Maybe your inhibitions lowered.
But parties now? That is, the kind of party that Nikki wants her engagement party to be? They have to stay classy affairs.
Mom had been all for it too, springing for a pair of feet-maiming heels for me. Whatever. At least there's still booze. I drop a dollar of my mother's money into the bartender's tip jar in exchange for a cranberry and vodka. Soon, though, it won't be my mom's money. I'll find a job in California and then I'm going to pay her back for it all. Every last cent. I console myself by taking a sip of my drink and blanch at the taste.
"Let me guess." A voice, deep and smooth, like hot chocolate, slides into my ear.
Of course. "Hi, Cole," I say without turning.
"Hi, Em." I hear the smile in his voice before he moves to my side and grins, nodding at my drink. "It's not a beer, and it's not a screwdriver, so… cranberry and vodka?"
I tilt my glass to him in a salute. "How'd you guess?"
"Took a chance that you're still a vodka girl." He takes a swig of his beer. "Took a chance that some things don't change."
My heart— the traitor— quickens over the undercurrent in his words and I add another point to my plan.
1) Find a job
2) Focus on anything but Dad
3) Or Cole
But he doesn't make it easy. He's wearing a navy blue sports jacket tonight and damn if it doesn't make his eyes pop more than usual.
I take a much healthier gulp of my drink. It zings a path all the way down to my stomach, where it sits, burning like a small peat fire in my gut. I lean against the bar and stare out into the crowd of clear plastic cups, and politely smiling faces.
"Have you said hi to Nikki and Ron yet?"
"Of course I have. I'm the maid of honor."
"You are the maid of social avoidance," Cole says and then immediately pulls a face.
Laughter bursts out of me, despite my intentions to play it cool. "Wow. That was terrible."
"I know." He doesn't look at all ashamed, grinning widely. "I swear, I used to be better at this."
I bump him with my hip. "No, you just thought you were."
We look at each other, grinning for a second longer before my eyes flick down to his mouth. And sense jumps back into me. Holy shit, is the alcohol getting to me already? What am I doing?
The flicker in his eyes smolders at me as I take a step away and nervously swirl the ice in my glass.
"I'm going to issue you a challenge, Em Hayes."
Memories spark. "I am definitely not going shot for shot with you," I say emphatically.
"Oh, you wish," he scoffs. "Nikki might actually let you leave if you manage to get that drunk."
A girl can dream. "A challenge, huh? Let's hear it."
"The good news is you're already winning."
What the hell…? "Not that I'm not thrilled to have taken the lead in… whatever this is, but you haven't told me what we're doing yet." I turn to look at him.
Mistake.
His eyes soften on mine. "Keep pretending we're okay."
My breath leaves me in a whoosh. Pretending is exactly what it is. "Pretend, huh?" I look away, scanning the faces around me for Nikki. I need her as a buffer.
Pretending and avoiding is what I've done for years though, so…
"Yeah. I can do that."
∞
Not long after, Cole and I slip away from each other and I can breathe easily again. Nikki finds me and threads her arm through mine. "I want to introduce you to a couple of the other bridesmaids. You remember my friend Joey from work, right?"
Oh, God. "Joey from work" had tagged along with Nikki the one and only time she'd visited me on the west coast. Joey is cool. Joey is fun. But Joey is also a week-long hangover in a one-day package.
"Bridal party shot?" she greets me, grinning.
Behind her, Nikki shakes her head violently, her curls whipping her in the face. The expression of horror on her face is real. I can practically hear her thinking that we're going to ruin her classy party.
She doesn't need to bother. I hold up my cranberry vodka like a shield. "Just the one for me. Driving."
This is not, strictly speaking, the truth, as I don't have a car here and my mother is rotating around the room somewhere, but she doesn't need to know that.
"Spoilsport." Joey downs both of our shots with nary a flinch.
"So," I say, turning to Nikki. "Are you having a good time?"
She wrings her hands. "Yeah. I think. I don't know. Do you think people are having fun?"
