I smiled a little as I headed to my bedroom. I would put money on Ashley returning with at least three bulging bags full of ice cream, potato chips, and assorted junk food in which I could drown my sorrows. In Ashley’s mind, the best way to get over a guy was to partake in some good old-fashioned wallowing, preferably with several close friends and an assortment of chick flicks. I was grateful for Ryan and his promise of vodka—in my opinion a much more effective form of self-medication.
Under the hot water, I tried to massage the tension from my shoulders. While at work, I had managed to keep my mind off the nightmare of the previous night, but now, in the quiet of an empty apartment, it was hard not to let it all back in.
I’ve always believed that there are defining moments in every life. I’ve had a few myself. Some were predictable, obvious, while others were more subtle.
The biggest, of course, was my mom’s death. I mean, it goes without saying that when you lose your mom at the age of twelve, your life changes forever. Mom’s death wasn’t exactly a shock, since she’d had cancer for more than a year. Still, you never really get prepared for something like that.
For some of my defining moments, I was prepared, like leaving my small hometown in northern Michigan for the state’s capital, Lansing, to attend one of the best public colleges in the country. Others came as a surprise—I never would have imagined I would end up with a life-long friend when I asked the new girl in Mrs. Philip’s kindergarten class if I could play with her My Little Pony.
And never in a million years would I have guessed how much things would change when I made the decision to plan an anniversary dinner for my boyfriend. I had never been the type to plan elaborate surprises or romantic tête-à-têtes. Ashley liked to say that I was born without the romantic gene, and I couldn’t exactly argue with her. But I had been with Dylan for four months, one of the longest relationships in my adult life, and I was determined to make this one work.
* * *
So on that Thursday in February, I decided to do something I had never done for a boy before—make dinner. Okay, that’s stretching it; I didn’t actually cook. But I did place a carry-out order at Dylan’s favorite restaurant, and I spent an inordinate amount of time picking out the best wine to go with it. I even baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Serious stuff.
I left my apartment in Royal Oak with butterflies in my stomach. I had gone all out, putting on a dress (one of the two that I owned, which usually lived in the very back recesses of my closet) and curling my normally stick-straight blonde hair. Earlier that day, I had told Dylan I had a late evaluation at work and arranged to meet him later in the evening. I was banking on the fact that he would come home straight from work—and hopefully be happily surprised to find me waiting there with dinner.
I found the key to his apartment below his mat, just where it always was. I felt a little funny letting myself in. I had never been in Dylan’s place without him before. It was dark and quiet, everything clean with Dylan’s belongings put away in their proper place. Unlike me, Dylan was a total neat freak. The smell of his aftershave seemed to linger in the hallway, and I smiled as I slipped into the kitchen.
I found the dishes and silverware and got the table ready, transferring the food from the take out containers to a few Pyrex bowls I found in the bottom of the cupboard. In a flash of sentimentality, I had picked up a bouquet of daisies on the way over. I couldn’t find a vase, so I made do with a large glass beer stein. I surveyed my handiwork and felt a rush of pride. Maybe Ashley was wrong—maybe I did have the knack for this romance thing after all.
I had finished just in time—I heard the sound of jangling keys in the hallway, followed by Dylan’s muffled voice. He was home.
But of course, he wasn’t alone.
When I saw the girl behind him, it took me a minute to understand what was happening. My first ridiculous thought was that she was a work colleague. But how many girls wore skimpy hot pink dresses to work at a mortgage broker’s office?
“What are you doing here?” Dylan asked, his voice cold. It was only then that I got it—Dylan was on his own date.
“I…I brought dinner,” I said, my voice shaking.
“I thought we were getting together later,” he said, looking at the girl out of the corner of his eye. “I’m busy now.”
“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing at the girl. She smirked at me.
“A friend,” she said, her voice high and girlish. God, it was such a cliché. She took a step closer to Dylan, her smirk growing wider.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked, still not quite believing that this was happening.
