I only said those words to Hattie once, on the deck of the boat after we had sex. Saying them again out loud makes me nervous and filled with adrenaline all at the same time. I want to say them to Hattie again, and I want her say them back to me. I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life.
Genevieve’s gray eyes go all soft. “Aw shit. You got it bad, don’t you?”
“I guess it’s pretty obvious.” I stick my hands in my pockets and give my best charming smile. “I just need her to know. Before it’s too late. I just need to talk to her.”
She holds the door open for me and points to the back of the house. “Kitchen. She’s chopping onions for the guacamole.”
I walk back to the kitchen and pass a serious-looking woman with Genevieve’s mouth and a dark-haired girl with round, blue eyes, staring at me like she’s debating calling the cops.
“Just here to say ‘hi’ to Hattie,” I reassure them.
I rush to the kitchen and see Hattie, her dark hair pulled back in a flipped ponytail, holding a huge, shiny knife, crying hard. Tears are streaming down her face faster than she can wipe them away with her wrist. I know it’s a side effect of chopping onions, but it rips at me.
I come up behind her and say, “I can do that for you.”
Hattie whirls around, the knife handle gripped in her hand, her eyes red and puffy.
What is it with the women I love pointing kitchen knives at me all the time?
“Ryan! How did you know I was here?” She narrows her eyes. “Are you following me?”
“No.” I reach for the knife, but she pulls it back. “You don’t answer my calls or texts. I stopped at Marigold’s to talk to you, and she mentioned you were here.”
“And then you, what? Hunted down Maren’s address?”
I realize my case isn’t looking all that good, and I’m not thrilled to have her thinking of me as a stalker.
“No! Marigold just mentioned the place down the street, Senor Fish, when she was telling me about Cohen’s new place. I love their fish tacos, so I drove over. And I saw your car.”
I lie to protect Marigold. Who knows if I might need to ask her for help again in the future? Revealing my source to Hattie would not be a good idea.
“Well, you should have noticed all the other cars. We’re having a girls’ night, Ryan. All the guys are banished, and you’re ruining things.” She rubs her nose, which is running, on her sleeve like a little kid. Tears are still leaking out of her eyes, and it makes her entire tough speech a little less threatening.
“I would never crash your girls’ night if it wasn’t really important.” I hold out my hand for the knife. “Seriously, give me the knife. Your eyes are going to melt out of your head.”
She wrinkles her nose and mutters, “Disgusting,” but she hands it over. She watches, arms crossed, as I grab a piece of bread from the counter and pop it in my mouth before I take my place at the chopping board and mince the shit out of the onions. “They don’t really make me cry,” she says softly.
“It’s okay,” I say around the bread. “I don’t know why this works, but my mom always said to chew on a piece of bread. It helps.”
“I don’t need to chew on bread.” She licks her lips and says, “Ryan, Maren put me in charge of the onion chopping because she knew I needed an excuse to cry.”
I put the knife down and face her, her eyes a warm gold and brimmed full of sadness. “Why are you crying?”
“This isn’t easy.” She shakes her hands out in front of her chest. “For me. I don’t want this. It’s just what has to happen. And you won’t let it go. I didn’t want it to end with a text. I wanted it to end that day. That perfect day.” Her lower lip trembles so hard, she had to bite it to keep it still.
It’s like she sucker punched my brain. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Her mouth drops open in surprise at my words, but she snaps it back shut and scowls. “What am I talking about? This.” She points back and forth between us. “I told you from the start it wasn’t going to be anything.”
“Too bad you can’t tell someone not to fall in love,” I counter, my voice more of a growl than I mean it to be.
She throws her hands on either side of her face. “Stop saying that. Stop saying you--”
“What? That I love you? That I’ve fallen for you? Hard? That the last few weeks have been the best in my life? That I look forward to things getting even better?” I try to pull her into my arms, but she twists away.