Fun is relative, I think. I'm pretty sure I saw someone hiding in a corner playing one of those bubble-popping games on her phone. She looks like she's having fun. The rest of us are trying to keep our fingers from twitching toward our cells, far too used to using them as shields to guard against the potential of actual human interaction.
"Everyone's having a great time," I soothe. "And the food is great." She'd opted for a display table with trays of hors d'oeuvres and small plates. "I heard one woman say that the meatball quiche was 'out of this world.' Everyone want to know which caterer you used."
Her expression brightens and she does a little dance in place. "I bought everything frozen at a wholesale club," she whispers to me as if imparting state secrets and then crows with laughter. "I told Ron's mom that we could save most of the money for the wedding and a house down payment, but she was convinced the party would be a disaster."
"Well," Joey says. "It's classy as fuck, so I think you proved her wrong."
"Joey," Nikki hisses over the swear, but then shakes her head. "Whatever, no one's listening. It is classy as fuck, isn't it?"
We admire the chatting crowd for a minute. The dresses, the button-ups. Technological foibles notwithstanding, they really do look like they're having a nice time. I mean, it's not the party of the century or anything, but everyone looks happy.
"And this means that I have ammo when I fight with Ron's mom over wedding planning choices." Anyone else would dread going head to head with their future mother-in-law, but Nikki sounds downright eager. Like she's spoiling for the fight.
I'm not going to lie; I'm almost excited to watch.
FIVE
EM
It's very rare that I have to remind myself why Nikki's my best friend, but wedding dress shopping a few days after her engagement party necessitates a reminder roughly every ten minutes.
"I just don't know." Her voice drifts from the fitting room, filled with consternation. I can easily visualize the pose she's striking in the mirror right now. Her lips are probably pursed in concentration, head tilted to the side with hip jutted out.
We've been at the bridal shop for three hours now. Joey's slouched against a wall as I jiggle my knee in agitation. I'd started fidgeting when we passed the one-hour mark and haven't stopped since, my hand itching to grab my phone and check for missed calls or e-mails. There are a couple of job openings that I'd sent my resume in for last night that I'm waiting to hear back on.
But this is Nikki's show, so I keep the phone on vibrate, tucked neatly inside my purse. It's going to be her wedding day, her wedding pictures, and this is her wedding dress that's going to be at the center of everything in a few months. It's a Big Deal and even in my thoughts, the words sound capitalized.
Still, around the two-hour mark, I'd left the charitable thoughts behind. I eye the empty bottles of champagne on the table longingly. Joey, Nikki, and I had finished them shortly after they'd been provided by the sales attendant, back in those halcyon hours when I'd idiotically assumed that this would be a short, relatively painless process.
"Okay!" Nikki exclaims from the dressing room. I hear a loud clap and imagine her nodding decisively.
The door flies open to reveal a frothy concoction of white lace and beading. The dress's bell skirt climbs to a sweetheart neckline embellished with iridescent crystal beading.
If dresses were bicycles, this would be the bright pink one, with a flowered wicker basket, si
lver sparkling streamers, and a bell.
It's a comparison that isn't difficult to make as I take in Nikki's complexion, reddened from the effort of squirming in and out of what has to be at least thirty dresses at this point, hair ruffled, and a sheen of sweat on her forehead.
I press my lips together and sip the last drop from my champagne flute to keep a smile from appearing as I picture Nikki in that monstrosity of a dress, pink helmet flattening her hair, lips pursed determinedly as she pedals up the aisle toward Ron.
"What do you think?" she asks us. She runs a dreamy hand across the beading. "Everyone loves a fairy tale and this screams it, don't you think?"
It's definitely screaming something. That's for damn sure. I make a noncommittal "Mm" noise and sip from my glass again, which—right—is empty now.
"So," Nikki says with an excitable intake of breath, easily bypassing the silence Joey and I have given her.
Oh, thank God. I straighten up from where I've sunk into the plush couch and prepare to squeal with delight over Nikki finally, finally finding her "perfect" wedding dress.
"I've narrowed it down to five like this one!" Nikki hops once in place and holds her hands to her mouth to hold in the little bubble of giddy laughter that's escaping.
