by Julie Kriss
Four
Megan
I worked the opening shift at Drug-Rite the next day, and when I got home I found a bag of groceries placed in front of my apartment door, with a note taped on the bag: Are you eating?? —Dad. I sighed and brought it inside with me. Even though I’d only moved a block away, my dad still had a hard time letting go of me.
It was a nice gesture, but this was Dad. He could barely feed himself, let alone me, ever since Mom died. So in the grocery bag I found raisin bread, a jar of mayonnaise, and kale chips. How these things were supposed to go together was anyone’s guess. This was how Dad’s brain worked.
Maybe it seems screwed up, moving out only to go a block from home, but it worked for me. My mother died of breast cancer when I was sixteen, leaving me and Dad alone. It was the worst thing you could possibly imagine—first watching her get sick, then watching her go, then trying to get over the damage. If you can ever really get over the damage, which we couldn’t.
Dad had always been a free spirit—just like Mom—but after she died, he checked out. He could remember which herbal tincture was supposed to cure insomnia, but he couldn’t remember to get his car back or pay his bills. I had to move out because he was driving me crazy, but I couldn’t go far. He was all I had, and life had taught me that you never knew how long you’d have the people you loved before they were gone.
And me? After emerging from high school like a zombie, I’d just flitted from job to job and uncommitted boyfriend to uncommitted boyfriend. The idea of anything long-term—whether it was a job, a college curriculum, or a guy—made me feel queasy, a reaction I very purposefully hadn’t examined very closely or very often.
Maybe that made me weird. Actually, it did make me weird, at least among people my age. They were all flying away from their families, running as far and as fast as they could. They were building college educations and future careers. A few were traveling. They were getting into relationships, getting married, and some of them were even having babies already. I couldn’t even commit to a TV show for longer than three episodes—and those were the shows I liked.
I put the groceries on the counter and went through my thin stack of mail. A bill. Something from the bank that I didn’t even open. Something from the credit card company. Ugh. I did not feel like adulting right now.
I opened the kitchen drawer I’d reserved for unopened mail—it was disturbingly full—and dropped the envelopes in. Then I caught sight of one of the envelopes near the bottom, a silver one stamped with elaborate gold writing, and I paused.
Stephanie’s wedding invitation.
I felt my chest squeeze. Stephanie was my cousin, and her wedding was on Cape Cod in two weeks. I’d already said I’d go. With a plus-one.
Fuck. I slammed the drawer shut. I’d forgotten the date was so close. I did not want to go to that wedding. I picked up my phone and texted Holly, my best friend: You free for a coffee at Hennessey’s?
Hennessey’s was the coffee shop Holly had worked at until she quit a month ago. She had a business buying old vintage dresses, making them over with her incredibly creative sewing skills, and selling them online through the website I’d made for her. The business was doing so well that she’d moved in with Dean, quit Hennessey’s, and made dresses full time. But we still went to Hennessey’s for coffee for old times’ sake.
While I waited for an answer, the phone rang in my hand. I didn’t recognize the number, but no one ever called me, so I answered it anyway.
“Is this Miss Megan Perry?”
“Yes,” I said, hoping it wasn’t the bank people or the credit card people. I really should open my mail one of these days.
“This is Dr. Pfeiffer’s office.”
Everything stopped. My feet felt like cold cement. My stomach felt worse.
“Yes,” I said, trying to sound normal, like someone who was talking on the phone like a human being. “Hi.”
“I’m just confirming your appointment with Dr. Pfeiffer tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”
Shit, shit, shit. Why hadn’t I cancelled this? Why didn’t I ever cancel things I didn’t want to go to? “I, um, have to work tomorrow,” I said lamely.
“Miss Perry,” the secretary said. She sounded at least sixty, kind but firm. Maybe she dealt with terrified flakes like me every day. “This appointment was made six months ago. Dr. Pfeiffer is a specialist. We can’t reschedule.” She paused, listening to my silence. “I really do suggest you come to the appointment.”
