by Alexa Land
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. The words felt painfully inadequate.
Dylan stared at the screen for a long moment. Then he turned to me and said, “You have to talk to Cole and make him understand what he means to you. Where does he live?”
“Just across town.”
He sent a text, then said, “My cousin is an Uber driver, and I told him to come get us.”
The alcohol was making me a bit foggy, and I blinked and asked, “Wait, what are we doing?”
“I’m taking you to Cole.”
“Now?”
“Yup. This is important.” Dylan got up and held his hand out to me, and I let him pull me to my feet. Then he had to catch me by the shoulders, because I almost tipped over.
“I’m really drunk,” I told him.
“I know, but maybe it’s a plus. Liquid courage, and all that.”
I looked down at myself and said, “I need shoes. Probably a jacket, too.” My new friend helped propel me toward my closet.
A few minutes later, Dylan and I leaned against each other out on the sidewalk. I’d added flip flops, a puffy ski jacket, and a knit cap to my outfit, and we were both holding full martini glasses. A white Honda pulled to the curb, and the driver rolled down the passenger window and asked, “Dude, are those cocktails?” When Dylan nodded, he exclaimed, “You can’t bring booze in here! I’ll get in trouble!”
“Oh! That’s right,” Dylan said. We drained our glasses, and he placed them on the stairs of my building before weaving to the curb.
As we tumbled into the backseat, the skinny guy behind the wheel said, “I swear to God, Dylan, if you or your drunk-ass friend puke in my car, I’m gonna be pissed!”
“We won’t, Leo. This is River, by the way.”
He shot me a look and said, “Don’t puke in my Civic, River.”
“I’ll try not to.”
Dylan said, “We’re going to his ex-boyfriend’s house so he can tell him he loves him.”
Leo tipped back his hat and asked his cousin, “Then why is he dressed like an escaped mental patient?”
“He doesn’t look that bad.”
“He’s single-handedly shattering the myth that we gay men are sharp dressers!” That from a guy in a fedora and a Yoda T-shirt. Leo turned to me and said, “If you’re going in for some big ol’ love declaration and trying to win back your ex, then dude, seriously, make an effort!” He reached over the seat and smacked the big pompom on top of my cap.
I conceded, “You might have a point.”
“Of course I have a point.” Leo turned on his hazard lights and said, “Come on, let’s find you something else to wear. Hurry up! I’m parked illegally and I do not want another ticket!”
Dylan scooped up the martini glasses on our way into the building. When we were back in my apartment, I headed straight to the pitcher on the coffee table and drained the last inch of alcohol, and Leo said, “Do I need to find you a pamphlet on some twelve-step programs?”
“He’s just freaked out about talking to his ex,” Dylan said as I headed to my bedroom.
“Yeah, you know what isn’t gonna earn him any brownie points? Puking on the dude when he goes to try to win him back.”
While the cousins searched my closet for something more presentable, I tossed my hat and ski jacket aside and got tangled in my T-shirt momentarily before pulling it off and throwing it on the floor. I dropped my shorts to my ankles and bent over to try to take them off. As I mooned my companions, Leo said, “Wait a minute, I know you. I didn’t recognize you at first because you cut all your hair off.”
Dylan asked, “What part of him did you just recognize?”
“It’s not like that,” Leo said. “We’ve got some mutual friends, and I’ve seen him at parties.”
I turned around with my shorts still around my ankles and blinked at Leo for a moment, then pointed at him and said, “I thought you looked familiar. San Francisco feels like such a small town sometimes. You used to be roommates with…who? Shea Nolan?”
“Yeah, before he got married.”
Dylan said, “For real? You two know each other?”
I racked my brain trying to unravel the connection, and finally came up with, “Yeah. So like, my brother Skye went to art school with this guy named Christopher Robin, who’s married to Kieran Nolan. Kieran and Shea are cousins.”
Dylan considered that for a moment, then said, “San Francisco is the biggest small town in all the world.” Then he tossed me a shirt and said, “Here, put this on.”
I fell on my ass in the process of catching the solid black T-shirt, which was convenient, actually. After I pulled it on, I was able to free myself from my shorts and flip-flops. When Leo handed me a pair of jeans, I said, “Those are too tight.”
“Good.”
I considered that for a moment, then nodded in agreement and stuck my legs into them. It took some effort to get back on my feet, and Dylan ended up hoisting me up by my arm as Leo asked, “How do you two know each other?”
I grinned and said, as I pulled the jeans over my ass, “We’re on a first date.”
Leo slapped his cousin on the back and said, “You’re finally getting back out there, man! Good for you!” He paused and thought about that for a moment before asking, “Wait, then why are we driving your date to his ex-boyfriend’s house?”
“Because River’s still in love with him. He only agreed to go out with me because everyone keeps telling him it’s time to move on. But it isn’t! He needs to be with Cole.”
“I know Cole. He’s hot. I thought he was dating that DJ now, though. Adam? No wait, Ash,” Leo said. “I was at a party last week with my boys Ridley and Cas, and Ash was DJing. Cole spent the whole evening in the DJ booth with him.”