My face falls. My eyebrows crash down, eyes closing in a silent prayer, and the corners of my mouth fold into the frown lines that Mom is always warning me about.
She's your best friend. She's put up with a lot from you over the years, I remind myself as I lock my teeth together, jaw clenched tight to keep any negativity from verbally spilling out.
Like I said, it's rare that I need the reminder, but it does happen.
Nikki pulls her hair to the side and fans her neck with her free hand. "What do you think? You like it right?"
"Do you like it? That's what's important," I say diplomatically. I know my place here. I'm the maid of honor—and more importantly, she's my best friend. I'm here to back her up. Whether I'm ready to run for the hills or not, if she needs me here, she's got me.
"This is stupid," Joey interrupts bluntly. "Nikki, you're practically dripping in that thing. A sweaty bride just doesn't make for cute pictures, sorry. And it's all blingy." She blanches. "No one will be looking at you; they'll be too distracted by the dress. It's not the one. And if they're anything like this, the others probably aren't either."
Joey throws a look my way. "You know you were thinking it too. I was just the only one with the balls to say it."
Nikki deflates visibly. "You really think that?" She turns to survey herself in the three-sided mirror again. The dressing room door creaks open an inch further.
I cringe. The room is crammed with white gowns. I'm not sure how Nikki's breathing in there, much less getting in and out of the dresses. Joey hit the nail on the head, albeit a bit harshly.
Nikki grabs her skirt and swishes from side to side. "I don't know," she says doubtfully. "My mom couldn't make another trip down after the engagement party, but she said she always saw me in something like this for my wedding."
She spins suddenly and watches her reflection avidly as the dress flies around her and settles. "See!" She whirls to face us and watches the skirt flare with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. "Something that I can twirl in, something princessy."
I clear my throat. "Well, Joey sort of has a point," I say, taking a few careful steps toward Nikki.
She glares at me.
"Not that it's stupid," I amend hastily. I could kill Joey for that. "Just that the dress—it's a lot. And this is your day. Don't you want people looking at you, not just your dress? You can still find something that twirls, but maybe something with not quite as much—um. Poof," I finish lamely.
Nikki half-smiles self-deprecatingly, the manic light in her eyes fading. I can just about recognize my best friend again. She rolls her eyes and open her mouth, when a new voice interjects.
My spine stiffens instantaneously even as I steel myself not to react, not to turn and face him.
"Jesus Christ," the deep voice says, dripping with disgust and horror. "Did a kindergarten class throw up on that thing?"
What is Cole doing here?
Nikki squeals and goes flying past me in a whirl of flash and glitter. I have to give Cole that much: the dress does remind me of some of the more hideous elementary art projects I've seen.
Nikki barrels into him, swatting him for the slight against the dress— and maybe a little for her profession too. "I'm going to choose to ignore that slight toward my students."
Why does he keep showing up where I don't expect him? First, my mom's house and now, here. I rotate on the couch, focusing on the maroon fibers. I pick a piece of lint from between two cushion with hands that are suddenly cold.
"I thought this was a bridesmaids-only thing," Joey mutters to me, one eye on Cole.
"Cole lived with us for three years in college. If he wasn't Ron's best man, he probably would be in the bridal party."
Joey lets out a sharp bark of laughter as I stand up, dusting my knees and forcing a smile onto my face. What the hell am I delaying for? I've already seen him twice in the few days I've been back. Once more isn't going to kill me.
As Nikki babbles excitedly, Cole smiles and his eyes wander past her to me.
Oh good, I can't help thinking as my eyes meet Cole's. My stomach swoops. Gang's all here again.
"How are you, Cole?" I say. Whoops. I manage to keep my hand from reaching out for another shake, but I miss the mark on 'pretending we're okay.' I think the air in the room just dropped ten degrees.
Cole's smile is equally awkward, and he looks like he'd like to respond with "Uncomfortable as all hell. Except I'm pretty sure the temperature there is considerably more pleasant."
But, come on. I didn't expect him here—and with good reason.
