Really, by the rules of the urban jungle, I should hate her, but I don’t. She’s simply Bailey, my sweet, thoughtful friend who bakes the best cakes this end of the Pacific Ocean. “I guess. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Yes, that would be wonderful, thanks. I’ll have a whiskey sour, please.”
I raised my eyebrows. With her Italian looks, I’d expected her to order a vino rosso with a side order of mozzarella, not a cocktail that sounded like something my dad w
ould drink. “One whiskey sour coming up.”
Bailey and I perched on a couple of stools, side by side. We hadn’t spent much time one-on-one together since we had set about finding a man for Paige—a job well done on our part, I might add—and it was nice to get the chance to spend some quality time with her.
Well, it would have been had I not had the emotional turmoil raging inside.
We waited to place our drinks order. I hoped not to get Blaze’s friend, Buff, serving me. Although Blaze and I had parted company on good terms, I couldn’t handle any potential comments from his friend—not tonight.
Buff finished serving a young, bearded guy, who walked away, balancing an impressive number of beers in his hands, and turned to me. “Hey,” he said, doing that chin-raising thing he did when I was here with Blaze.
“Hey,” I replied with a smile.
“You know Blaze, right?”
“Yeah. How is he?”
“Good. Awesome. You know Blaze.” He shrugged. “He’s always on top form, that dude.”
“Good, great,” I replied, awkward. I quickly placed our drinks order.
“I wouldn’t have picked you as a whiskey drinker,” I said to Bailey, doing my best to ignore the bees buzzing up a storm in my belly.
Seriously, go find a hive!
“Oh, I’m hardly what you’d call a ‘whiskey drinker,’ but I am part Irish, you know. I think it’s the law to drink it up there.”
I chuckled. I didn’t know she was part Irish, either. Somehow that made her seem more approachable, less like the exotic Italian screen siren I always thought of her as.
“Oh, before I forget, I need to let you know, I won’t be singing at the Jam as I’d originally thought.”
“Oh, no! Why not? I thought you were really keen. Has something come up?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. And it’s a good thing. You see, Eddie’s got a work dinner and he wants me to go to it with him. It’s kind of like him announcing us as a serious couple,” I said, quoting Eddie.
The bees began an elaborate skydiving routine.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “But—”
“Here you go, ladies. A whiskey sour and a glass of chardonnay,” Buff interrupted her, delivering our drinks.
“Thanks,” we both said.
“I made yours extra special,” he said to Bailey, a flirty smile on his face. He was being about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“Thanks,” she repeated, returning his smile.
“So, ah, let me know when you want another one. Buff’s the name, you know, because I’m buff.” He did that thing bodybuilders like to do: clenching his chest and pulling his arms across his torso, presumably to make himself look more . . . buff?
I was certain I heard a ripping sound and had to stifle a giggle, assuming it was either his T-shirt or his pants—though my money was on his pants.
“I’ll do that. Thank you,” Bailey said graciously, ignoring the clenched muscles on display for her benefit. She turned to me. “Shall we get a table?”
I pressed my lips together, trying my best not to laugh. “I think that would be for the best.”
We picked up our drinks and walked to a table about as far away from the bar as we could manage, and both burst into laughter. It felt good to think about something other than Eddie for a change, those bees a distant hum.
We sat down, and I glanced back over at the bar. “‘Buff the buff barman’ is still watching you. I think you should wave, maybe blow him a kiss?”
Bailey shook her head, smiling. “That would be mean.”
“I guess. But really fun.” I took a sip of my chardonnay. “Hey, he could be your Last First Date!”
She laughed. “Ah, no? I’m holding out for someone special.” She took a sip of her whiskey sour. “The man may be a little muscle-obsessed, but he makes a mean drink. Now, please explain how you’re letting Eddie’s work thing get in the way of your singing? I thought you really wanted to do this?”
“I do. It’s just . . .” I struggled with trying to work out what to say, or even how I felt about it. When Eddie had asked me to go to his work dinner, the way he’d explained it had totally swayed me. It had made sense. Now, in the light of my swap meet epiphany, if that’s what it was, I wasn’t so sure. I let out a sigh and shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Bailey cocked her head and frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied with conviction—a conviction I was not feeling.
“I’m sorry, Marissa, but that sounds like you’re trying to tell yourself you’re okay when in fact you’re not.”
I bit my lip. I had wanted to go out for a fun evening with a friend tonight so I wasn’t alone with my thoughts. But, I guess, sometimes you can’t run away. I pressed my lips together, Eddie weighing heavily on my mind. Friends talked to one another about their problems. Maybe I should talk to Bailey?