I’d been trying to pull up the zipper on those tight jeans, and I paused and muttered, “Shit. Really?”
Dylan asked his cousin, “What exactly did you see? Were they kissing, or just hanging out?”
“I dunno. I wasn’t, like, totally spying on them or anything. I just remember that every time I glanced at the DJ booth, they were both in there, talking and laughing. I don’t remember seeing them kiss, but I definitely got the impression they were a couple, which is why I didn’t make a move on either of them.”
I waddled stiff-legged over to the bed, tossed myself onto my back, and forced the zipper the rest of the way up. Then I sighed and said, “I can’t go over there and lay this on him if he’s in a relationship.”
“But you love him,” Dylan said.
Leo shook his head. “No man, he’s right. What if Cole’s in love with Ash?”
Dylan sat next to me and said, “You need to talk to Cole. Maybe they’re just friends.”
I shook my head. “Not tonight. Showing up drunk on his doorstep would make everything worse. And if Cole and Ash are in a relationship, I can’t get in their way. I saw them at a party last night, and Cole looked happy. I can’t mess that up for him.”
Dylan exclaimed, “How can you give up so easily?”
“Oh, I’m not giving up. I’m going to find out what’s going on between those two, and if it turns out they’re not a couple, then I’ll talk to Cole. I don’t know what I’ll say, but I know I’ll have a better chance of coming up with something when I’m not drunk off my ass.”
“Okay,” Leo said, “so the mission to Cole’s house is definitely off, right? I need to move my car before it’s ticketed.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
Leo turned to Dylan. “You’re pretty drunk, cuz. Why don’t you let me give you a ride home, so you can sleep it off?”
“That’s a good idea. You gonna be okay, River?”
I nodded and said, “Sorry we never got around to dinner. Raincheck, okay? I want you to come over sometime next week, and I’ll cook for us and kick your ass on my crazy roommate’s Nintendo.”
“It’s a date.” Then he amended, “Well, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
*****
I was still sprawled out on top of my covers staring at the ceiling a few hours later, when Quinn came home. I’d gotten up long enough to walk Dylan and Leo to the door and exchange the jeans for sweatpants, but that had been the extent of my evening. After a minute, my roommate stuck his head through the gap in my door and asked, “How much do you hate me right now?”
“I don’t have the energy to hate you.”
He came into my room and perched on a corner of the bed. “Aw, you look so sad. I’m sorry I ruined your date. That guy was gorgeous, too. Want me to talk to him? I tried to tell him it was all my fault, but I can tell him again.”
“You didn’t ruin it. Dylan and I are going to be great friends.”
“Oh. Well, good.” He climbed up onto the mattress and placed a brown paper bag next to me. “I found a thrift shop that was open late and got you a new pair of khakis. Except they’re dark blue. And a size smaller than the old pair, because you wear your clothes too baggy. Also, these are a more flattering cut.”
“So basically, they’re not khakis at all.”
“Right. I also found your shirt out in the street and brought it home. It’s in the washing machine right now. So’s a packet of black dye. Shit brown really isn’t a good color on anyone.” I tried to roll my eyes, but it made my headache worse. Quinn set a little pastry box on my stomach and said, “I felt guilty about stealing your pie, so I bought you a new one. They were out of coconut cream, so I got banana instead.”
“Thanks.”
After a pause, he asked, “Can I have some?”
I raised my head just enough to stare at him and said, “Can you have some of the replacement pie you just gave me after stealing and eating my other pie? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him for another moment before muttering, “Go ahead.”
I propped myself up against the headboard and he lifted the tiny pie from the box, split it down the middle, and compared the two halves. “I’m giving you the bigger half, because you seem like you need some cheering up,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” When I nodded, he leaned in and took a bite out of my piece. Then he said, around a mouthful of banana cream, “Now they’re even.”
As we ate our dessert, he asked, “So, what happened tonight?”
“Long story.”
“I have time.”
I licked some whipped cream off my finger and said, “Dylan’s still mourning his deceased husband, and I’m not over Cole, so trying to go on a date was a terrible idea. But I made a new friend, so it’s all good.”
“Then why do you look so sad?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because I had way too much to drink, and I feel like shit now. We never got around to dinner, so I had about half a dozen vodka martinis on an empty stomach. I don’t know why I haven’t thrown up yet.”
“What were you going to make for dinner?”
“Fajitas.”
“So…all the ingredients are still in the kitchen?”
“I’m not cooking you fajitas, Quinn.”
“You don’t have to. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll make them for both of us.”
I said, “You’re a terrible cook.”
“No I’m not.”
“Last week, I caught you making a bean, cheese, and Captain Crunch burrito.”
“Okay, that was freakin’ awesome! For real. Sweet and savory, with a nice, crunchy texture. You can steal my recipe if you want, I don’t mind.”
“As if I wasn’t already dangerously close to throwing up.”
Once I finished my pie, I curled up on my side with my back to Quinn. He got up and left the room. I thought he’d actually taken the hint, but he was back a few moments later.
He turned off the overhead light and climbed back into bed. Then he draped his blanket over both of us, snuggled close, and put his arm around me. I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Spooning you.”
“Why?”
“Because you feel bad.”
