A Hookup Never Meant to Last

Chapter I

I

Lucy

“This is so embarrassing!” That’s what I try to say between sobs in the NYU Law Library bathroom, but there’s too much snot, too many mascara-black tears to get the words out.

Rebecca gets the message just the same, but the random graduation attendees unfortunate enough to find themselves in this particular restroom at this particular moment do not.

Stealing covert glances at me as they wash their hands, they seem torn between calling for medical help and alerting campus security.

“Don’t worry about them,” Rebecca insists, not caring if they hear. “You take your time.”

Mortification finally wins out over my primal need for release, and I manage to find my breath while the onlookers skitter out the door. As soon as there’s room to spare in my lungs, I blurt out, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Rebecca offers up half a roll of paper towels, and I can tell she’s barely resisting the urge to wipe my face for me. “Of course you have big feelings.”

That elicits a dark laugh as I bury my face in rough brown paper. “What am I, a toddler?”

“Hey. Big girls have big feelings too.”

She reaches toward me, and I let myself sink into a warm, enveloping hug.

I’m so done with these tears, this humiliating total fall-apart.

My pounding heart starts slowly settling back into place.

“God, I look like shit,” I half moan, half laugh as I catch my reflection in the mirror.

“Guess there’s no point crying about it. ”

Rebecca grabs more paper towels as I turn on the tap and splash my face.

I imagine the cold water rushing through my veins, resetting my whole nervous system.

Through deep, even breaths, I try to think back to the single tear I shed when the dean handed me my law degree an hour ago.

That was the start of this whole downward spiral.

But now, finally on the other side, I feel somehow both lighter and more grounded. Oddly revitalized.

Or maybe I’m just dehydrated.

Judging by the crease between her brows, Rebecca doesn’t seem so sure the storm has passed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry like that.”

“I don’t think I ever have cried like that.”

“Not even when . . . ?”

I shake my head. My mom was sick for two years and lost all quality of life months before she passed.

It was horrible. Completely awful in every way.

But I also felt a sense of relief when her suffering was finally over.

In the three years since her death, I have held it together.

Weird things—like hearing a song she always sang the wrong lyrics to—will catch me off guard.

But I’m usually able to push the tears aside quickly.

Not today.

I catch Rebecca searching my face, wanting to help and not knowing how. But I’m not sure how to explain the intensity of the emotions that have coursed through me for the last hour. I couldn’t begin to express myself without losing it again. “I just wish she was here” is all I say.

Rebecca pulls me in for another hug. When our bodies separate, I clasp her hands.

OK. Big, cleansing breath. I watch Rebecca’s chest rise and fall in time with me. “Do you have any makeup?” I ask, taking care to steady my voice.

Rebecca pulls a travel-size mascara out of her bag. “Sure you’re ready for it?”

I nod. “No more tears. Go see your family. I’ll come find you.”

“No, I can wait—”

“Go. Be merry.” I lean in to remind Rebecca—and myself—of our absurd and amazing accomplishment, the thing we were celebrating before this sob fest: “We’re fucking lawyers.”

Rebecca chuckles and tilts her head to the side. “Kinda. Not really ’til we pass the bar—”

“No excuses. I’ll be right out. Promise.”

James

Rebecca may be my favorite cousin, but there’s something torturous about graduations—they’re somehow always too hot and too long, and this crowd feels particularly suffocating, which is saying something in Manhattan.

Maybe it’s because so many of these families aren’t from here.

I’ve only been in the city a few weeks, but I’ve noticed that the places where tourists gather are the most overwhelming, even when they aren’t the busiest. Locals know how to swim around one another like fish in a pond.

Tourists don’t swim—they do cannonballs. I hate that I’m currently one of them.

I try to kill time, distracting myself by admiring the swaying tulip trees around Washington Square Park and picking out graduates in the crowd, wondering about their lives.

“What are you looking at?” The mock-accusing voice could only be Rebecca.

“I’m trying to figure out which of your classmates are going to be, you know, environmental lawyers and civil rights attorneys—”

“And which ones will help massive companies destroy the fabric of society?”

“Yup, that.” I give her a hug. “Congratulations. I’m really proud of you.”

Rebecca beams. “Thank you. I’m proud of me too. Now, where the hell are my parents?”

I nod over my shoulder. My aunt and uncle round a corner, their arms overflowing with plates of cookies, cheese cubes, and mini sandwiches, as if the ceremony was the opening act for the snack spread. Rebecca and I repress our grins as we hurry to help with the haul.

“There’s our lawyer!” Aunt June exclaims, dropping an Oreo in the process. Uncle Steve offloads three plates and two cups of lemonade onto me so he can give his daughter a bear hug. I struggle to balance a grape rolling perilously close to its doom.

And that’s when I see her.

She’s tall, almost as tall as I am, her billowing graduation robe unable to conceal her statuesque frame. Caramel hair falls in soft waves down her back. And her eyes. They’re nearly black, perfectly offset by her amber skin.

She’s scanning the crowd, and as I stare at her, unable to look away, I realize I’ve seen her before.

It’s Rebecca’s best friend. What was her name?

We’ve never met, but I’ve heard so many stories about this ride-or-die who Rebecca’s always trying to bring on family vacations, but she never comes. I can’t remember why.

During the ceremony, she stood next to Rebecca in the crowd of baby lawyers all lined up on the stadium floor as June, Steve, and I looked down from the cheap seats.

She was too far away then to make out any distinct features, but I could tell she was wiping tears.

That’s standard for graduations, right? But there’s no trace of those tears now.

There’s something, though. Something beyond her appearance.

As she searches for familiar faces, she doesn’t seem lost or alone.