Dylan sighed. “Look, Em. You’re great and everything, but we never said we were exclusive. I’m at a point in my life where I just need to have fun. I thought we were on the same page.”
It was clear from his face that, at that moment, he found me anything but great. I finally realized what I was seeing in his eyes—it wasn’t guilt, or fear that he had been caught. It was irritation. He was annoyed that I was there, ruining his plans. I meant nothing to him, nothing at all. I felt a rush of shame so strong it made me nauseous.
“But…it’s our anniversary,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.
The girl giggled next to Dylan, and it hit me like a slap in the face. She was laughing at me! This blonde bimbo who was about to sleep with my boyfriend, on our anniversary, was laughing at me. The anger that had been absent up until this point arrived with force, mingling with the shame and embarrassment. I quickly stood up, grateful for once for my nearly six-foot-tall height. I could squash this girl if I wanted to. Instead, I turned to Dylan.
“We’re done,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “Don’t ever call me again.”
“Fine, Emily,” he said, the indifference in his voice and face clear as day.
I had a brief moment of panic that I wouldn’t be able to get out of the apartment without wobbling. I wasn’t exactly an expert at wearing heels, and now seemed like an unlikely time to become proficient. But somehow my legs and feet managed to cooperate, and I made it to the doorway of the kitchen before turning. Dylan and the girl were both standing there, looking at me—his face impassive, hers amused.
“Enjoy your dinner,” I said quietly, then turned and fled the apartment.
* * *
I felt a bit more revived after my shower. Back in my bedroom, I pulled on a pair of soft yoga pants and a worn T-shirt bearing the logo of a charity 5K race I had run in several years ago. As I pulled my wet hair into a ponytail, I heard voices from the kitchen. Ashley and Chris must be home.
“Hey,” I called out as I left my room.
“We’re in here!”
I entered the kitchen and shook my head slightly at the sight before me. Ashley and Chris were pulling an assortment of snacks out of the last bag, setting them on the counter where they joined a massive pile of ice cream cartons, candy bars, potato chips, and frozen pizzas. “Is all of this really necessary?”
They both looked up at the sound of my voice. “Em!” Ashley said, dropping the Doritos bag in her hands and rushing toward me. She pulled me into a tight hug. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, pushing her away. “Seriously.”
She just looked at me with raised eyebrows, clearly skeptical.
“Well, I think we got enough food to feed a small army,” Chris said, smiling at me across the room. I grinned back.
“For real, Ash,” I said. “You do realize that there are only four of us, right?”
“You can never have too much comfort food,” she said seriously, returning to the counter and handing Chris the pizzas. “In the freezer, please.”
There was a buzz from the intercom in the front room. “That’ll be Ryan,” I said, turning to go let him in.
Ryan didn’t mess around with hugs. Instead, he offered me a fifth of vodka. “Where are the glasses?” he asked, deadpan.
I laughed in spite of myself. “You
know perfectly well where the glasses are,” I told him, leaning forward to peck him on the cheek. “Seeing as how you’re here on a weekly basis and all.”
“True,” he said, squeezing my arm. “So are the lovebirds in there?” he nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen, and I gave him a stern look.
“What do you think?”
Ryan let loose a dramatic sigh. “Are they being all kissy and disgusting?”
“Ryan, come on. You know they aren’t like that.”
“It’s not fair, that’s all I’m saying. A person gets used to life a certain way and then his friends decide to go ruin it. I mean, come on.”
I laughed. Typical Ryan drama queen. “How are they ruining anything? Besides, if you didn’t foresee this ages ago, then your radar is seriously off.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Ryan said, slipping out of his leather jacket and laying it across the back of the couch. “You had them pegged ever since what, freshman orientation?”
“Not quite.” I linked my arm through his and led him toward the kitchen. “But pretty close.”