“I work at Drug-Rite,” I said, sounding pathetic even to my own ears. “The shifts are really rigid. I could get fired. I really don’t think I can go.”
“Yes,” the woman on the other end of the phone said, surprising me. “You can.”
“The appointment is all the way in Detroit,” I said. “My car won’t make it.”
“Get a friend to drive you,” she said. “Or a parent.”
I laughed, thinking of Dad’s car and Mrs. Feeney. “You don’t know my dad.”
“Miss Perry.”
I closed my eyes. This lady, this stranger on the other end of the phone, was right. And she had no reason to be this nice to me. “Okay,” I managed. “Eleven o’clock. I’ll be there.”
When I hung up, my hand was cold and sweaty on my phone and I had a trickle of perspiration on my temple. Jesus, Megan. Get a grip. I checked my texts and saw that Holly had answered me while I was on the phone. I’m on my way, she wrote.
I picked up my purse and slammed out the door.
Five
Megan
Hennessey’s was nearly empty at this time of day, just a few students taking up the tables, staring at their laptops with their headphones on. Holly was already there, stirring chocolate sprinkles into her latte. I ordered my own drink—coffee, black—and smiled at her.
Holly was Jason’s younger sister. Jason was a year older than me; Holly was a year younger. We hadn’t been friends at Eden High, because I was a basket case during my high school years and Holly had been a creative, square nerd with no friends. Now Holly was a gorgeous, successful creative entrepreneur with a hot boyfriend who adored her, and I was… still a basket case. But fuck it. We’d reconnected when she’d come into the restaurant where I’d worked two jobs ago, and we’d hit it off. Now she was my best friend, even though I had serious issues with her brother.
And maybe, since I’d filled him in, Jason had serious issues with me. I didn’t know.
I tried not to think about Jason, the crazy scene that had happened yesterday. Me chasing him. Telling him about that night. Telling him that he always looked naked to me—oh, God, why had I done that? And then that crazy, random guy showing up and punching Jason in the face, and Jason retaliating with a foot to the guy’s stomach. He hadn’t even looked surprised, just angry, and I’d never seen him move that fast. He had some serious reflexes, it turned out. He’d been like a deadly, hung over Bruce Lee.
It hadn’t scared me, but I hadn’t stuck around. My break was over at Drug-Rite, and I didn’t want to get fired again.
I hadn’t heard from him since.
Holly didn’t look like Jason, though when they stood side by side you could tell they were related. She was much shorter than her brother, slender with curves on the top and the bottom that she always accented with the dresses she made for herself. She had long, dark hair and blue eyes that were nothing like Jason’s dark brown ones. Thank God, because I didn’t think I could be best friends with her if she resembled her hot brother that I’d hated for five years.
Except maybe you don’t hate him anymore.
No. Now I was intrigued, which was just as bad. What the hell was going on with Jason Carsleigh?
“Thanks for the excuse to get away,” Holly said as we sat at a booth. “I tend to work too much now that I work from the apartment. It’s an event to get out.”
“Glad I could help,” I said. “Are we still on for Friday night?”
“We are.” She gave me a worried look. We
got together every other Friday night to take pictures of her latest dresses for the site and drink wine. I’d borrow my neighbor’s expensive camera, go to her place, and help her style the dresses, and we’d shoot and drink. It was work, but I’m not going to lie—we consumed a lot of wine on our Friday sessions, which was why Dean always found something else to do. “You know, you should let me pay you,” Holly said. “The site’s doing really well. I feel like an ass.”
I shrugged. I probably should make Holly pay me, but it felt weird to charge my best friend, who was launching her own business and whose talent I truly admired. “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Make me a dress.”
She lit up, her blue eyes going wide. Her dresses were custom and she sold them for a lot of money, so it was a pretty big favor. “I’ve offered to do that a dozen times! You mean you’re taking me up on it?”
“I am,” I said. “Because in two weeks, I have to go to a wedding.”
