4. Matt
4
MATT
A month ago . . .
It’s been nine months.
Nine months of glaring and hostility towards each other. If our mutual hatred were a fetus, it’d be born by now.
And we are as careful and loving of it as we would be the baby. We nurture it, feed it, and take care of it as proud parents.
Since our two little friend groups were connected by Connor and Rina, we had a lot of chances to show it. Frequent drink nights together were marked by a fiery feeling in my stomach, a harsh set to my jaw, and drinking more than I usually do to feed the hate and distract myself from staring at her.
Then there was the BYC’s gala, which was a growth spurt to the hatred baby. The way I felt when I saw her in the champagne-colored dress was a stark contrast to the way I felt when I noticed she had a date.
Her toned leg peeked out from the high slit. Her delectable cleavage was trying to burst out of the sweetheart neckline, making blood rush to my groin. That same blood turned cold when a muscled, slimy looking guy put a hand around her waist.
“Sorry to say, but you could’ve done better,” she said to Connor when she realized I was his date. Zings like this were typical for us, but what wasn’t typical was the way I felt seeing her laugh with the airhead.
“Scraping the bottom of the barrel yourself?” I nod toward her date.
“Not sure what you’re implying, but Chad,” of course, his name was Chad, “is a fitness model.”
“Must be a riveting conversationalist.”
“Was that your word of the day? So cute when you try to use these big words.” She pats my shoulder, shooting me a fake smile.
Score one for her, I guess.
As luck would have it, I found myself seated directly across from her, being forced to look at her throughout the night. Different seating wouldn’t have made a difference, my eyes trained on her form, following her around the room.
The sole comfort I had was the fact that every smile she directed at him, every touch between them looked insincere, forced.
That didn’t stop my vision from turning red when he pressed a hand on her lower back when they left the gala together. The whiskey sliding down my throat did little to suffocate the building rage.
There was also Rina and Eric’s Christmas brunch, where Natalie made it clear I wasn’t wanted, but fortunately, she wasn’t the host.
I hadn’t expected to receive a Christmas present from her, but when I did, I barely contained my smile. An unwrapped, dusty, obviously re-gifted bottle of wine (that I notoriously don’t drink) made laughter bubble up in my chest. The passive-aggressiveness of it was almost thoughtful.
“Thanks, it’s my favorite,” I said, as Anne choked on a sip of eggnog.
Her expression was a challenge, but the honest smile I gave her earned me a glare. Lately, it seemed like she saved her glares specifically for me. Kind and joyful with everyone, I was the only one deserving of her mean side.
Not going to lie, it made me feel special in a way.
And tonight, it’s Rina and Connor’s engagement party.
As our hatred toward each other has grown, I learned a lot about Natalie—none of it good.
She’s a fierce and loyal woman who loves fearlessly and protects the ones she loves. Witty and intelligent; people are crazy about her stories. She’s the best aunt Eric, Rina’s son, could ever ask for. Although, they’re not related by blood. She’s unapologetic and honest about who she is—well aware of her worth.
Ok, all of it is good, but none of it is good for me . Or my little crush that I continue to suppress with animosity.
And here we are—best man and maid of honor at the engagement party of two amazing people who found themselves again, after eleven years apart. Their story is what makes my romantic heart beat, even with all the failed dates and situationships over the years.
It didn’t come as a surprise we’re best man and maid of honor. Natalie was an easy choice for Rina. They have been best friends for over six years. When Rina got pregnant, Natalie gave her a room in her apartment. Ever since, the two have been inseparable, and when Eric was born they became found family.
My relationship with Connor wasn’t so straightforward. We were best friends in high school, when he and Rina first got together. We stayed in touch after he went to college and the two of them broke up. When he went pro, it was harder to keep up, but we still messaged occasionally. After his injury, he went no contact with me and, as I later found out, with everyone else in his life. But I didn’t let him be. I pestered and messaged him until he backed down, and as he slowly rebuilt his life, I’ve been by his side.
In a month, he’s getting married. For ten years, marriage and kids weren’t on his radar, and he found (or found again) the love of his life. I, on the other hand, have seventeen unsuccessful first dates this year and a job I’ve begun to hate. It’s not a bad gig, but I feel like I’m wasting my life away. Spending ten hours a day at the office is probably someone’s dream, but not mine. I feel best while coaching hockey to youngsters.
The small engagement party is in their backyard. They transformed it into a party place with a big white canopy tent, decorated with string lights and wildflowers. The decoration is minimal and, I think the right word is, boho style.
Natalie, as per usual, is the life of the party making everyone fawn over her. It always hurts to look at her, but dressed like this, in a bright pink wrap dress that hugs her curves, it’s almost unbearable.