Ryan, Chris, Ashley, and I had all gone to school together at Michigan State. Most of my friends were staying closer to home, but having won a full-ride scholarship to State for track I didn’t have a lot of opportunity to make my choice based on social reasons. So I had been incredibly relieved when my friend Chris also got a scholarship to State, for scientific merit, or something nerdy like that. Regardless, it made me feel loads better to know I’d have a familiar face accompanying me to the much bigger city.
I’d met Ashley my first day, in the lobby of our dorm building. She was struggling to carry a large box up the stairs, as the elevator had conveniently chosen move-in day to break down. After I helped her lug her box up the stairs, she invited me to sit down and have a Coke. Neither my roommate nor I had been able to spring for a mini-fridge for our dorm, so I was suitably impressed.
Ash and I hit it off right away, soon spending much more time together than we did with our own roommates—mine a ditzy, frat party type, hers a socially awkward brainiac who put tape on the floor of their closet to encourage Ash to keep her shoes on her own side.
On our second night in the dorms, I took Ashley two floors down to meet my old friend Chris and his roommate Ryan. Meeting Ry for the first time, I was a little worried. It was pretty clear from the get-go that he was gay, and I wondered how Chris would react to that. Not that he had ever acted bigoted, or anything, but you never know about guys that age. Chris surprised me by clearly not giving a damn—he and Ryan were best friends from day one.
Chris looked up as we entered the kitchen. “Bro,” he said, hitting Ryan on the back. “How’s it going, man?”
“Glad it’s Friday,” Ryan replied. “How have you been? You never made it to basketball on Wednesday. We waited for you.”
I saw Chris glance briefly at Ash before telling Ryan, “Sorry, something came up. I should have called.”
Ryan noticed the glance too. When Chris turned his attention back to the counter, where he appeared to be adding ice to the blender, Ryan gave me a meaningful look, and I stifled a giggle.
Though I had detected a spark between Chris and Ashley almost immediately after they’d met, Ryan claimed not to see it. As the four of us became a close unit, Ashley and Chris seemed determined not to rock the boat by admitting to anyone that they had feelings for each other. When they finally got together a few months ago, my overwhelming reaction was relief. Ryan, however, felt differently.
“They’ll ruin the group,” he moaned to me on more than one occasion. “They’ll break up, and the four of us will never be able to hang out again.”
“You don’t know that,” I would tell him patiently, every time.
“Well, that could be even worse,” he would counter. “What if they stay together forever? Before we know it, they’ll be spending all their time together. Then they’ll get married and have babies and leave the two of us behind.”
There was no use arguing with him when he got going. Deep down, there was a part of me that was worried my relationship with Ash would change now, but I tried not to let it bother me. After all, she was one of my closest friends, and I was very happy for her. Really.
“Whatcha making?” I asked Chris, peering over his shoulder to get a look at the blender. “Daiquiris?”
“Yup,” he said, as he pressed the start button, filling the kitchen with the sound of blending ice.
“Are we hungry?” Ash asked over the noise. “Should we start with pizza?”
We decided to put the pizzas in the oven and get started with the daiquiris. Chris ordered us all out to the living room. “I’ll bring them out in a minute,” he said.
I settled into my favorite chair, a comfy Papasan I had kept since Ashley and I moved in together sophomore year. Ashley sat on the loveseat, curling her feet under her, while Ryan plopped onto the battered old recliner. Because Ashley and I had the biggest place, the four of us spent most of our time here, even though Ryan had much newer, stylish furnishings. He worked in recruitment at some big office downtown. I wasn’t quite sure what he did day in and day out, only that he wore expensive suits and drove an Audi.
“Here you go,” Chris said, following us out and handing us our daiquiris. “Should we toast?”
“To what?” I asked, feeling some of my bitterness return. “This isn’t exactly a happy occasion.”
“You’re wrong,” Ryan said, looking at me sternly. “It’s a very happy occasion. You got yourself free of a loser guy who was dragging you down. I say that’s definitely worth toasting.”
