Mistakes We Never Made

13 Thursday Night

(Two days before the wedding)

THE STRING OF CURSEwords that fly out of my mouth would have my mother in conniptions.

“How did Jamie find out about Vegas?”

“Well…” Nikki hesitates. “I told him.”

“You what?”

“Emma, stop shouting at me!” Nikki shouts right back. “He cornered me and asked where Sybil was, and I just panicked. I told him we wanted to do a real bachelorette for her in Vegas.”

“Nikki,” I groan, pulling Finn away from the roulette table to a quieter corner of the casino floor. “I thought we had a plan. You were just supposed to keep him in the dark long enough to give me and Finn time to find Sybil and bring her home.”

“I know, I know. But he asked me straight out. You know I’m not good under that kind of pressure!” It’s true. Nikki’s near inability to lie is something we have in common. Although in my case, the truth always seems to burst from me like a cannonball—too blunt, too critical, with the power to maim. Nikki’s honesty is more like a bubbling champagne bottle, always delivered with a crinkle-eyed laugh or a sheepish smile—completely endearing. It’s what made her such a fan favorite on LovedBy. “But you should be proud of me, Em,” she continues on the phone. “I almost broke down and just told him the whole truth about Sybil running away—”

“Nikki!”

“But I didn’t! I couldn’t once I saw Jamie’s face. You know him, he’s such a sweet teddy bear of a man. I didn’t want to be the one to break his heart.” It makes sense. Nikki, more than anyone, knows what it’s like to have the person you love leave you out to dry right before the big day, after you’ve promised to spend forever together. “Anyway, he said Vegas sounded like a blast, and one of his friends said they could borrow his PJ—”

“His pajamas?”

“His private jet, Emma.” Right. Jamie really is such a sweet, unassuming guy, that I often forget that he and his circle of friends are loaded. “So now he and his entire half of the wedding party are on their way,” Nikki continues. “He told his parents that he and Sybil have food poisoning, so they can’t make the welcome party.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m going to need a spreadsheet to keep track of which lies we’ve told which people.” Which reminds me… “Um, by the way, have you been online at all?” I ask as casually as possible, trying to ascertain if I’m still safe from her learning about the #burritogate video going viral.

“No. I’ve been playing nice with Jamie and his friends all day. Why?” Her voice turns suspicious.

“No reason,” I say. Finn suppresses a chuckle, and I elbow him in the ribs.

“The plane is scheduled to leave at nine thirty p.m.”

“What are we going to do, Nikki?” I hate the desperation in my voice.

“Find Sybil! Just follow that little blue dot and hog-tie her to a blackjack table when you find her. I’ve got to go change into something Vegas-y. I’ll text you when we land.”

I hang up with Nikki and start frantically looking up flight times and drive times, feeling like one of those headset-wearing tech-whiz characters in an action TV show, coaching the main character on how to defuse a bomb. “Okay, they leave at nine thirty p.m., an hour from now, it’s a thirty-minute flight, and Google says it’ll take less than twenty minutes for them to get to the casino from the airport. Which means we have less than two hours to locate Sybil before Jamie arrives and realizes anything is amiss. We need to find her. Now.”

Finn gives me a nod and leads me back toward the lobby. If I wasn’t so stressed about finding Sybil, I might be impressed with how smoothly Finn and I are able to transition from pressing against each other at the roulette table—seemingly moments away from crashing through the barrier of “just friends” yet again—to throwing ourselves headlong into problem-solving mode. How our chemistry extends beyond just the obvious physical attraction to the kind of mind-meld partnership that made us such a good debate team back in the day.

We make our way out of Caesars Palace, because Sybil’s blue dot, which had been relatively stable for a few hours, has now started bouncing around, ping-ponging back and forth between the various casinos. She seems to have covered every square inch of the Strip.

“What is she even doing?” I ask, but Finn just shrugs his shoulders.

“Maybe she’s trying to dodge us, or maybe she’s trying to wrangle a troupe of lost circus monkeys. I can’t pretend to understand what goes on in her mind.”

“This is such a nightmare,” I say. “We aren’t any closer to finding Sybil now than when we got here an hour ago.”

“Maybe we need to shift tactics. Why don’t we throw out a little bait and let Sybil come to us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, post a photo of us having a good time. We’ll see if Sybil checks it. Maybe she’ll come out of the woodwork to join us.” My face must show how unconvinced I am, so Finn continues. “Look, the last time you freaked out about finding Sybil, which was only”—he looks down at his watch—“seven hours ago, you literally fainted and fell into the ocean.”

“I didn’t fall. You caught me.”

Finn smiles, and something flutters in my stomach. A pang of regret shoots through me that I was unconscious during Finn’s rescue. As I look up into his deep brown eyes, my hand seems to move of its own volition, resting right over his heart. He curls his fingers around mine, and his eyes drop to my mouth. My body sways toward him, and he snaps to attention. “You’re barely able to stay on your feet. The only thing you’ve had since lunch is coffee and tequila, so I’m making the executive decision that we’re going to get dinner. We’ll snap a selfie of us eating something amazing, and Sybil will join us before dessert. It just might work—and even if it doesn’t, at least we get a meal.” I’m not sure lack of food is what has me swaying toward him, but I don’t correct Finn. He throws his arm around my shoulder and leads me toward the Bellagio. I try to ignore how perfectly I fit under his arm, how good he smells, and how safe I feel tucked up against him. I know this idea of luring Sybil to us via a fun selfie is ridiculous, but Finn’s right—we need to eat. I won’t be any good to Sybil—or Nikki and Jamie when they arrive—if I’m collapsed on the (questionably sticky) casino carpet. Plus, it’s nice to let someone else take the lead for once. When we reach the Bellagio, Finn maneuvers us toward a swanky sushi restaurant.