He, on the other hand, had to know I'd be here. Nikki's wedding dress shopping. She doesn't even like to buy a new pair of shorts without a second opinion. She's decisive in every other aspect of her life, but her appearance? No, she likes to know how she'll be perceived by others. Which is why I feel a little guilty over the fact that I don't think she'll wind up buying the dress she's wearing.
"Not bad," Cole says. He rocks back on his heels and bobs his head. "Nikki asked me if I'd stop by. What have you been up to?" His hands get stuck in his pockets when he tries to motion towards me to indicate handing off the conversation.
"In the three days since you've seen me last?" I tug on my ear and his eyes light as he catches the movement. I curse inwardly. I'd had the same nervous habit in college, and I thought that I'd managed to rid myself of it. "You know. Moving. Getting my own place."
Nikki rolls her eyes. "She considers the tiny apartment over her mom's store her 'own place.'"
I redden, and squash her foot with deliberate intent. "Am I sharing living space with my mom? No. Besides, the rent is good." I at least have enough humor left to make a joke at my own expense.
"That's a much better spin on it," Cole says, nodding.
"That's not spin." I frown at him. "Those are the facts."
"The facts are that your bun is knotted too tightly," Nikki informs me.
Hey. I transition my frown to her. When I'd gotten dressed that morning, I'd thought the loose tank with a blazer, jeans, and messy bun was a cute look considering my whittled-down wardrobe.
Cole coughs to cover a laugh and Nikki pulls him further into the shop, nearly tripping over the long train of the skirt as she turns back. "You remember Joey, right?" Nikki flings her arm in Joey's direction. Joey's only acknowledgement is to smirk in Cole's general vicinity as she flips us a wave good-bye on her way out the door.
It's just the three of us now. "And obviously you already know Em. And you two are as just awkward as ever."
"We're fine, Nikki," we both say. She could be a little less matter-of-fact about it.
"Kicking ass, taking names," Cole continues nonsensically.
I have to call him out on that.
He's practically begging for it. And if I'm supposed to be pretending things aren't strained between us, it's what the old Em would have done. "Exactly whose ass have you been kicking?"
"It's a Cole-oquialism," he says.
It wouldn't have been a strange thing to say to me once. Our conversations had been filled with little in-jokes like that. Turns of phrases weren't colloquialisms, but Cole-oquialisms. When he was trying to talk me into something, he wasn't a con artist, but a Connors artist.
But the joke doesn't have the same effect now. His voice has an odd note in it, distracted, as if he's caught under the weight of a memory. Like a robot, I force a laugh.
Nikki stands as a barrier between us, but we're suddenly yanked in when she seizes the both of us in a hug.
"I'm so happy you're both here," she bubbles. "It's going to be just like old times!"
My heart is doing a gymnastics routine in my chest as I try to ignore the warmth of Cole's arm brushing against mine. He laughs uneasily. "Yeah." He rubs at his neck. "Just like old times." He catches my eye and looks away just as quickly. "Listen, Nik, I've got to go."
Her face falls. "But you just got here!"
"I know," he says. "But like I told you, I have a meeting tonight, and since I was late getting here..." he trails off. Nikki puffs her lower lip out in a pout. "We'll do lunch this week," he bargains—a peace offering— and holds his hands out in a shrug, the universal sign for 'what can you do?'
"But you didn't even tell me what you think—" Nikki starts to protest.
"The dress is horrible," Cole says flatly, lifting his briefcase from where he'd deposited it against the wall.
Poor Nikki. Still, the laugh falls out before I can catch it. He pauses for a fraction of a second. His eyes are on mine when he says "See ya, Nik" and walks out the door just as quickly as he'd come. I sag with relief when he leaves, like a palpable burden has been lifted from my shoulders. That hadn't been so bad. Quick and relatively painless.
Nikki eyes me. "I know what you're thinking."
"When did you get your own late-night psychic show, Miss Nikki?"
She ignores this. "You're thinking that if you can keep all encounters with Cole that short and sweet, you may escape unscathed."
Now and Again Page 3