“Hear, hear,” Chris said, raising his glass. “To Emily. Who is far cooler than Dylan could ever hope to be.”
The other two raised their glasses as well. “To Emily!” they chorused.
I couldn’t help but smile. Ryan was right—Dylan was totally a loser, and I was better off without him. I had these great friends, a good job, and tons of junk food only steps away.
Besides, I was done with men now. I really, really was.
Chapter Three
Two hours, and four or five drinks later, I was feeling very blurry around the edges. We had moved from daiquiris to wine, and were almost done with that. Ryan decreed it was time to make use of the vodka, and he went to pour us all some shots, only stumbling slightly on his way to the kitchen.
“I should have known,” I said to the room at large. My voice sounded very loud in my own ears, and I wondered if the others could tell. “I mean, I should have guessed he’d do something like this. He was always so flirty with everyone. Charming, that’s what Sarah said. Charming.”
“Who’s Sarah?” Chris said, his head flat against the back of the couch, his eyes closed.
“At work,” I muttered. “But it doesn’t matter, ’cause she was right. He was that way with everyone. Accept…expect…except me.” Hmm, talking had started to become difficult. I thought about slowing down, but decided to hell with it. I had nowhere to be in the morning. Besides, if you can’t get sloshed when your boyfriend cheats on you, when can you?
Ryan brought out the shot glasses, and I downed my first immediately.
“Bad luck,” he said, pointing at me. “We never do shots without cheersing.”
“Is that even a word?” Ashley asked. She had moved from the loveseat to the floor, where she was now leaning up against Chris’ss legs. “Cheersing?”
“Who cares,” Ryan said, pouring me another shot. “The point is we do it.”
I obliged and held my glass up, clinking it against his before downing the liquor inside it. This one went down easier, my throat already feeling a little numb as the liquid warmed my chest.
“Men are bastards,” I said. “Sorry, guys, but it’s totally true.”
“She has a point,” Ryan said, flopping back down in his chair. “I don’t know why I mess with them.”
“Well, I’m done,” I said emphatically. “For real. I’m over it.”
; “That’s silly,” Ashley said, sitting up and looking at me. Even through my own fuzzy gaze, I could tell she was trying to focus on me, and I giggled. “You can’t give up on love.”
Ryan snorted. “Maybe love is a crock.”
“You don’t believe that,” Ashley said. “I know you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t spend so much time trying to find your dream guy.”
“In my experience, love has very little to do with it,” he said drily, and I giggled again. Man, I thought, as the world spun around me. Maybe I should slow down.
“I just don’t think you should be making any decisions based on Dylan,” Ashley said, turning her attention back to me. “I mean, he was so clearly a Wickham kind of guy, of course he was gonna screw around on you.”
“A Wiccan?” I asked, confused. “He was Catholic.”
“No, not Wiccan,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Wickham. You know, George Wickham. Pride and Prejudice? That kind of guy.”
I just looked at her blankly, but Ryan gasped. “Oh my God,” he said. “He so was. Wow, I never saw it, but you’re totally right.”
I looked at Chris, but he merely shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea what you guys are talking about,” I said.
“How have you never read Pride and Prejudice?” Ashley asked me, sitting up straighter to look at me. The expression on her face could best be described as shock. “Or at least seen one of the movies?”
“Yeah, Colin Firth is in that one,” Ryan said. “Yummy.”
“Sorry,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “You know those sappy movies are not my thing.” It was true—when Ashley was in the mood for a chick flick she was much more inclined to ask Ryan than me. My tastes were more similar to Chris’ss—comedies, action movies, and the occasional thriller were much more my style.
Suddenly, Ashley gasped. “But that’s it!” We all stared at her blankly. “I just had an…an epipif…an epifininy. You know, one of those things.”
In Search of a Love Story (Love Story Book One ) Page 2