“This is so stupid!” she cries, fresh tears pouring out of her eyes, her mouth wobbly, her voice broken with sobs. “I never, ever lied to you. I never told you this would be anything but what it is. And now that we’re here, you can’t be an adult and accept that it’s over, Ryan. We’re over.”
“Why?” I demand. I see a few girls peek around the doorway, obviously wondering if they should come in and break things up. “You say we should act like adults. Well let’s face some facts. First of all, no matter what your damn plan was, you fell in love with me.”
She shakes her head, crying harder. “Stop. Please. This is hard enough.”
“Hard enough?” I snort. “This is idiotic. Why the hell are we doing this?”
“Because you live on the other side of the country. Because I’ll go back to school and look forward to settling down, and you’ll be chasing after your racing dream. Because I refuse to get tied up with someone who can’t be there for me. I refuse to be my mother!”
“We’re not our parents, Hattie.” I finally manage to grab her, but she twists her head to the side, refusing to look at me as she sobs softly. I lower my voice and rub my hand along her back. “We’re not going to make the same mistakes. We’re smart. And we love each other.”
I’m going out on a line with that one.
I sure as hell love her.
“I...” she starts, then stops. I wait for it, but she shakes her head.
“Say it.”
“Please,” she begs, raising her fists and laying them on my chest.
“You love me. Have some backbone and say it, Hattie.” It’s this frantic need now, to hear it from her, to have her validate what we have together.
“Why do you want to make this harder than it is?” she asks, her eyes flashing with accusation. “I want to keep the memory of you the way it was. I don’t want--”
“To actually live? To take a chance on someone who might surprise you?” I sneer. By now Whit is marching into the kitchen, and Hattie looks relieved. I feel some kind of ugly, stupid anger wash red over me. I let her go and we have one last second of connection before I tear it all down. “You’re a coward, Hattie. You’re a spineless, full-of-shit coward.”
Whit makes it over to us just after I say the words. Her awkward smile lets me know she didn’t hear them. “Hey guys. Ryan, this little going away party is girls only, but maybe you can drop by the family one--”
“Going away party?” I repeat, listening to Whit but staring at Hattie. “You’re here for another three weeks.”
Whit grabs a bag of potato chips, panic plain on her face. “Shit. Sorry. Um, I’ll go put these out for the girls.”
Hattie watches her leave, and I stare at her. “Going away party?” I repeat. “When are you leaving?”
“On Saturday,” she admits, leaning back on the counter like all her bones melted.
“My race is Saturday.” It’s stupid. But it’s not. She knows what this means to me.
She nods, her face a blank. “I’ll be able to watch it. But I won’t see you after.”
“Why?” I demand, every shitty feeling in the world ricocheting through me.
She looks up and lays one hand on my cheek, her fingers soft on my stubble. “It’s better this way.”
I take her wrist and put her hand back down at her side.
“Don’t bother coming,” I say slowly, knowing as the words are leaving my mouth that I’m going to regret them. “Don’t show up and make a joke of what we could have had.”
/> “Ryan,” she says, but Whit comes back in and I know I should go before I say anything else in the heat of this pissed-as-all-hell moment.
As I walk back to the truck, my hands shake and I feel sick to my stomach. Is this really how things are going to end between us? Is Hattie really fine just leaving what we started as some summer memory?
I pull out onto the road and find myself heading for the dock. The sky is a warning, and I should listen. There’s no reason to go out alone now to train for my race. But I’m not interested in training. I want to be out in a place that’s bigger than I am, bigger than my problems.
I need to be somewhere that can swallow my pain whole before it crashes over me and sucks me under for good.
20 HATTIE
I pull down my sunglasses and quickly reach over and pluck the piece of paper from under my windshield wiper, hoping that I’ve managed to grab it before Whit sees it at all. When I glance up as I’m unlocking the driver’s side door, her hand is pressed into her tiny waist and a single, perfectly arched eyebrow is raised.
We both slide into the car and I start the ignition knowing her eyes haven’t left me.
“Are you going to read that?” she asks.
