The Best Man

by Renshaw, Winter

  Grant wastes no time claiming the spot next to where I was seated, and he lifts his brows as he waits for me to sit back down.

  “You know, I’m actually going to grab something to drink from the cafeteria. Anyone want anything? Megan? Alana? Mom? Tuck?” I scan the room, waiting for orders that never come.

  “I could use a coffee actually,” Grant says. “Mind if I tag along?”

  I offer a cordial nod and force some semblance of a smile, and he follows out the door and down the hall. We pass the nursery before we get to the elevator, and he stops for a moment to gaze inside.

  “Can’t wait to have one of our own someday,” he says, though I’m not sure if he’s speaking to himself or to me.

  One of our own …

  I think of Cainan’s words, about Grant being like a dog with a bone. And I think of my promise to yank that bone and toss it over the fence. I didn’t want to do it here, on the maternal recovery floor of Phoenix General, but I’m going on about four hours of sleep and my self-control is waning.

  “I could really use some caffeine …” I point to the elevator.

  He peels his gaze from the sleeping babes. “Right. Sorry.”

  We ride to the main level beside a pair of grandparents wearing “visitor” stickers that match ours, and Grant stands so close to me I can smell his cinnamon toothpaste. As soon as we disembark, I inhale a lungful of sterilized hospital air and walk two steps ahead of him.

  “Babe. Wait up. What’s the hurry?” Grant trots behind me, his dress shoes scuffing the floor with each step.

  I stop in my tracks and turn to face him. “I can’t do this.”

  He frowns.

  “You’re smothering me,” I blurt.

  A thirty-something pregnant woman in a hospital gown shuffles past, elbowing her husband as he gawks at our mini scene.

  “You call me every day. You text me multiple times a day. You still call me babe,” I say. “And then you showed up at the hospital.”

  “Your father invited me …” his words are slow and careful.

  “You and I both know why he invited you.” A table full of nurses in pink scrubs, all of them lunching on colorful salads, peer our way. “I broke up with you last month. We’re over. And nothing you can say or do is going to change that. Please leave me alone.”

  “Leave you alone?” he scoffs. “Is that what you really want?”

  “Yes.” It takes all the self-control I have not to scream it from the rooftops.

  “This is about Cainan.” He laughs. Not the reaction I was expecting. “Of course.”

  “Not sure I follow …”

  “You like him,” Grant says, confidence infused in his tone.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The other day when I asked what you were up to, you told me all about your day … but you neglected to mention you spent it with my best friend,” he says. “But he didn’t. He told me he spent the day with you. He told me every single detail. And you know why? Because he’s keeping tabs on you for me, just like I asked.”

  I try to respond, but my brain is stuck trying to wrap itself around this information.

  All this time, my interactions with Cainan have felt natural, genuine, and unforced. But they’ve also been … convenient. He’s always there. He’s always available. And when we spend time together, minutes turn into hours.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” I finally say, though who am I trying to convince?

  He knows Cainan better than anyone.

  “Really? He’s my best friend, Brie. You seriously think he’d be into you?” Grant chuffs. And with that, everything that has kept me walking on a cloud these past few weeks sends me into a free fall back to earth. “Sorry to break your heart, babe. Unfortunately I know exactly what that feels like.”

  With that, he leaves.

  By the time he disappears from view, my phone vibrates in my pocket with a text.

  CAINAN: CONGRATS!

  I shove my phone away, grab a coffee, and make my way back up to my sister’s suite, praying Grant’s gone by the time I get there.

  And he is, thank goodness.

  But the blue flowers remain.

  Along with freshly-planted seeds of doubt.

  36

  Cainan

  “Expecting an important call?” Claire asks Thursday night at dinner.

  “No.” I glance beyond the salt and pepper grinders that separate us. “Why?”

  “You keep checking your phone. Like every thirty seconds. Seriously.” She reaches across the table in a feeble attempt to swipe it from me. “It’s like you’re not even here. Why’d you invite me out to dinner if you’re just going make me sit here and watch you wait for some phone call that’s obviously not coming. Unless it’s the Secretary of State or Angelina Jolie, I’m going to have to ask you to holster your weapon, sir.”

  She’s right—the call isn’t coming.

  It’s Friday, and as far as I know, Brie’s been back since Wednesday. Monday morning, she sent me a picture of her baby nephew. I responded almost immediately.

  And then … nothing.

  I’m trying not to read into it, trying not to assume she had a change of heart and found herself back in the arms of the man she claimed she couldn’t love if she tried. But I can’t ignore the images of the two of them. Images that flood my vision every time I close my eyes at night, every time I check my phone for a new text.

  I wouldn’t be so paranoid if it weren’t for the fact that Grant’s been quiet this week as well.

  Not normal.

  None of this is fucking normal.

  Then again, neither is obsessing like a lunatic over a woman you know damn well you can’t have.

  “Cainan …” Claire groans. “Put. It. Away.”

  I slide my phone into my pocket, draw in a long breath, and browse the drink menu. But the options before me are all just a bunch of letters jumbled together. None of them make sense.

  Nothing makes sense.