Reluctantly, I pull myself away from Finn and say, “We can just go to the food court. We don’t need to grab something fancy.”

“You think we’re going to lure Sybil out of hiding with Sbarro?” Finn asks with mock outrage. “No. This needs to be the meal of a lifetime.”

I roll my eyes at his commitment to the bit—this excuse that we’re concocting for ourselves about why taking a break for dinner is actually in service to our mission—but secretly I’m grateful. I’m not sure what it means that justifying things this way feels safer to me. Maybe it’s because it saves me from having to be vulnerable and actually express my own wants and needs. But that’s stupid. Why can’t I just say that I’m hungry, damn it, and I want to eat sitting down… with Finn? I think back to earlier this evening, at the fountain. Isn’t there something that you want just for you? Finn asked me. Yes, yes there is.

“And besides,” Finn starts to say. Then he pauses, looking me straight in the eye. I suddenly feel light-headed, but that’s probably just because, like Finn said, I’ve been running on caffeine and alcohol since lunchtime. Not because Finn is looking at me like it’s me he wants to devour, and not some sashimi. “I’ve owed you a nice dinner since junior year.”

And with that, Finn presses past me toward the host stand.

“A table for two, please,” Finn says, beginning to look at the menu on the wall.

“Of course.” The host smiles. “Unfortunately, we do have a dress code.”

“Oh.” I look down at my (Finn’s) sweatshirt, shorts, and flip-flops. Not exactly fancy sushi restaurant attire.

To soften the blow, she adds, “We require that gentlemen wear jackets.”

“Ah, right. I’ve got a sport coat in my car,” Finn says, stepping away from the host’s. “I’m sure it’s wrinkled to hell, but it should do. Why don’t you go grab an outfit from one of the ten million shops around. I’m going to grab a room so I can shower. I’ll leave a key for you at the front desk so you can, too, and then we can meet under the Eiffel Tower in an hour? I’ll find us a place to grab dinner.”

I nod, realizing that my impromptu ocean dip during the kayaking fiasco has left my hair a crunchy, tangled disaster. A shower would be great. Though mostly I’m just fighting myself not to picture Finn taking his shower.

“See you soon,” Finn says with an easy grin.

I wander into the first store that doesn’t look like I’ll need to spend a month’s rent, and start flipping through racks. I haven’t been shopping recently, partly because I haven’t had the budget, but mostly I just haven’t needed to. My life has been a predictable routine of work, home, work, home.

I’m about to go try on a simple black shift dress, when something else catches my eye. A jade silk dress with a high boatneck. It’s definitely over the top, and I certainly don’t need to be spending hundreds of dollars on a dress I can’t also wear to the office. But I imagine what Sybil would say if she were beside me… Em, you have to at least try it on. Look at that color. It’s perfect for you.

I pull the jade dress from the rack before I can talk myself out of it, and head straight to the dressing room. The bodice nips in at the waist, then fans out into an A-line skirt that’s short enough not to look too demure. The fabric skims my upper thigh, and a shiver runs through me as I remember my dream from this afternoon. Finn’s hands, grazing my legs… In the mirror, my cheeks flush pink as I wonder what Sybil would say about that. The answer is so obvious, it brings a smirk to my face: Go get it, girl! I leave the black dress swinging on its hanger in the dressing room and walk toward the register. I grab a pair of strappy gold sandals in my size and pay, wishing Sybil were actually here shopping with me.

I pop into Sephora to grab some makeup essentials, then hurry back to the hotel. There’s a key for me at the front desk just like Finn said, and as I step into the room, my heart sticks in my throat, wondering if I might catch Finn like I did this morning, with his brown skin glistening, wet and warm and just a towel wrapped around his waist. The air is humid from a recent shower, but the room is empty. I try not to think too hard about the feeling of disappointment that settles in my stomach. I take a lightning-fast shower and blow out my hair using my fingers as a brush. The result is a softy, beachy look—a little more relaxed than the usual smooth treatment I give my long bob.

Taking a step back from the hotel mirror, I feel… beautiful. I know this outfit is just something we need to get a meal, but the butterflies in my stomach and the ritual of getting ready have started to trick my brain into feeling like this is a real date. A bemused snort escapes me as I realize that in all the years Finn and I have been circling each other, we’ve never actually gone on a real date. Never done the whole dinner-and-a-movie routine. It’s kind of wild to think about, given everything we have done together. I grab my new brick-red lipstick and pull another swipe across my bottom lip as my mind turns over this realization. Is it possible I’ve been avoiding the typical courting rituals with Finn because I’m afraid of getting hurt by him again, like I did at prom or Katie Dalton’s wedding? Have I been stopping myself from making a big mistake, or has the mistake been not letting myself really go there with Finn?

It feels like I’m about to find out.

Before I leave the hotel room, I gather up my discarded clothes into the empty shopping bag from the boutique. Looking in the mirror, I smack my lips once more and whisper a plea—my own reflection standing in for my absent friend.

“Wish me luck, Sybs.”