In the end, I caved. Those bees seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my belly. I had to do something. “I don’t know. Eddie’s great.” Was it? “It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” Bailey asked gently.
“I guess there are some things that haven’t changed about him, things I’d forgotten about.”
“Like?”
“Like the way he’s obsessed with motorbikes.”
“Hold on there,” she said, her palms up. “Guys on motorbikes are super-hot, especially good-looking ones like Eddie.”
I smiled. Eddie did have a hint of Ewan McGregor about him when he was on his bike, all manly and in control. It was very sexy. “True. But not when you spend all day at a motorcycle swap meet.”
“Ah, good point. But relationships, good relationships, are give and take. You support him; he supports you.”
I chewed the inside of my lip. “That’s the thing. I’m not sure he does.”
I explained how Eddie didn’t seem to understand how much my singing meant, the fact he hadn’t even remembered it was something I liked to do. “And he’s kind of controlling, too,” I added, finally putting that vague, unsettled feeling I’d had since he turned back up into my life into words.
“The cake thing?” she asked.
“Yeah, the cake thing, and other stuff. I know it’s because he wants me to look my best, but it kind of bothers me.” I let out a heavy sigh, defeated. “I don’t know. I thought when we got back together it would be everything I had hoped. Only . . . it’s not.”
“Honey, can I say something?” I nodded. “I think you’ve been in love with someone who doesn’t really exist.”
My mouth dropped open. I wasn’t expecting that! “What did you say?” My voice was thin, high.
“Look, this is only my humble opinion, and I hope I’m not stepping over the line here, but it seems to me you’ve been putting Eddie on a pedestal all this time, and no other guy has stood a chance.”
I nodded. It was possible . . . probable, even. I curled my toes in my shoes. Maybe Eddie did love me? And then again, maybe I was the only mug who would put up with his self-absorption, his total lack of understanding of another’s needs.
“And now you’ve realized Eddie’s not who you remembered him to be. He’s not perfect, he’s a flawed human being like the rest of us. And not only that, there are some things you may not have been bothered about before that don’t work for you now.”
“I . . . I guess,” I managed, my head whirring. I picked up my glass of wine and took a slug.
Not for the first time in the last few days, tears stung my eyes. It all came flooding back: the control, the manipulation, the way he made me feel I wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough. I knew it was a cliché, but it was like a light had been switched on in my brain and I could see him for who he was for the first time. It was the way he had kept me, downtrodden, under his spell, it was the way he ensured I would never even contemplate looking at another guy.
Because I wasn’t good enough.
But now, I wasn’t that
girl, the one who had confidence issues, the one who had lost weight and had only begun to find who she was. I was a strong, independent woman who had taken control of her life a long, long time ago. I didn’t need Eddie to tell me how to live my life, I didn’t need him for validation.
I didn’t need him for anything.
I was the new, improved Marissa Jones. I liked her, and I wanted her to stay.
“Marissa, I don’t know what your relationship with Eddie was like in the past, all I know is you’re someone I admire, someone who knows her own mind, even if you’ve been a little flaky in your quest to find The One.” She smiled at me. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”
“I guess I have been.” I looked down at my hands. “It’s just . . . I was so in love with Eddie for so long, and he . . . he left me,” I choked as tears ran down my cheeks.
It explained everything. If I loved someone, they would leave me. Period. Maybe that’s what I’d been running from, that’s why I’d been so committed to not being committed?
What a total waste of time.
Bailey put her hand on mine. “Nash seemed like a good guy. Maybe you could give him another chance?”
Nash. I scrunched my eyes shut as a pang of guilt slammed into me. Nash had been nothing but a fantastic boyfriend to me. He was thoughtful, he was sweet, and he was kind—but most of all, he had let me be me. And how had I treated him in return? By leaving him because he wasn’t Eddie.
Oh, god. What had I done?
“Honey?” Bailey asked, her face full of concern. “I hope I haven’t gone too far. I have a habit of doing that.”
I let out a puff of air. “No, no, you haven’t.” I shook my head, my mind speeding like it was competing in a NASCAR race. Eddie was wrong for me, I could see that as clear as glass. Nash, it was Nash. He was The One. And I’d totally messed it up.
“Marissa?”
I looked at Bailey and saw the concern clouding her face, and in that instant I knew what I wanted to do, what I had to do.
Three Last First Dates Page 19
