by Melody Grace
“I don’t have his number,” I lie, even though the slip of paper with his cellphone details is folded neatly in the back of a drawer at home.
“Yes, but you know where he lives,” Lily points out, playing with the frayed ends of her blonde braid. “You could show up on his doorstep wearing nothing but a trench coat,” she suggests, starry-eyed. “Or plaster the neighborhood with posters. ‘Wanted: the mystery man who rocked my world!’ Trust me, he’d love it. It works in all the movies!”
“Time for lunch.” I cut her harebrained schemes short.
She gives me a look, but doesn’t push it. “What do you want? No, wait, I know already. Caesar salad, hold the dressing, hold the cheese.”
I pause. “Am I really that predictable?”
Lily bites her lip. “It’s not a bad thing,” she says brightly. “Nobody likes change!”
“I’ll come down with you,” I decide. “I need to take a break from this place. Jacob is looking like he wants to strangle me with next season’s paisley print scarves.”
I nod through the glass partition to where the designer is prowling. Lily gives a wistful sigh. “Why is it that creative geniuses have to be such high-strung prima donnas?” she asks, as we head for the elevator. “Just once, I’d like to meet an artist who isn’t a raging insomniac, or like, pays his taxes on time.”
I laugh. “Their brains are wired differently, that’s all.”
Wired for adventure, for passion. I remember Dex with a shiver, the intensity in his eyes. Spontaneity came as easily as breathing for him, when for me, it went against every careful instinct in my body.
It’s why we could never be together, I remind myself.
That, and the fact that I’m hopelessly, completely in love with someone else.
Down at our regular lunch spot cafe, Lily and I grab our food from the counter and wait in line. Music is playing, some rock song I don’t recognize, but Lily lights up, humming along. “The Reckless! I love this song!” she exclaims. “I can’t believe you got to see him play live. I’m so jealous. I had tickets for the tour right before they broke up.”
I blink, not following her rapid-fire gossip. “Who?”
Lily rolls her eyes. “Dex Callahan!” she exclaims. “Only the hottest rock star on the planet. Honestly, Alicia, you’re so oblivious. I swear, he could walk past us right now, and you wouldn’t know the difference.”
I blush. She couldn’t be more wrong. I may have been oblivious about the rock star a couple of months ago, but now, it’s his face that’s branded on my fantasies; dreams of his dark eyes that keep me tossing and turning, late into the night.
Dex Callahan is my mystery man.
I haven’t told a soul, but the sexy stranger I spent the night with is none other than the rock star himself. I didn’t realize his true identity when I kissed him, but the truth hit me like a ton of bricks when I saw him up onstage, performing to an adoring crowd.
Yes, I could pick him out of a line-up with my eyes closed. That man has a presence that can’t be denied.
Had, I correct myself. Past tense. Of all the reasons why I’ll never see Dex again, his status as international rock star is pretty high up the list. He’s probably used to groupies and wild-child supermodels. And me? Well, I can’t even switch my lunch order without having an internal debate about it.
With a sudden burst of decision, I put my salad back and order the special sandwich of the day instead.
“You sure?” Lily looks dubious.
“I can be adventurous,” I declare, but when we settle at a table by the window and I take a bite of the mung beans and tofu, I regret it.
See? This is why predictable is a good thing. You don’t wind up with rabbit food for lunch.
Or memories of a mind-blowing night with a rock star that can never be repeated.
“So,” I start brightly, choking down my lunch. “What’s new with you? Did that blind date turn out to be a total disaster like you thought?”
“Nope.” Lily gives me a shy smile. “It was amazing.”
“What?” I exclaim. “How come you didn’t say? Come on, details!”
“He’s perfect,” Lily sighs, her eyes getting glazed. “He’s hot, and smart, and doesn’t live in his parents’ basement.”
“Always a good thing,” I laugh.