  “Hey. Stop bouncing your knee. You’re shaking the table.” Claire flags down our server. “Can we get a couple of shots STAT? Vodka or something? I don’t care. Just bring us whatever. We’re not picky.”

  The waitress comes back in record time, two shot glasses filled to the brim with clear liquor.

  Claire shoves them both toward me.

  “I’m not drinking both of them,” I say, shoving one back.

  “Like hell you are. I can’t. I’m pregnant.”

  I choke on my spit. “What?!”

  “Surprise!” She grins wide, her fingers splayed into perfect jazz-hands.

  “Then why’d you order a shot?”

  “I’m sorry … I think you said congratulations, Claire?”

  “Jesus.” Realizing the errors of my way, I shove myself up from the table and wrap my little sister in a tight hug despite the fact that we’ve never been huggers. “Congrats, Claire. I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks …” she says as I let her go. “We actually just found out this morning. I’m not that far along. Six weeks or so. Total surprise.”

  I take my seat.

  She looks like a terrified woman wearing the cheap mask of exuberance, but I keep that to myself, opting instead to inform her she’s glowing already.

  “Seriously though, why’d you order a second shot?” I ask.

  “Because you looked like you needed it. Bottoms up …”

  She isn’t wrong.

  I shoot the first. I shoot the second. Within minutes, my skin crawls with heat and the room tilts.

  “So what’s going on?” she asks, elbows on the table as she settles in closer. “What’s with all this nervous energy? I’m getting a vibe from you …”

  I roll my eyes. “You sound like Luke. Where is he anyway?”

  “Meeting with some volunteers at his foundation’s headquarters. And don’t try to change the subject again. I’m the sober one here, and I’m fully prepared to interrogate the hell out of you i
f I have to.” She smirks and pushes the drink menu in my direction. “Though we should probably order an appetizer. I want you spilling your guts, not puking in the alley.”

  I gather my thoughts, let the vodka course through my veins a few minutes more, and then I give her exactly what she wants—the unfiltered truth.

  “Remember when you told me not to fall for my best friend’s girl?” I ask.

  Claire’s jaw falls.

  “Yeah, well. I didn’t listen.” Not that I could control any of it.

  “Oh my God.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “This is bad.”

  “I know.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does Grant know?” she asks.

  “Nope.”

  “Are you going to tell him?” Claire leans in, brows lifted.

  “I don’t even know if it’s worth it. For all I know, she only sees me as a friend.” I glance around the restaurant in search of our lavender-haired waitress who delivered the vodka shots and seemingly disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.

  My sister frowns. “Do you really believe that?”

  “Not entirely.”

  “So you think there’s something there? Something mutual?”

  “We’ve been spending time together. And there’s definitely a connection.”

  She sinks back, resting her chin on the top of her hand as she examines me the way I examine my clients when I feel like I’m not getting the full story.

  But her scrutiny is for naught. This is it.

  It’s as simple as it is complicated.

  As serendipitous as it is fucked up.

  For the first time in our lives, Claire leaves me without a shred of advice. She tells me the situation is beyond saving, beyond fixing. She tells me I’m damned if I go for it, damned if I don’t. She tells me no matter what decision I make, someone I care deeply about is going to be destroyed, the trajectory of their life forever changed.

  “I wish I had a magic wand so I could fix this for you,” Claire says, head tilted and eyes laced with sympathy. “I’ll just say this … you’re my brother, I love you, and I want you to be happy. And whether that means sacrificing your happiness for your best friend’s happiness or making a move for the woman who sets your soul on fire—I’m with you either way.”

  Yawning, she rises from her chair and gives me a hug.

  “I’m heading home,” she says an hour later, after three small plates and a shared tiramisu. “I’m exhausted. You’ve exhausted me with all of this soap opera nonsense.”

  “Or maybe you’re just, I don’t know, pregnant? And that’s why you’re so tired?”

  “Nah. It’s definitely your love life wearing me the eff out.” She squeezes my shoulder, slings her bag over her arm, and shows herself out. I grab the tab and hit the bar for one last drink before heading home.

  Sipping my last whiskey of the night—and against my better judgement—I text Brie one more time.

  ME: YOU BACK IN TOWN YET? JUST SEEING WHAT YOU’RE UP TO THIS WEEKEND …

  The message shows as read almost immediately.

  I wait for three blue dots that never come.

  On the way home, I detour past her apartment like a goddamned stalker. The lights are on. Her silhouette moves from room to room, the curtains all pulled.

  So close, yet a world away …

  … until I make a decision I may or may not come to regret.

  Tonight, I’m going to say to Brie what I should’ve said a long time ago.

  37

  Brie

  The buzzer to my door rings as I preparing a cup of Sleepytime Tea. After spending a few days in Phoenix, it’s taking me longer than I expected to settle back into my New York routine. The clock on the microwave shows a quarter past eleven.

  It’s got to be a mistake.

  I’m not expecting anyone.

  I toss the tea bag in the garbage, tiptoeing down the hall, when the buzzer goes off again.

  And again.

  Exhaling, I shuffle to the intercom system. “Can I help you?”