I give a quick shake of my head, and shove the note into my purse. “No, I already know who it’s from.”
The slip of paper is burning a hole inside my bag. I want to read what Ryan has to say. What sort of apology he has to offer up for the awful things he said last night. I get that he was angry, but he was also out of line and demanding.
And, unfair as it was, it gave me a strange quiver of hope.
Because a big part of me wants him to convince me that being together isn’t a completely stupid idea. That he and I have a future together. That he’s going to fight for me, not just accept my brush-off like every other guy I’ve turned down has done. That he’s going to force me to follow my heart instead of my head.
So I’m itching to read his note.
But not in front of Whit, the girl who has slept with the guy I’m trying so damn hard not to fall for.
“Well I don’t. Though I’m pretty sure I could guess. Read it to me. And if it’s naughty, read it really, really, slowly.” She stretches out her words and then laughs.
She reaches for my expensive leather bag at the same time I clutch it closer.
“Come on, Whit, we don’t have time for this. It’s nothing, really.” I toss my purse behind the seat and pull out of the driveway.
I wish it were nothing. That was the whole point of not getting involved with anyone. It always turns into something.
Something complicated.
Something I wasn’t looking for, or even wanting, but now can’t bring myself to just walk away from--even if I’m pissed and confused right now.
***
“I’m Sienna. Can I get you ladies some champagne while the bride is trying on the first dress?” the sales clerk asks as we all settle into the plush sofas of the waiting area.
“Is that even a real question?” Genevieve asks with a light laugh.
“Yes, please,” Cohen’s sister Lydia interjects. Sienna, looking very professional in a well-tailored black dress with a tight bun on top of her head nods and goes to retrieve our bubbly.
All of Cohen’s sisters, plus Whit and I, are waiting for Maren to try on a few wedding dresses before her sister and mother come down to help her make a final choice. There is also a lot of excitement about flipping through potential bridesmaid dresses, just to get some ideas.
To be honest, I have no clue what I’m doing here, but they all insisted I come along.
“So, now that Mare isn't around, how do you feel about surprise parties?” Whit asks, leaning in and lowering her voice, her eyes wide and warm.
“Hate them,” Lydia and I say at the same time and exchange knowing nods.
“Of course you do,” Genevieve sighs, rolling her eyes at her sister. “You two are zero fun.”
“I love them,” Cece says, running her fingers over squares of jewel-toned satins in a sample book. “But if you’re thinking for Maren, I’m not sure she would be into it.”
“Right.” Whit nods and throws an arm around my shoulders, shaking me back and forth. “But, I was thinking, if we got Hattie and Lyd to do the majority of the planning, maybe it might work out?”
“Me?” I gulp. “I hardly know her. And I’ll only be here for the rest of the week.”
Whit shakes her head. “Last night you said you didn’t want a going-away party--”
“I said I didn’t want another going-away party. It was really sweet of you guys to do all that for me the other night, but I got tricked. I never would have agreed if I knew. I don’t like long good-byes. Plus that, I already plan to come back here for spring break. Or next summer.”
“That’s why this is so perfect. You and Maren are so much alike. I love to plan parties, but I think you would do a beautiful job with the details of this one, Hattie. And it will give us an excuse to get together with you one more time, but it won’t be a going-away thing. You may not be close to Maren, but you’re more like her than the rest of us. You’re much more...”
Whit looks around for help coming up with--I’m sure--a word that’s PC for--
“Boring,” Cece offers with a giggle.
Genevieve chokes back a laugh. “Cece! ‘Boring’ is a little harsh. I’d say lame.” She throws her hand over her mouth and winks. “Did I say ‘lame’? I meant ‘tame’!”
“Thanks so much,” I deadpan, working hard not to let them know I’m holding back my laughter. They’re total dorks, but I love every one of them. “Wow. How could I turn down such a generous offer?”
“I’ll do it,” Lydia announces, clasping her hands neatly in her lap. “I mean, I’ll help out. If Hattie is up to it.”