“That doesn’t quite explain what you’re doing.”
“It always makes me feel better when someone holds me, so I figured it’d make you feel better, too.”
“You’re making it hard to hate you.”
“You don’t hate me.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But you really are a pain in the ass sometimes.”
“I know.”
After a pause, I said, “Thanks, Quinn.”
“You’re welcome, River.”
Chapter Four
I murmured, “Well, holy shit. I feel like we just traveled through a wormhole and popped out in the south of France.”
Trevor switched his infant son from one hip to the other and said, “You mentioned the groom’s family was rich, but I wasn’t expecting anything this grand.”
“Same here.”
The three-story French provincial mansion in front of us housed an inn and restaurant, but both had been shut down eighteen months ago. That was when my friend Conrad’s uncle bought it and began totally remodeling the interior. The work was complete on all but the third floor guestrooms, and Conrad had been given permission to use the property for his wedding while it was still closed to the public.
The building was meant to look like it was a hundred years old, though it had actually been built in the 1980s. It was oddly symmetrical. The large front door in the center of the sand-colored stone façade was topped by a wide balcony, which in turn was flanked by two smaller second-story balconies, and each of the four corners of the pitched, slate-gray roof was punctuated by an identical chimney.
The inn was framed by perfectly landscaped grounds and backed by a vineyard that stretched over rolling hills. It also included a winery, with production facilities somewhere at the other end of the enormous property. The rural setting felt like it was a million miles from the bustling Bay Area, though it actually had taken us less than two hours to drive there.
Most of the wedding party was making a long weekend of it. An additional three hundred and eighty guests would be joining us on Sunday night. As the caterer, I was in charge of the food for the rehearsal dinner on Friday, an informal brunch each morning, and the wedding banquet following the ceremony. Trevor and I had been invited to arrive on Thursday evening, to give us extra time to set up the kitchen and get ready.
We’d catered a handful of weddings before, but never one that large or formal. Getting the timing right and pulling off a sit-down dinner for over four hundred people was the biggest challenge I’d faced so far in my career. My friend and coworker seemed confident. Trevor kept reminding me that we’d been preparing for over two months. We had detailed lists of everything that needed to be done hour-by-hour, competent vendors, and a professional wait staff to make sure it all went off without a hitch. As long as we kept on schedule, there was no reason to panic.
A voice behind us said, “Wow, that’s subtle. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice and all. But kind of over the top, don’t you think?” Trevor’s son Josh came up beside me, put down a large suitcase, and adjusted his glasses. The bride and groom had been nice enough to let Trevor bring his entire family, since he’d mentioned he was concerned about spending four days away from his babies.
I asked the teen, “Do you feel alright?” He looked paler than usual.
Josh shrugged and said, “Darwin keeps asking me that, too. I’m just tired, but I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.” He turned to his boyfriend as he approached us and asked, “Thumbs up or down to the faux French fanciness?”
“I would never want to get married someplace this flashy.” Darwin put down the big piece of luggage he was hauling and took Josh’s hand as he added, “It’s pretty, though.”
I’d invited Josh’s boyfriend to join us as our assistant, both because we needed the help and he needed the money. He worked four crappy part-time jobs and was saving up for gender re
assignment surgery, and I’d offered to pay him far more than he normally would have made in a weekend. I’d also wanted him to come along because he hadn’t had a vacation in a very long time, and I wanted to make sure he got a chance to have some fun while we were in Napa. The same went for Trevor and his husband Vincent, who had to be worn out from the demands of caring for twin babies. In fact, over the past couple days, my friend had seemed uncharacteristically run-down. Even though the wedding was going to be a hell of a lot of work, I’d blocked off some down time in our schedule and planned to insist that Trevor take some time to relax.
Josh turned to his boyfriend and gently brushed Darwin’s black hair out of his eyes as he asked, “Where would your dream wedding take place?”
“I used to fantasize about getting married in a two-hundred-year-old used bookstore in Paris, and then having a party on the rooftop garden with a view of the Eiffel Tower.” Darwin grinned embarrassedly and added, “Hokey, I know.”
“I can’t imagine a better wedding,” Josh said.
“You don’t think it’s silly?”
“Not at all, it’s perfect. You’re never happier than when you’re in a used bookstore.”
“That’s true for you, too,” Darwin told him.
“If we ever decide to get married, that’s exactly what we’ll do. We’ll also have a huge cake, and for wedding favors, we’ll let our guests go through the shop and pick out books to take home.” The teens smiled sweetly at each other.
Vincent joined us just then with his baby girl in his arms and a bulging diaper bag over his shoulder, and he grumbled, “You’re too young to be talking about marriage.”
“Oh my God, Dad,” Josh exclaimed. “We were just talking hypothetically! I’m sixteen years old, and we’re not hillbillies! We’re not fixin’ to drive the ol’ jalopy down to the preacher’s shack next week, get hitched and celebrate with some moonshine! Gah!”
I grinned at that and said, “I’m going to find our host. Why don’t you guys go upstairs and pick out your rooms? Conrad said everything on the second floor is fair game, aside from the one labeled ‘bridal suite’, obviously.”