“Okay.” Holly pressed her palms together, looking at me speculatively. There was nothing she liked better than the chance to make a dress. “A September wedding. Something light, but not too light. Not cotton or linen. Knee length, because you have great calves. I can work with that.” She blinked, coming out of her reverie and noticing my expression. “You don’t look very excited. Whose wedding is it?”
“My cousin Stephanie’s,” I said, biting my lip. “And you’re right, I’m not excited.”
“Why not?”
I cleared my throat. “Because the groom is sort of my ex.”
Holly blinked. “Oh.”
I looked down into the black surface of my coffee. “Stephanie’s mother is my aunt Janice. I spent a summer at Aunt Janice’s place right after my mother died. Stephanie was there, and so was Kyle. He lived a few blocks away.”
Holly slumped a little in her chair, guessing where this was going. “Go on.”
“Kyle and I hooked up,” I said. “I really liked him. We went out for a month.” I cleared my throat again. “He was my first, and then he dumped me. Just told me it was over, no warning. Two weeks later, he was dating Stephanie. And now they’re getting married.”
Holly was quiet for a minute, thinking. “You like Stephanie?” she asked.
“I do,” I said. “I don’t think she even knows about what happened with me and Kyle. She has nothing to do with this.”
“So it isn’t the bride who’s the problem, it’s the groom.”
“He isn’t exactly a problem,” I argued. “It was a long time ago.”
“But you thought it was serious. At least then you did.”
I shrugged. I had a hard time talking about personal things, even with Holly. Especially when they had anything to do with that time around my mother’s death. I hated being reminded of that time at all. And the wedding was going to remind me.
Holly sipped her latte for a minute, thinking this over seriously. This was my favorite thing about her, the thing that made her my best friend—Holly always thought things over before she said them, and she always knew when to take something seriously. “So you want to go, but you don’t,” she said. “I get that. Maybe just go and show him how awesome you are, then get out quick.”
I smiled. “That’s the other problem. The stupid thing is being held on Cape Cod. And it’s going to be really swanky. Stephanie has a lot of money.” I thought of my run-down wardrobe and shitty car and winced.
“Well, I’ll make you a dress that looks like a million bucks,” Holly said loyally. “I have some nice vintage jewelry I got from estate sales. Shoes, too. And cheap out on the gift, because who cares anyway? You just need to bring a really, really hot date with you, just to show them.”
I smiled at her. I didn’t have a hot date, of course. I didn’t have any date at all. I was about to say that when the coffee shop door swung open behind Holly, and Dean walked in.
Holly had probably texted him where we were. He’d come from his job at a big greenhouse in the area, and he was wearing worn jeans, a black Henley, work boots, and a baseball cap. Dean had spent four years in the Marines alongside Jason—the two best friends had enrolled together—and he had the body to show for it. He had tousled brown hair and deep hazel eyes, along with a sinful mouth and a sexy scruff of beard. There was no denying that Dean Madden very ably filled out the hot requirement. And he was off-limits, which was perfect.
“Can I borrow him?” I asked, pointing at Dean as he walked to the counter and ordered himself a coffee.
Holly swung around, saw her boyfriend, and swung back to me. “Nope.”
“I won’t touch him, I swear.” I held up my hands. “Hos before bros, you know.”
She laughed. “Nice try. Megan, you are not taking my boyfriend to Cape Cod.”
“Why am I going to Cape Cod?” Dean asked as he approached our table, completely unaware that the barista was staring at his ass from behind the counter as he walked away. He touched Holly briefly on the shoulder and sat down.
“You’re not,” Holly said decisively.
“I was just going to borrow you,” I argued. “I was going to bring you back.”
“I don’t think I’m on loan,” Dean said. “But what for?”
I looked at him for a minute. Dean had been Eden High’s bad boy before Holly came along. He was pretty much made of testosterone. I might as well get a man’s perspective. “Dean, can I ask you something?” I said.
He shrugged. “Shoot.”
“Would you go to your ex’s wedding?”
“No.” He didn’t even hesitate.
“Even if your relationship was a long time ago?”
