Chapter 13 Aspen
ASPEN
MARCH
“What do you mean, you’re already here?” I question.
Arthur texted me a picture of him at O’Hare saying “See you soon” with no prior warning that he was visiting.
“Well, you were only giving me one word answers in our texts and blowing off all my calls, so I decided to come in person,” he explains. Of course he did.
“And you didn’t think you should give me any warning?”
“I’ve called you five times in the last week,” he reminds me. Alright, he’s got me there.
“I’ve been very busy,” I insist, which is only a half-truth. As much as I love Arthur, and have enjoyed keeping up with him over the years, I know when he wants something from me. I’m not in the mood to deal with his schemes right now.
“Come on, Aspen, meet me for dinner,” he begs. “I’ve got reservations at X in an hour. Sorry, I did intend to give you more warning than that, but my flight was delayed, and I wasn’t able to tell you sooner.”
“Fine.” I give in. He did come all this way, supposedly just to see me. Might as well find out what he wants. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Would you rather I come to your new place first? I haven’t seen it yet,” he points out.
I don’t need Sage overhearing whatever family drama no doubt brought Arthur here.
If he picked a public restaurant for us to catch up in, there’s a reason.
If it has something to do with me still being in the closet, I’d rather talk to him about it alone.
I’ll tell her an edited version later tonight if needed.
“No, I’ll be getting ready. I’ll see you there. ”
The restaurant Arthur picked is fancier than I anticipated.
Luckily, I tend to dress more formally than most, so my choice blends in with the rest of the crowd, but I’m a little surprised he didn’t warn me.
“Damn, Art, when did you get such fancy taste?” I tease as we’re seated at the white-linen-covered table.
It’s topped with a vase of red roses in the middle and everything.
“Are you complaining?” he teases back. Arthur and I are still close even though we don’t see each other often. It’s nice to fall back into our same routine, though.
“No, this just isn’t what I was expecting,” I explain. The waiter comes by and we put in our orders. When we’re alone, I decide I’m done waiting for him to tell me whatever really brought him here. “So, spit it out. Why are you really in Chicago?”
He gives me a questioning look, like he’s checking if I’m still teasing or not. “Come on, Aspen, you’ve got to know,” he starts. But I have no idea what he’s talking about, so I shake my head and gesture for him to continue.
He sits up a bit straighter in his chair, and takes a deep breath before finally continuing.
“We’re almost thirty. It’s time,” he says.
Then to my absolute horror, he pulls out a ring box, placing it on the table between us.
I nearly jump out of my seat with how surprised I am.
Luckily, I stop myself, knowing that that would only cause a bigger scene.
I scramble to cover the ring box before he can do something even more idiotic like get down on one knee.
“What?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. “Is this not what you pictured? Would you rather we go to the beach or a rooftop, somewhere we could take a nice photo to post?”
“No!” I hiss. “I would rather you put that fucking box away so I never see it again.”
He looks exhausted now, slumping back in his chair as he stares at me disapprovingly.
“Aspen, you had to know that this was coming.” He says it so simply.
Like we’re talking about what food we’ve ordered, not a damn marriage proposal.
“We’ve talked about it since we were kids.
Neither of us has had any real relationships.
As far as I know, Sage doesn’t even realize that you’re not straight,” he continues, and I’m not sure why that detail matters right now.
“Aspen, it’s time that we embrace the inevitable and get married. ”
“Like fuck it is,” I spit out. I can’t help it. I know I should try to be calm and rational right now, but I can’t hold back my emotions as I respond. “I’m not marrying you, Arthur. I know we used to joke about it growing up, but—”
“It wasn’t a joke,” he interrupts. “Our parents fully expect us to be married in a year. They’ve been asking me incessantly about proposing for the last two.
I would never expect anything physically from you, you know that.
It would just be for show. We can figure out a way to discreetly see other people,” he says casually.
What. The. Fuck? Is this really happening? He continues before I can interrupt.
“And I’m not asking you to give up your career. I’m so proud of everything that you’ve accomplished here, Aspen,” he encourages with a warm smile. “You can keep the store and open another location in Atlanta.”
“You expect me to move back to Atlanta?” I repeat, my tone making it clear how bad of a decision I think that would be.