“A tonic, please,” she tells the bartender with a sexy smile, and he’s ready to drop at her feet. I roll my eyes, but she ignores me, getting back on the dance floor. Rina and Connor are dancing together, a vision of love and happiness. I want that. I want to feel it with someone.
My tie suddenly feels tight around my neck, so I decide to catch some air. Or alone time.
I make my way to the front of the house and sit on their front porch, a cold IPA in my hand. I’m truly happy for them, but moments like this show me how far away I am from my goals.
The beer slides down my throat easily, cooling me down. It’s chilly outside this late in the evening, but the restlessness inside warms me. Not long after, I hear the front door opening.
“Oh, it’s you.” Her tone is disappointed, like always when it comes to me. But I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of holding this grudge.
“Yup,” I pop the p . “Don’t sound so delighted.”
“You know what I mean.” She waves me off.
“Aren’t you tired of this?” I point between the two of us. “It was one night almost a year ago. Can’t we get over it and start acting normal?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Our relationship, ” her face scrunches in disgust, “has nothing to do with that one , forgettable night. But don’t expect me to act as one of your fangirls just because we’re hanging out in the same circles. I simply don’t like you.” Her words sting, but if there is one thing our night together wasn’t, it’s forgettable.
“It’s not like I’m your biggest fan either,” I mutter.
“Good. We’re acting accordingly, then.”
I sigh loudly, running my hand through my hair.
“Look.” I turn around to face her. “We’re both in the wedding party.” The whole wedding will be close quarters since it will take place on a yacht. “We’ll have to coexist and cooperate. How about we form a truce? It doesn’t have to be for us, but for Rina and Connor.” She narrows her eyes. “At least until the wedding’s over, and we’re back home.”
A long pause stretches, and I practically feel her calculating her options inside that complicated head of hers.
“Fine. But only for Rina and Connor.” She answers on a sigh. I should feel elated, but I’m aware she’s only doing this for her best friend.
Sitting down next to me, she grabs my beer and takes a long sip of it.
“You’re welcome,” I poke and she punches my shoulder. “Hey, I thought we just made a truce.”
“I’ll need an adjustment period.” She glares at me before her eyes crinkle with laughter, the sound so unexpected, soothing part of the unease within me.
Taking another sip, she gives me the bottle back and heads inside. I finish the bottle and follow her in. The house is silent, with most of the guests in the backyard.
A couple of months ago, they added on a huge chunk of living space, making room for a big open concept living room, dining room, and kitchen and added an office space. I’m sure regular people would still be up to their ears in sawdust, but Connor has enough money to speed things along.
Rina stands with Connor’s hand around her shoulders, next to the bar on the left side of the tent. They are talking to Anne and Noah as Natalie approaches them, and I follow in the same direction.
“Great, now that we’re all here. Let’s talk bachelorette and bachelor parties!” Natalie is the group initiator, as usual.
“I’m good if we merge the two together.” Connor shrugs, eliciting a gasp from Natalie.
“Nope. No, no, no way. As maid of honor, my duty is to give my bride the best bachelorette ever, and I take that duty seriously.”
Anne is quick to agree, so I also give my two cents.
“I have to agree with Natalie on this one.” Everyone’s staring at me, blinking rapidly. Even Natalie’s eyes widen, though she is quick to replace it with a smooth expression.
“Sorry, babe. But I want them separate, too,” Rina says before squealing when Connor tickles her.
“Ok, so it’s done. The best man and the maid of honor will organize two incredible—completely separate—parties.”
“And how will you do that?” Rina asks, her hazel eyes observing us carefully.
“I’ll make a list, of course. Matt and I will work together to make sure there is no overlap until we’re all back on the yacht, ready for bed,” Natalie responds. Others are still staring; now at both of us. Were we really so bad with our bickering that one sentence of agreement is a shock?
Natalie ignores their shock and pulls Rina and Anne to the makeshift dance floor.
“Will I have to bail someone out during this...whatever this is?” Connor asks, gesturing to Natalie and me. Noah chokes on his drink, obviously thinking the same thing.
“Hopefully, not. But have some extra cash at the ready, just in case.” He lets out a low laugh and joins the girls on the dance floor.
“Still not talking about it?” Noah, the silent type, stares at me with his dark eyes.
“Yup.” He snorts at my response. Months ago, he asked me what the hell was going on between us and got the response, ‘Not talking about it.’ Noah doesn’t talk a lot, unlike Natalie, but he notices pretty much everything. The worst thing is I would love to tell him all about it, but I’m respecting her wishes.
We stand in silence while I’m drinking my new beer and watching the way she moves on the dance floor. Her dress tracks every curve on her body. Just another victim, unable to resist her, it follows her movements, billowing around her. Her eyes sparkle under the string of lights, happiness emitting out of her.
When it comes to her, I’m not sure truce is less dangerous than war.