by Penny Reid
“It wasn’t like that. You know he doesn’t think of me that way.” I hesitated for a split second, and then I walked into the entryway of Dan’s apartment.
“Maybe because you avoid him.”
“You know why I avoid him.” My attention was distracted by the pictures on the wall. “I needed to speak to you and Dan told me where you were, that’s all.”
My stare snagged on a black and white photo of Dan and Wally, when the dog was just a pup. He was holding the little bundle tucked in a jacket, cuddled to his chest, and Wally was licking his face. Dan wore a look of complete adoration and joy.
Oh my heart.
I sighed.
As though on cue, I heard a dog bark, followed by a whine and scratching.
“You’ve been here less than thirty seconds and you’re already bursting bubbles.” Steven shut the front door, huffing as he walked farther into the apartment. “Come on in, Debbie Disappointment. I need to let Wally out of the bedroom.”
“Why is he in the bedroom?” I tore my gaze from the photo and followed Steven.
“He growls at people he doesn’t like and runs after people he does. When Alex stops by, Wally tries to follow him out. It’s better to keep him in the bedroom whenever someone comes or goes.”
The short hall opened to a large living room with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the parks and lake. I only tangentially noted the comfy leather couch and wood furniture decorating the space, mostly because I was trying my best not to notice anything. This was Dan’s apartment, and I wasn’t present by invitation.
Least I forget, proposing marriage to Steven while simultaneously and thoroughly warning him of potential dangers was my goal.
“I brought you lunch,” I called after my friend, setting the bags of takeout on a granite bar that separated the kitchen from the living space. “Sushi from Mai Tai.”
“Okay, then you’re forgiven.” His voice reached my ears just before Wally bounded into the room, making a dash straight for me.
I squatted, grinning, and opened my arms to receive him. The first thing he did was lick my face and I laughed as he danced excitedly in front of me, enthusiastic tail wagging almost knocking him over.
Rubbing behind his ears and turning my head to avoid additional doggy kisses, I looked to Steven as he re-entered the room. “Forgiven for what?”
“Forgiven for not asking Dan out. He’s been single for something like two months. The time has come to stop avoiding The Security Man.”
I stood, still scratching the spot Wally seemed to love. “Steven.”
“Kat.” Steven crossed his arms, giving me his bitch, please look.
Whenever Dan came up in conversation—but especially over the last two months—Steven would not-so-subtly push me to do something about my feelings. My friend knew all about my two-and-a-half-year crush, though I hadn’t yet told him what happened between Dan and me in Vegas. Steven hadn’t asked and I hadn’t volunteered.
We didn’t have time for this conversation. It was already past noon. If we were going to get married as soon as possible—which was tomorrow—we needed to go to the Clerk of the Court and obtain a marriage license now.
No use beating around the bush, best just to be out with it.
“Listen, I need—I need you to consider a request for your help.” I pulled off my coat, tossed it to the couch, and walked to my friend. I grabbed Steven’s hands. “I received a call today from Uncle Eugene, you know, my father’s lawyer? And, Steven, this is serious.”
His demeanor immediately sobered and he tightened his hands around mine reassuringly. “Tell me.”
“You remember my cousin Caleb?”
“Yes. The pharma bro who is one evil deed away from becoming a real-life portrait of Dorian Grey.”
“That’s the one. Well, you know how my dad is getting worse? Caleb is trying to obtain guardianship of me—and my property.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He wants control of the family’s shares, which—if he succeeds in his bid for guardianship—would be his as soon as I inherit.”
“But, honey,”—Steven shook his head, clearly confused—“your dad’s condition has been pretty stable, hasn’t it? When is the last time he even recognized you? Isn’t that why you’ve been flying to Boston, to visit your parents, learn the ropes, so you’ll be prepared when the time comes? I thought the doctors said you had years.”
I did my best to faithfully relate the majority of my conversation with Uncle Eugene to Steven, the bulky burden of reality resettling on my shoulders as I recounted the facts. I repeated Eugene’s assessment of the situation. I didn’t cry. When I felt close to tears, I walked to the couch and sat, crossing my arms over my stomach and working to separate myself from the moment.
But when I arrived at the most crucial part—the part about needing to get married—Steven interrupted me.
“Oh my God. Are you going to ask Dan?” His mouth fell open, his gray eyes circles of excitement.
“What? No! Not Dan. You.”
Steven recoiled. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
I’d surprised him. He looked horrified. His eyes darted between mine for several long seconds, and I knew.
He was going to say no.
My face fell to my palms. “Darn.”
“Oh honey.” He placed a hand on my back and rubbed.
“What am I going to do?”
“Lamb chop,” he began gently. “I can’t say yes. I’m . . . seeing . . . someone.”
This news had me sitting up straight. “You are? But—this is great. Who? And for how long? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He’d never admit it, but Steven had been hoping to meet someone for a while.
“Not long.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Do I know him?”
“Maybe.” Flicking his wrist, Steven batted my question away. “But we can discuss all that later. And, listen, if you can’t find anyone else, I’ll do it, okay?”
“No. No way. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Nonsense.”