  “Brie.” I recognize Cainan’s voice instantly. “We need to talk.”

  A half an hour ago, he sent me a text—which I ignored. As I did the other texts he sent this week …

  Despite the fact that ghosting isn’t my style, I’ve found myself paralyzed every time I try to think of a response. Maybe it’s my pride getting in the way. All week, I’ve felt silly for getting caught up in whatever this was.

  Or whatever this wasn’t.

  I let myself crush on a man I knew I could never have—all the while, he was playing me. At least, that’s what Grant insists. And given what I know of Cainan, I have no reason to believe he would ever betray his best friend by hooking up with his ex.

  He buzzes me again.

  “If you’re here to keep tabs on me, you can let Grant know I made it home safe.” I’m being facetious, I know. But I can’t help myself.

  “Brie, buzz me up. Please. Let’s talk.” He slurs a couple of his words.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  “Fair enough,” he says. “But you might want to listen to what I’ve got to say.”

  38

  Cainan

  “Why have you been ignoring me?” Is probably not the best way to greet a woman I had to beg to buzz me up. But the words are out. There’s no taking them back.

  The floor is slanted, so I brace myself in her doorway.

  “Good God. How much have you had to drink?” She hooks her hand into my arm and pulls me in, closing the door without letting me go. “You can barely stand.”

  Too much to exercise good judgement apparently.

  Not enough to numb a damn thing.

  “Sit down.” She drags me to a velvet chair in the living room the color of electric raspberries. And then she wanders off to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water. “Grant told me everything.” Brie paces, hands on her hips. “I know you’ve been keeping tabs on me this whole time. I feel like such an idiot for thinking we actually had a connection …”

  Holy shit.

  She felt it too.

  It wasn’t wishful thinking.

  It wasn’t just me.

  “I haven’t been keeping tabs on you,” I say. “I would never. I … Brie … I’m falling for you. That’s why I can’t stay away. That’s why I find every excuse to be around you, even if we’re wandering around the city doing nothing at all. Even if I’m re-reading the same book for the millionth time because it’s the only way I can feel closer to you without hating myself for it.”

  She’s speechless, squinting or glaring at me—I can’t tell.

  “You chipped your front tooth when you were twelve. You have to get it fixed every few years … Christmas is your favorite holiday …Your hair gets frizzy in the summer … Greece is at the top of your bucket list … ”

  Brie blinks twice, head tilted, and then she frowns.

  “Okay, Casanova, maybe you should lie down and sleep this off.” She leads me to the sofa, slides off my leather shoes, and covers me with a knitted throw she grabs from who-knows-where.

  A moment later, the lights go out, and everything fades to black.

  In the middle of the night, I stir awake, eyes barely opening to catch a glimpse of her watching me from the bedroom doorway, her white t-shirt bathed in moonlight.

  But for all I know, I’m dreaming.

  39

  Brie

  I didn’t sleep last night. If I did, I don’t remember it. I spent the majority of those midnight hours wracking my brain about all those things he spouted off about me, things I rambled off as I held his hand and tried my damnedest to keep him from fading away. I thought if he could just hear my voice, maybe he’d stay with me. So I talked for the sake of talking. I told him every little thing about me that I could possibly think of.

  The fact that he remembered it is one thing.

  Th
e fact that he knew about my chipped tooth—is something else entirely.

  I never told him about that.

  I’m one-hundred percent certain.

  It’s a middle school memory I don’t tend to bring up—and one I didn’t so much as share with Grant during the tenure of our relationship.

  There’s no verifiable way Cainan could’ve known about it.

  I wait until half past seven before making my way to the kitchen, desperate for coffee but not wanting to wake my guest from his liquor-induced slumber.

  Only he isn’t sleeping.

  He’s perched on the sofa, slipping into his shoes.

  “Busted,” I say.

  Cainan peers up. “Excuse me?”

  “You were just going to slip out of here and pretend last night never happened?”

  His handsome face is painted in confusion, and he drags a hand through mussed hair.

  “You don’t remember last night, do you?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry.” He winces. “I don’t.”

  “Convenient.” I shrug. “Want to stay for a coffee? Maybe rehash things for a hot minute before you bolt?”

  “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic. If you want me to go, just say so.” He rises, his shirt wrinkled and his hair a mess, and yet somehow he still makes my breath hitch in my chest until I glance away.

  “Stay.” My back is toward him as I scoop coffee grounds into the shiny silver machine on Maya’s counter.

  “Brie …” He clears his throat. “I want to sincerely apologize for anything I said or did last night that made you uncomfortable. I’ve never blacked out before …”

  “First time for everything.”

  The machine percolates, not unlike my thoughts or the cocktail of confusing emotions simmering beneath my skin.

  After almost a week of being ignored, Cainan got hammered and showed up at my door.

  That has to mean something …

  Unless he was just doing his due diligence as Grant Forsythe’s best friend.

  I pour two cups, remembering that he takes his black. And when I turn to hand him his coffee, I’m taken back to that day at Atlantis, when we sat down together for the first time and the world around us faded into background noise.