She seems almost defiant. The slight curl of her full lips, the way she stands, shoulders back and confident.

I’m fully convinced this woman could destroy the fabric of society if she wanted to. I hope she doesn’t.

I can’t look away.

“Lucy.” That’s her name. I blurt it out the moment I remember, and her shining eyes find mine, making my stomach clench. She starts striding my way, her lips parting into a curious, playful grin.

“You must be James.” Shit, even her voice is amazing. Low, buttery. I momentarily lose all sense of cool as she comes closer.

But then Rebecca spots Lucy and rushes to hug her. “There you are! Wow, you look amazing.”

Lucy laughs. “Thanks. I kind of weirdly feel amazing? And lots of other things.”

“I get that,” Rebecca responds, pulling Lucy into a small circle with her parents and me. I realize I’m still staring and force my eyes down to my plate of toothpicked cheese.

“Is this the famous Lucy? Congratulations, sweetie! Your mom would be so proud! Have a lemonade! You look beautiful.” Aunt June spews all this so fast that I almost miss that bit about her mom.

Lucy seems unsure how to respond for a split second. “Thank you,” she says, deftly covering all the bases.

Rebecca introduces Lucy to her parents, who both forgo handshakes for hugs. Then Rebecca turns to me. “And this is my cousin, James. He’s a chef—”

“Cook,” I correct her too quickly—and then mentally kick myself for doing so.

Rebecca must clock the flustered look on my face, because she gives her most cunning, catlike smile and immediately dives into my full résumé.

“He grew up playing soccer and was pretty talented. He got third place in our sixth-grade spelling bee after me and Celine Yamamoto. He’s a big doodler, and weirdly good at it. He likes musicals—”

“OK,” I cut in. “Are you done embarrassing me?”

“What’s embarrassing?” Lucy asks, a twinkle in her dark eyes. “I love musicals. What are your favorites?”

I feel my ears turn red as I rack my brain. “Uh, Les Mis. Rocky Horror. Singin’ in the Rain. Hello, Dolly! is hard to beat. What about you?”

Lucy beams back at me for a few seconds before I realize she’s teasing me.

I chuckle and try not to think about what shade of scarlet my ears must be by now, but then her palm is on my forearm.

“I’m sorry.” She laughs. “I honestly haven’t seen many musicals.

Maybe they’re not as bad as everyone says. ”

She pulls her hand away, but the lingering warmth of her skin on mine makes me feel like I could leap a building. “Don’t believe the lies,” I insist. “Musicals make life worth living.”

She laughs again, and I catch the quick look she shoots Rebecca—who has gotten pulled into a side conversation with her parents—and pray it’s a good sign.

“It was really nice of you to come,” Lucy says, and I give a little shrug.

“Graduations are so boring, and it’s always too hot.

Actually . . .” She leans close to whisper our first secret: “I almost skipped it myself, honestly.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I whisper back, and Lucy’s eyes flick up to meet mine, studying me with a sharp curiosity. For a moment, I forget to breathe.

Then she politely turns her attention back to the wider group as Aunt June loads her up with extra mini sandwiches. “You all are quite the refreshment experts.”

“Well, James landed us this amazing reservation at Nouveau Riche, but it’s not for two more hours,” Uncle Steve clarifies between sugar cookie bites.

Rebecca leans close to her mom, lowering her voice. “Did you manage to . . . ?” She gives a subtle nod in the direction of Lucy that Lucy pretends not to notice, though I spot the slight pink in her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, honey. We tried, but the restaurant couldn’t make room for one more.” Aunt June turns to Lucy with a pitying look. “But maybe you could join us for a drink?”

Rebecca looks like she might crawl up inside herself and die, but Lucy just stands up straighter.

“Oh, I have plans. A lot of the international students don’t have family here, so they invited me to join their party.

” A somewhat awkward silence falls. “I hear there’s going to be a taco truck! ” she adds.

She says it with such forced excitement, I have to stifle a laugh, and Lucy elbows me in the rib. It’s the kind of thing an old friend would do, and I shift my weight toward her, leaning into the familiarity.

“Well, it was so nice to meet you all,” Lucy announces, passing her untouched plate to me but stealing back an Oreo for the road. “Enjoy your dinner!”

Wait, she’s leaving? Lucy gives Rebecca a tight hug, and I watch them exchange whispers, Rebecca clearly trying to get her to stay. But Lucy seems determined. I watch in a small panic as Lucy smiles at Rebecca, then at me, and strides away.

“Lucy!” As I hurry to catch her, she stops and turns back, and I’m completely unsure what I can or should say. I just know I don’t want her to walk away.

Lucy waits, watching me with a steadily furrowing brow as I search for the right words. “Have dinner with me,” I finally manage.

The corner of her mouth curls upward, but her brow remains crinkled. “Aren’t you the one who landed the swanky reservation?”

“Yes.” I’ve actually been looking forward to this meal all week—Nouveau Riche’s lamb piccata is the stuff of legends. But I’d eat sand for the chance to keep talking to Lucy. “Turns out, they only have space for three. You know, one of those classic fine-dining . . . three-top tables.”

Lucy’s cheeks glow. “Right. Classic. For all the throuples.”

“Exactly. Very nouveau.”

“Very.”

Our eyes linger on each other. I fight not to look at her collarbone, the hint of skin peeking out of her robe. “So you see,” I say, mustering what I hope comes across as charm, “I could really use a dinner companion. You’d be doing me a favor.”

I watch Lucy’s eyes dart to Rebecca, checking via best-friend telepathy whether this is OK. I don’t dare look at Rebecca myself.

When Lucy’s eyes return to mine, her cheeks glow a shade rosier. “Where to?”