“Steven—”
“What are the requirements? Besides marrying you, what will this person have to do?”
“Uh, let’s see.” I searched my memory, describing Eugene’s warnings about Caleb, and then added a few stories from my recent visits, during which Caleb had been particularly awful.
“You need someone impervious to threats and bribery.” Steven tugged at his bottom lip.
“Yes. Someone I trust, obviously. Someone I’ve known for a while. Preferably someone who isn’t interested in me at all. That would only complicate matters.”
“Well, I check all those boxes. Plus, I’m magnificent. I see why I’m your first choice.” He gave me a small smile. “But let’s think. Why don’t you ask one of your gal pals? Which one of you knitters isn’t married?”
“I thought about asking Marie.”
Steven shook his head. “I don’t think so. Isn’t she involved with that professor guy?”
“Who?”
“The hot nerd who lives next door to Fiona and Greg.”
“Matt Simmons? I don’t think so.”
“Think again. I spotted them out shopping together at the Hugo Boss store. She helped him pick out ties.”
This was news to me. “She did?”
“And a man doesn’t ask just anyone to help him pick out ties.” His tone was thoughtful as he stared off into space.
“Damn it.” I rubbed my head again. I felt like I’d been rubbing my head all day. “There’s got to be someone.”
“Yes. There is.” Steven moved his gaze back to me. “And it’s the most obvious someone.”
I squirmed in my seat, my heart doing another round of ask him, ask him, ask him.
He grabbed my hand, as though to preemptively keep me from fleeing. “All right. Enough is enough. I can’t believe I’m going to ask this—you know my feelings on the sacredness of Vegas—but you hav
e got to tell me what happened between you and Dan at Janie’s bachelorette party.”
I winced. “You don’t want to know.”
“Did he take the hot dog bus to taco town?”
“What?”
“The sex, Kat.” Steven rolled his eyes. “Did you have the sex with Dan the Security Man?”
“No. No, much worse.” My words were anguished, because the memory tormented me.
“In my imagination, literally everything is worse than having the sex with delicious Dan,”—Steven pushed my shoulder—“so you’re going to have to be more specific and tell me what happened.”
“Does this place have any cheese?” I craned my neck, searching for the fridge.
“No cheese until you tell me what happened.”
“Just once I would like to be the person that wanted to go exercise when they had a bad day, and not eat a block of cheese for dinner.”
“And I want Hugh Jackman’s body.”
“You could if you lifted weights.”
“No. You misunderstand. I don’t want to look like Hugh Jackman. I want his body.” Steven gave me an unapologetic shrug, and that plus his cheeky words made me laugh.
“Good, a smile.” He patted my leg. “Now tell me what happened in Vegas, ’cause it obviously didn’t stay there.”
“Fine.” I tugged my hand from his, suddenly too exhausted to dodge his questions. “I was drunk. If you recall, Sandra spiked our drinks that night, she misunderstood or didn’t realize it was absinthe. I don’t remember much after that until I woke up in bed next to Dan the next morning. I was in my underwear and so was he.”
“Oh! Do go on.” Steven leaned in.
“I assumed we’d slept together.” I peeked at my friend. “And that made me so very, very sad.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I didn’t remember it. I’d promised myself that those days—of getting drunk or high or waking up next to someone, not remembering much from the night before—were behind me.”
Steven’s look of confusion dissolved into one of patient understanding.
I’d told Steven about my teen years, about how I’d tried to “live life to the fullest,” or what the world plus my fifteen-year-old brain told me living life to the fullest meant. Convinced I’d eventually become my mother, I wanted to spend what limited time I had left doing everything, feeling everything, experiencing everything. And when I was too shy to try things on my own, I’d turned to the inhibition-loosening powers of alcohol and drugs.
But by seventeen, I was so tired. Tired, dissatisfied, remorseful, and miserable.
We traded stares for a few seconds, and then Steven gently nudged my knee. “So what happened next?”
I glanced at my hands, at the pale pink polish I’d applied last night. It hadn’t yet begun to chip. “Since I assumed we’d slept together, I told Dan to,”—I glanced around the apartment, not able to meet my friend’s eye as I continued on a rush—“I told him to look for the condom because I didn’t usually remember using one, and I wanted to make sure we had. He asked me something about what I meant by ‘usually.’ And then I basically admitted that I’d had a bunch of drunken one-night stands.”
“And what did he do?”
I rolled my eyes at myself, because the memory still stung. “He couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, but not before he told me nothing happened between us. That I’d puked, and he’d stayed to make sure I was okay. But that nothing had happened.”
“So why were you in your underwear? Why didn’t he leave you in your clothes?”
“The dress I’d been wearing smelled like smoke and vomit. I assume he removed it because of the smell.”
“Hmm. I guess that makes sense.”
“So, that’s it.” I glanced at my friend and found him frowning thoughtfully. “Can we get back to the problem at hand? I can’t believe I’m asking this, but what do you think about Charles? The doorman. He seems nice.”
“Charles?” Steven’s expression told me he was either confused or constipated. “I’m not finished talking about Vegas, because that doesn’t seem like Dan. I’ve never known him to be judgmental. Generous? Yes. Adorable? Bossy? High-handed? Loyal? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Judgmental? No.”