“He brought flowers to the restaurant for me,” she continues, “and then I got food poisoning from the salmon, and he took me home and stayed with me, even when I was curled up on the bathroom floor. We spent the whole weekend together,” she adds with a swooning sigh. “I really think this guy is the one.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I tell her, and I mean it—even if I do feel a pang of lonely regret seeing the sparkle in her eye. Lily is the last of my friends to stay single; everyone else is paired up, picking out furniture or wedding color schemes. “But you won’t rush into anything, will you?” I caution her. Lily is a hopeless romantic, always jumping into things without thinking them through. “You don’t want to get hurt.”
Lily shakes her head. “It’s not like that. We just…fit together, you know? We have the same sense of humor, and all the same interests. All this time I’ve been trying so hard, worrying about if some guy will call me, or whether or not they’ll like that outfit. It doesn’t matter with Greg. I’m so relaxed with him, he makes me happy, you know?”
“I know,” I answer quietly. A knot suddenly wells in the back of my throat, and I have to swallow it down. “That’s amazing, Lily. You’re lucky.”
“Aww, don’t say it like that,” Lily protests. “You’ll find someone, too. I can’t believe you haven’t already. What is wrong with the guys in this city that they haven’t scooped you up?”
I give a little shrug, forcing a carefree smile. She means well, but she’s asking the wrong question. It isn’t about what’s wrong with the men here, it’s what’s wrong with me. Dating is a waste of time when my heart has already fixed on its mate; endless small-talk with hopeful bachelors just seems like a chore when I know at the end of the night, theirs aren’t the lips I want pressing against mine.
Even Dex couldn’t blot out my feelings for long. I may have been swept up in the physical connection between us that night, but I still felt I was betraying my heart by being with him. And when I fled his apartment, I felt as if I’d cheated somehow—on a man who didn’t even realize how much I adore him.
I push my food away, my appetite gone.
“We’re having dinner again tonight,” Lily chatters happily. “And we’re spending the weekend together, too. He just moved into a new place, so we’re going to have brunch and check out the flea market for vintage stuff, and then maybe catch a movie. They’re playing a Bogart and Bacall classic festival this weekend, you should come.” She brightens. “I can ask Greg if he has any single friends—”
“No, thanks!” I cut her off quickly. “You guys are still so new, you should take the time just to enjoy being together,” I add, in case she gets offended.
“You’re right,” Lily nods. “Thanks.” She looks down at my abandoned lunch. “You want some of my fries?”
“I’m good,.” I make a show of checking my watch. “I should get to work though.” Lily makes to get up, but I wave it off. “No, you’ve got another half-hour of your break.”
“I did want to squeeze in a manicure for tonight…” Lily admits.
“There you go. See you back in the office.” I keep smiling as I grab my purse and exit the cafe, but instead of crossing the street straight back to our building, I find myself walking in the other direction, losing myself in the lunchtime pedestrians bustling on the street.
I need a moment to breathe.
Lily’s news stings, more than I expected. It’s not just that she’s my last single friend, it’s that everything she described about her upcoming dates with Greg is so perfect, it hurts; a lonely ache swelling in my chest as I imagine them reading the newspapers together over brunch, and strolling hand-in-hand throu
gh the antique fair.
I want to be in that picture, me and the man of my dreams.
I’ve managed to push my yearning aside for so long, to live with my loneliness as best I can. I fill my evenings with work and social engagements, plan my weekends so there’s barely a moment to think. But it still comes creeping in, on a rainy Sunday morning when I’m snuggled alone on the couch, or a perfect summer’s night, when all I see are happy couples crowding the park around me.
I want that, too. An arm draped around my shoulder, someone stealing half of the newspaper. A partner in life, the intimacy that comes from knowing somebody so well -- their heart. Their body.
Their soul.
I feel my cellphone vibrate in my purse, and when I see the caller ID, my heart lifts in a burst of happiness.
It’s him. Hunter. As if he sensed me thinking about him, he’s suddenly right there on the other end of the line.