“Well… yeah. I’ve put in the time at my law firm now, and made the connections I need to.
I’m ready to get into politics, and there’s no one else who would understand the position I’m in, hiding my real goals from my family for so long,” he explains.
“I can’t exactly have a political career in Chicago.
I don’t know anyone else here or anything about the local governments or policies that I would need.
We’ve always talked about helping to change Georgia, to make its politics more liberal, to help the people there who have been ignored by their representatives in favor of money for so long. ”
“Come on, Arthur. You’ve always talked about doing that, not me,” I remind him. “You know that I support you. I want you to follow your political dreams and make those changes, but you don’t really need me to do any of it.”
“I might not need you,” he huffs out with an eye roll.
“But you know politicians are more successful when they’re married.
And what’s your plan? Doesn’t your dad still own a huge chunk of your company?
Do you think he’s just going to let your thirtieth birthday pass without demanding some sort of change from you? ”
I’ve been trying not to think about that. I’ve ignored all their phone calls and not-so-subtle suggestions to move “home” for a while now. “I still have a year to figure something out,” I remind him.
He huffs out another sigh. “What’s different now than a year from now?” he questions. “I know this isn’t what you had hoped would happen, but we need to be realistic here and make the most of it.”
Make the most of what? There is absolutely no way in hell I’m moving back to Atlanta.
It’s not even the thought of being in a pretend relationship that has me so adamantly refusing this scenario.
But I cannot go back to Atlanta. Chicago is my home now.
I’m not giving up the amazing life I’ve built here just because my dad loaned me money years ago.
“Are you worried that Sage won’t move back with us?” he asks, probably trying to understand why I’m so against his plan. “You know she would follow you anywhere.”
I don’t know that actually. “No, Arthur, that isn’t my concern,” I insist, because Sage moving back or not isn’t a variable we need to even consider when I’m not leaving.
“You’re still one of my closest friends, and I am not trying to offend you in anyway or fuck up your plans by refusing this, but I will not move back to Atlanta.
Period. I refuse to be around my shitty family anymore than is absolutely necessary. ”
To his credit, Arthur doesn’t seem hurt at all by my refusal. His weary expression makes me think he doesn’t believe that I won’t eventually give in, though.
I need him to believe me. I don’t want this causing tension between us, so I attempt to explain.
“I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get my dad to give up his shares for a while now.
There’s no reason that he should still have so much control over my life and the company when he’s made back his investment and then some.
I’ll figure something out, but this”—I gesture between us—“is not the answer.”
Fuck moving. I gave up on seeing any of the trust money that I would get by marrying a man a long time ago. But I’ve been trying not to focus on the fact that my father still has so much power when it comes to my company. I really do need to figure out a way to get rid of him.
I think back to that day, when he offered to invest after asking when Arthur and I would get engaged. “What is it that we said all those years ago?” I ask, trying to remember. “If we didn’t find true love by the time we were thirty, then we would get married?” I check.
He nods. “Yeah, something like that to get your dad to give you more time,” he agrees.
Okay, I can work with that. “Well, then I’m going to find someone in Chicago,” I tell him.
Honestly, Arthur’s proposed lavender relationship idea doesn’t sound like a bad option at this point in my life.
I’ve accepted the fact that I’m in love with my best friend and have been for the last ten years.
I don’t see that changing anytime soon, and I’ve yet to meet anyone else I have an interest in being in a real relationship with.
Maybe having a fake boyfriend—one who doesn’t actually expect any affection from me—would be the perfect solution to keeping my family out of my business and give me the time I need to figure out a plan for my dad’s shares.
How does one go about finding a fake boyfriend?
Do I post an ad online? That seems risky…
Maybe I can find someone else in a similar situation.
I can’t be the only person who’s in the closet in this city.
In fact, as I’m running through this plan, considering all my options, I realize that I don’t even think I’m the only person in my building.
Those two guys who are always at the gym are constantly checking each other out. But with all the time that we’ve spent working out opposite them, I’ve never seen them actually show any physical affection toward each other.
I’ve wondered a few times if they were hiding a romantic relationship.
Maybe one of them would be willing to pretend to date me.