“It was more like,”—I shook my head, struggling to find the words—“he was disappointed. Like he’d expected me to be one way. Who I actually was, who I am, disappointed him.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s still an assholeish thing to do. So what if you’ve had one-night stands? That shouldn’t make any difference. I bet he’s had one-night stands. Why should he care who you’ve slept with?”
“I get it. I do. I’m—”
“Don’t you finish that sentence unless the next words out of your mouth are, ‘I’m sexy and fabulous, he’d be lucky to peel my grapes while wearing a loincloth.’”
My mouth formed a rueful line. “No. I do get it. The drugs, the stealing and shoplifting, living on the street, thinking only about myself. Sometimes I run into my old friends, the people I used to run with. They love that lifestyle and still thrive in it. Most of them, not all, have no responsibilities, no mission in life other than to get high and get laid. I can’t judge them because I’ve been there, and I know why I thought it made me happy for a time, but I wouldn’t want to be involved with any of them now. What I want now is so different.”
“Better.”
A familiar frustration made my throat tight; whenever I tried to explain this, explain my perspective on my past, I never felt like I had the right words. It was easy to sound like I hated the person I was, or that I was ashamed of my decisions. The world told me I should be ashamed. I hated certain parts of myself, some of the memories, and I was definitely ashamed of the stealing, though I’d worked hard to make restitution.
But everything else? I’d made mistakes. Big ones. Small ones. And I was trying to learn from them.
Choosing my words carefully, I focused my attention on the window behind him. “I don’t think it’s fair of me to say that what I want now is better in general. I can’t speak for other people, what brings them fulfillment. What I can say is, for me, it’s better. I’m happier.”
“See? This is what I’m talking about. All this wisdom.” He made a sweeping gesture to my whole person. “How can you still have a thing for someone who walked out on your amazingness? Why haven’t you moved on from him?”
A twinge of guilt and doubt had me pulling at the wrist of my cardigan. I was speaking as though I was an authority, but in truth I still had issues. Additionally, I had no experience with monogamy, only hopes for it. Hopes that it would help me rewrite the intimacy script I’d drafted in my head, leading to a healthier—for me—future.
“Anyway,”—I needed to get us back on track—“whatever his reason for leaving that morning, he left. After that, he’s never looked at me the same.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before Vegas, I felt sure he was interested. He used to give me . . . sexy eyes, you know?”
“I don’t know. So complete is your dedication to avoiding the man, I’ve never seen the two of you in the same room. But I get what you mean. And then after Vegas?”
“He stopped. He’s always been really nice, polite, friendly. But he’s never looked at me the same.”
“Maybe you haven’t given him a chance?”
“No. The way he looks at me now, it’s like he’s either overly polite, or irritated with me, like I annoy him.”
“And you’ve never talked to him about it? About what happened in Vegas?”
“No, you know how I was.”
“Was?”
“Come on, I’m not nearly as shy as I used to be.”
“Correct, you’re not as shy. You’re just exponentially more rigid and controlled.”
“That’s not true. Since I started seeing Dr. Kasai, I’m much better.”
“Fine. You’re much better. Please do go on, because you were just telling me how you nev
er spoke to Dan about what happened between the two of you in Vegas.”
I ignored the sarcasm in his tone. “As you know, Dan started dating Tonya a few months later.”
“She’s nice.” Steven paired this with a reluctant smile. “I like her.”
“I know. And she’s smart. And really pretty.” I nodded, my heart hurting because my affinity for Tonya had been one of the worst parts of Dan dating her. I’d liked her before they’d dated, while they’d dated, and still, after they’d broken up.
“And she makes those lemon bars for the building’s Christmas party.” Steven pushed his bottom lip out in a little pout. “I hope she makes them this year. I always bring a bento box to stash them in and take extra from the tray.”
“She gave me the recipe.” I grimaced. “I don’t know why he broke up with her.”
“I have some suspicions.” Steven straightened in his seat. “But, oh well. He did. That ship has sailed. Which means he’s single and ready to mingle. Plus, I want to set her up with Carlos.”
I chuckled, mostly because it was all I could do in the face of crushing anxiety about my future. “I need to get married. I have to find someone to marry. Eugene said I need to make this happen as soon as possible, which means I need to find someone today, go to the courthouse this afternoon, so I can get married tomorrow.”
Steven regarded me, tapping his chin with his index finger. “Hmm . . .”
“Hmm what?”
“Do you think—and this is purely hypothetical so don’t freak out—if you explained the situation to Dan, asked him to marry you, he would?”
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t want to lie. It would probably be horribly embarrassing, but he’d probably say yes if I explained how dire the situation was. My nausea returned just thinking about it.
“You’re not helping.” I glared at my friend.
“Oh, but I am. You said yourself he’s not interested in you, and didn’t your uncle Eugene say he wanted you to marry someone trustworthy? Someone you’ve known for years? Someone who wouldn’t complicate things with icky feelings? If you’re so sure Dan doesn’t think of you ‘in that way,’ then why not?”