“Hey,” I answer, stepping out of the flow of traffic up against a building. “What’s going on?”
“Are you busy?” His voice is stressed. “I can call back if this is a bad time—”
“No, no!” I quickly protest. As if any time he wants to talk could possibly be bad. “Is everything OK?”
“It’s a disaster,” he sighs. “Listen, are you around? I could really use your help.”
“Just tell me what you need,” I say immediately.
“I’m at Sycamore Kitchen, on Fifth Street,” Hunter replies. I look up at the street marker. I’m on third, just a couple of minutes away. It’s a sign.
“Hold on,” I tell him, “I’ll be right there.”
3.
I’ve been in love with Hunter Covington since the first week of college, sophomore year. I was sitting in the middle of the lecture hall, wondering how on earth I was going to pass my science requirement, when the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen in my life folded himself into the seat next to me and grinned a devastating smile.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, with a faint Southern drawl.
I shook my head quickly. “No, no it’s fine.”
“Good,” he said cheerfully. “Because I know zero about geology, and you look smart as hell. Want to be study partners?”
I wondered if it could really be so easy: the boy of my dreams just showing up like that. But my parents had met in college, too—in a lecture hall just like this one—and they were the happiest couple I knew. They loved to tell me the story of how my mom turned my father down every day for a month until class was over and she finally agreed to a date. By the end of class, I could imagine telling my own kids the tale of how Hunter and I met: the whispers we exchanged all through class, the jokes we shared about the professor’s sleepy teaching style, and how, when class was over, he suggested grabbing some coffee. I couldn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough.
I would have followed him anywhere.
Coffee became a regular study session in the library each week; late night pizzas, and even the occasional movie, too. But despite hoping, and wishing, and catching my breath every time he accidentally brushed my hand, Hunter never made a move. He was always the perfect gentleman with me—and it drove me crazy. I must have been the only girl on campus he didn’t seduce. Hunter had a reckless reputation, for sure: too much booze, too many sorority girls. My friends were all jealous of the time I spent with him, but they warned me, too, that the minute he seduced me, it would all be over: Hunter moved on to the next girl before you had a chance to get attached.
I laughed off their concern, told everyone we were just friends, but I was already in way too deep. I saw past the rumors and long list of conquests, and the more I got to know him as a friend, the more I became convinced that he was hiding a damaged heart, trying desperately to distract himself from the grief and guilt he felt over his fucked up family, searching for solace in the bottom of a bottle and the arms of yet another girl. I just needed to be patient, I told myself. One day, he’d get it out of his system and realize he needed to move on.
One day he’d see that the girl of his dreams had been right there with him, all along.
I reach the restaurant in record time and wave to Hunter through the windows. He’s in a booth at the back, and when he gets up to hug me in greeting, I feel the familiar rush of adoration just at the sight of him. Tall and muscular in a casual shirt and jeans, his tan is glowing golden; his eyes a bright blue. Clean-cut and handsome, that golden boy I met in geology class is all grown up. A real man now.
“You are a lifesaver,” he exclaims, crushing me against his strong chest in a bear hug. “We’ve been going around in circles over the venue.”
“The venue?” I echo, confused.
“For the big day,” Hunter explains. “I don’t understand why we have to decide this stuff now, but apparently, the best churches need reservations years in advance.” He stands aside, and I can see for the first time that the table is covered with bridal magazines and invitation samples.
My happiness comes crashing down.
“Brit’s on deadline and can’t leave her studio,” Hunter continues, oblivious to the pain currently slicing through my chest. It’s not his fault, I deserve an Oscar for how carefully I’ve hidden my true feelings, acting as if being just good friends is all I’ve ever wanted from him.
“How is she?” I manage to ask.
“Stressed.” Hunter gives me a rueful look. “She said if she has to look at another set of calligraphy, she’ll rip my mother’s hair out.”
“She might actually do it, you know,” I warn him, teasing.