Genevieve and Cece share the same slack-jaw look as they turn toward their sister. I get the feeling that Lydia is the pariah of the sisterhood. I don’t really see why. She’s definitely not as in-your-face charming as Genevieve or as chipper and kind as Cece, but she’s totally pleasant, and she has a good head on her shoulders. I respect that.
Before the conversation can go any further, the mirrored door to the dressing room opens and Maren walks out, interrupting our conversation with a gorgeous, swirling display of lace, silk and taffeta.
“You look...incredible,” Whit says in a wobbly voice, her hand flying to her throat, her eyes welling with tears.
Everyone smiles and nods their heads, murmuring in awed agreement. I join in too, but inside I feel a rawness creep up my throat and the prickle of tears in my eyes that has little to do with Maren looking beautiful.
“You think?” Maren asks. She sounds unsure, but when I catch her looking at herself in the wall of mirrors, it’s clear that she feels it, too.
She spins a few times in front of the mirror, the taffeta skirt billowing out with each movement. The top of the dress is a delicate silk, cut into a slight V-neck with a copper colored sash wrapped around the high waistline.
“You’re stunning, Maren. Wow.” Lydia says. She walks across the room, plucks a veil from the display and positions it lightly onto Maren’s dark hair. “There. Now you look like a real bride.”
Maren stares at her reflection with wide blue eyes. “I’m not sure what Cohen would think,” she says softly, smoothing down the crisp material of the skirt.
Genevieve snorts as she walks over to fluff out the train and adjust the belt. I notice how she rubs her hand over Maren’s arm in a sweet gesture of solidarity.
“Maren, I love you, but if you honestly think there is any garment on this planet that would turn Cohen off that day, you’re delusional. All he wants is to marry you, sweetheart.”
“Do you think this is okay for the synagogue?” Maren asks, tugging on the neckline. “The sleeves aren’t all that long.”
“It’s perfect. Truly.” Lydia comes to stand next to Genevieve and pulls at the bodice. “I mean, it will be perfect
after they take it in, of course. You have the tiniest shoulders I’ve ever seen.” She looks in the mirror and blinks hard.
Maren’s eyes aren’t the only ones welling up. I open my bag to get out a pack of tissues and see the unread note from Ryan.
“I think it’s beautiful, Maren. But I think you should try on a few more, just to be sure. I’d love to see that chiffon number on you! The one with the beaded top,” Whit says around a sniffle.
Maren disappears with Sienna back into the dressing rooms while I run my thumb and forefinger along the crease of the note’s folded edge.
“I’m just going to step out for a second,” I say, standing so abruptly, I attract everyone’s attention.
I can’t read this in front of them. What if it’s not an apology? What if it’s a note telling me that he meant every damn thing he said, and ‘P.S. go to hell’? I don’t want to ruin Maren’s day with my sobs. I have no onions to use as an excuse here.
Worse than insults, what if it’s the kind of apology that makes me throw my rules out the window and has me yearning for everything that Maren has right now?
It’s tempting, in the middle of a bridal shop, to fantasize about the comforts of being married and having someone to come home to after a hard day of classes. I have a feeling this summer with Ryan will make my studio apartment feel even more sterile and empty than it felt last year, when I couldn’t even imagine who I’d want to share it with.
A third thought crosses my mind: what if it isn’t an apology from Ryan? What if it isn’t from Ryan at all? What if it’s an ad for a carwash sale or some weight loss shake?
I’d been so certain that it was from Ryan, no other option had even occurred to me until this second...because, maybe I want it to be from him so badly.
I can’t stand the way things were left last night.
“Are you okay?” Genevieve asks, narrowing her eyes.
“I’m fine!” In an effort to sound ‘fine,’ I make my voice way too cheery. “I just forgot to eat before we came, so I’m going to walk down a bit and see if I can find anything that looks good.”
“There’s an amazing deli right across the street,” Cece offers. “Hungarian Mushroom soup to kill for.”
Ties Page 23