“No.”
“Even if you were single and didn’t have Holly?”
“No.”
“What about if the groom was your cousin?”
He shrugged. “Still no.”
“A cousin you liked.”
“Then I’d send him a fucking card,” Dean said, “but still no.”
Holly was smirking, trying not to laugh. I threw up my hands. “God, it’s so easy for men,” I complained.
“That’s because it’s easy,” Dean replied. “No fucking way. Why are you even considering it? Girls are fucking nuts.”
That made Holly laugh, and I tossed a balled-up napkin at her. She didn’t have to worry about this stuff, because Dean didn’t have any serious relationships in his past. He’d been a hookup guy, which meant he was never getting invited to any wedding, ever. He claimed that Holly was the only woman who had managed to put up with him for longer than three dates.
“I don’t know,” I said, answering his question. “I have, like, all these complicated emotions about this thing.”
“That sounds terrible,” Dean said, as if I’d admitted I had crabs instead of feelings.
“It’s my mother’s side of the family,” I said, “and it’s like I have to prove to them that I haven’t become this huge loser since my mother died.”
Holly bit her lip, no longer laughing, and Dean went quiet. He sat back in his chair. He’d been a foster kid, so he understood what it was like to lose a parent, even if he didn’t understand the need to impress a set of relatives. “Okay then,” he said finally. “You just get it over with. Get Holly to make you a dress.”
“Already on it,” Holly said.
Dean nodded. “And yeah, you do need a date if you don’t want to look like a loser. But I’m a bad choice. I’m not the guy who impresses people. If you want to impress people, take Jason.”
My stomach clenched. I pictured Jason in his rain-soaked sweatshirt, his dark eyes staring at me from under the hood. Hung-over Jason, kicking a guy in the stomach. “Jason?” I asked.
“Sure,” Dean said. “Every girl who’s ever met Jason has wanted to take him to meet her parents. Moms swoon over Jason, grandmas, everyone. He’s that guy.”
“It’s true.” Holly rolled her eyes. “My brother the dreamboat.”
He had been. Of course he had been. A football player, the golden boy
of Eden High. I remembered that as well as anyone. But when I thought of Jason, I thought of the man I’d seen yesterday. That guy was hot, but he wasn’t meet-the-family material.
“He’d probably go,” Dean said. “He’d probably like a distraction. Plus, he owns a suit.”
“Have you seen him lately?” I asked.
Dean shrugged, and Holly shook her head. “He’s been keeping to himself since he broke up with Charlotte,” she said. “Mom says he works a lot.”
Maybe they hadn’t seen the same Jason I had, then. I crossed my arms, determined to deflect the conversation. “Surely there is someone in possession of a penis in Eden Hills who isn’t either Jason or Dean.”
“Maybe,” Holly said, “but you went to Eden High. They were the two biggest dicks in school.”
“Shit,” Dean said, lifting his baseball cap and scratching beneath it. “Now I’m uncomfortable.”
“Oh, please,” I said, pointing at him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see the girl behind the counter eyefucking you when you got coffee.”
Holly shook her head. “He never notices,” she said. “Not ever.”
I looked at her. “Seriously?”
“I’m sitting right here,” Dean said.
“I don’t know if I could handle it,” I said to Holly, “everyone eyefucking my boyfriend.”
“I don’t mind,” Holly replied. “Even when guys do it.”
“Shit,” Dean said again. “This is sounding too much like your wine nights. I’m out.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “See you later, Hols.” He touched her shoulder again and walked out the door.
Holly watched him go and sighed, smiling as the mischievous look left her face. “I love him,” she said.
I sipped my coffee. “I know you do.” And I was happy for her, I was. But the way Dean touched her shoulder—just his fingertips pressing gently, possessively, for a brief second—and the way he said her nickname, Hols, gave me a shiver of jealousy. It was small, but it said a lot. It said that Dean and Holly were together for the long haul. And it said what I suspected, what Holly had pretty much admitted to me—that their sex life was off the charts.