“Damn straight,” Hunter laughs. “My girl’s a fighter.”
His cellphone starts to ring, interrupting us. “Oh, crap, I have to take this,” Hunter grimaces. “I won’t be a minute.” He pulls out a chair for me, and then lands a grateful kiss on my cheek. “You always work magic with my mother. Tell her that a simple beach wedding won’t get her cast out of Charleston society forever.”
I sink into the seat, watching with an aching heart as he strides away. I was right in the end. One day he did wake up and realize the drinking and screwing around had to stop, that the girl of his dreams was right there all along.
The only problem is, that girl isn’t me.
A noise startles me out of my forlorn thoughts. Hunter’s mother, Camille, joins me at the table, her drawn face brightening when she sees me. “Alicia!” she exclaims happily, leaning to exchange air kisses. I greet her warmly. I’ve known her for years; after Hunter and I met in college, it turned out that our mothers knew each other from various charity functions and social events. As always, Camille is immaculately presented: her dyed-blonde hair elegantly styled, wearing a Chanel jacket and blue skirt, trim from hours spent playing tennis at the country club. “How are you, dear?” she asks. “I saw your mother just the other week at lunch. I told her, we all need to get together for a girls day at the spa, something fun, what do you say?”
“We’d love that.” I catch the eye of a passing waiter and quickly place an order for iced tea. I wish for a moment I could order something stronger to help dull the pain in my heart, but Camille has strong opinions about daytime drinking. Iced tea it is.
Camille settles back into her seat and looks at the wedding debris with a sigh. “Did my foolish son tell you what they’re planning now?”
I clear my throat. “He mentioned something—”
“A beach wedding!” Camille exclaims over me, clearly distressed. “They might as well get married in a barn. Just move some hay bales out of the way and say ‘I do’ by a pile of manure! It’s all her idea,” she adds with a twist of disdain, refusing to even speak the name of Hunter’s fiancée. “But then, I suppose someone from her situation can’t grasp the social importance of this event.”
“That’s not true,” I protest, quickly leaping to Brit’s defense. “This day means the world to Brit, to both of them. She’s probably just overwhelmed by the idea of organizing a big event,” I add, soothing her with flattery. “
After all, she doesn’t have your experience or taste. I’m sure you’ll find the perfect solution.”
Camille doesn’t look convinced. “I just wish he was marrying someone more suited to the social demands of our position,” she says, glancing out of the restaurant windows, to where Hunter is pacing on the sidewalk, still on his cellphone. “That girl has no idea the pressure, the responsibility it takes to be a Covington. Not like you.” She sighs, clueless at how cruel her words really are.
I look away, busying myself by stirring sweetener into my iced tea. “But she loves Hunter,” I remind Camille firmly. “And he loves her. That’s all that matters.”
I can’t believe I’m defending the girl who’s half responsible for my broken heart. That’s the bittersweet irony of it all: I actually like her. Brit may be prickly when you first get to know her, but under the sarcastic shell, she’s funny and talented—and utterly devoted to Hunter.
I stifle a sigh. It would be so much easier if she was a total bitch. I could pretend like I have his best interests at heart, and tell myself he would be happier with me, but Brit is great. They’re perfect together.
But where does that leave me?
Alone, that cruel voice whispers in my head. You’ll always be alone, pining after him like this.
“She’s not even here to help decide on invitations,” Camille continues, her lips pursed. “Clearly, this wedding isn’t a priority.”
I can’t bring myself to sit here, convincing Camille how much Brit and Hunter love each other, so I pretend to check my phone. “Oh no!” I exclaim. “I’m so sorry, there’s an emergency back at the office, I have to run.”
“So soon? Oh, what a shame!” Camille looks downcast. “Never mind, I’ll call your mother and set up that girls’ day, just the three of us.”
I pause. “You should really spend some time with Brit,” I suggest gently. “Perhaps if you got to know each other a little better…”
