Chapter Twelve The World’s Worst Pizza Party
Chapter Twelve
The World’s Worst Pizza Party
It’s awkward, Nikki and me dancing around each other as I feed the cat and tidy up the apartment—things that once upon a time
we used to do together in another house, in another life, in what feels like another universe. What used to be so routine,
so common, now feels so stilted and strange.
Nikki stands awkwardly in the doorway, watching me move around a kitchen she’s never been in before, feeding the cat she hasn’t
seen in half a decade.
“You can sit,” I say, gesturing to the living room just a few steps away.
“Okay,” she says. She takes a minute to study the bookshelf I have set up beside the couch, trailing her fingers down their
spines with a little smile. “You still collect all these flower books? God, I remember in between takes that first season
you would practically run for your library bag. If your nose wasn’t buried in a script, it was buried in one of these books.
I was practically doing backflips to get you to look up at me.”
“You were not,” I say, rinsing out the can and dropping it into recycling while Gouda trills appreciatively around bites of food.
“I was!” she says. “You would put on your headphones and curl up in the bed on set like it really was your room. I would come
tumbling by, desperate to get you to look up. I didn’t lie in that chapter you read! I was obsessed with getting you to notice me and you were impossible. Why do you think I kept stealing your stuff?”
“I was just trying to read!” I laugh. “I needed a minute to escape and all that.”
“I know. I was so jealous.”
“Jealous?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“I wanted your eyes on me,” she says. “I’d never wanted to be a book so bad in my life.”
I meet her eyes now, the tension between us tight, tight, tight again, like a rubber band about to snap. “Nikki . . .” I say
softly.
“Andy . . .” She smiles. I don’t bother to correct her because in this tiny bubble, for the first time in a long time, I don’t
feel like being somebody else. I don’t want to wear someone else’s name or live their life. Seeing her in my living room somehow
makes me want to both forget the past and live in it forever.
Even if only for a minute.
Nikki takes a step toward me and then another until she’s crowding into my space.
“My friends will be here soon,” I whisper.
“I know.” Her face is so close to mine, the almost-kiss from before flashing forward into something real and tangible now. Nikki would barely have to lean forward for our lips to meet, and she seems to realize that she’ll have to be the one to bridge the gap this time.
“I should have kissed you that day in the shop,” she says. Her breath ghosts over mine the way it has a million times before
and I never thought it would again.
I know on some level this is wrong. Too soon, too fast, too early, never again, and not now. We have so, so much to talk about,
and I don’t know if I even want to forgive her. If I should? If I can? If she’ll even show tomorrow—but none of that matters
with her Tobacco Vanille Tom Ford perfume clouding my brain and the heat of her lips just millimeters from mine. She was always
so warm for me. Inviting and hot, her body made for mine as much as mine was made for hers. Who are we to deny—
The sound of footsteps on the stairs leading up to my open apartment door has me jumping away, laughing nervously. Nikki gestures
to kick the door shut before dropping back against the wall, like she needs it to hold her up. She presses her fingers up
to her lips with a quiet shh—as if Johnny and Regan will somehow decide we aren’t home if we’re quiet enough, letting us get
back to where we were.
Home.
That word again. It’s like ice water splashing all over my hyped-up libido. Because this is my home, not hers, and as confusing as it is to see her standing in it, that doesn’t make it any less true.
“Did you get chips? I’m all out,” I call down the hall, and Nikki visibly deflates.
“Of course we got chips,” Johnny says, beating Regan to the top of the stairs. He’s got a grocery bag full of goodies, as well as a case of the horribly cheap beer we all like so much. It’s $9.99 a case on sale. You can’t beat it.
Regan follows right behind him, carrying a giant pizza and some take-out boxes. “I wasn’t sure if Nikki was eating or not,
so I got a lot to be safe.”
“Oh, I can’t really indulge but thank you anyway,” she says politely.
“You can’t even eat a slice of pizza?” Johnny asks, barely covering his disdain. “Gotta keep the whole unrealistic body standards
thing going, right? Corrupt the minds of little girls and all that?”
“I, uh, love pizza actually,” Nikki says, shifting uncomfortably. “I just . . . forget it, yeah I’d love some.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, hating how uncomfortable all of this is.
Johnny grins as he passes her a paper plate with the biggest, greasiest piece of the whole pie. She’s barely got it in her
hand before he’s popped the lid off a beer and passed it along to her too.
“Oh, thanks,” she says, taking it awkwardly and then heading to the couch, where Regan has already sat down with refreshments
of her own.
“Be nice,” I remind Johnny as soon as she’s gone. She’s not out of earshot—no place in my apartment really is—but it’s the
closest thing to privacy we’re going to have without me dragging him into the bathroom.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I’m asking you to.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says, passing me a slice.
“I don’t know the answer, honestly, but seriously—this is already weird enough. Can you be civil for me for a little while? She won’t be here long. Promise.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of her whole deal, right? Popping in to stir up drama whenever it’s convenient for her.”
“Johnny.”
He holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m behaving. I even opened her beer.”
“After you shamed her into eating pizza.”
“It’s good pizza.”
“It is,” Nikki interjects, holding up her half-eaten slice just in case we need proof. So much for privacy. “I was starving, actually,” she adds. “Thanks for offering.”
“Anytime, friend,” Johnny says. He tucks his beer under his arm, shoves a slice of pizza into his mouth, and uses his free hand to drag one
of my chairs away from the corner and directly across from the love seat that Regan and Nikki are sitting on. He looks like
he’s about to interrogate them, but then reluctantly settles back into his seat, chewing thoughtfully.
I move from the kitchen to the living room, leaning against the wall tentatively in case I need to—I don’t know—leap in between
them at any point. It’s confusing, how I feel both overprotective of Nikki and ready to throw her to the wolves. How I want to keep her far, far away from my friends, while also imagining what it would
be like if they all got along.
Probably best I just stay neutral. I take a swig of my beer, glancing between everyone. As if that’s even possible.
“So, how long are you in town?” Regan asks politely, apparently happy to break the ice.
“I’m not sure.” Nikki shrugs, taking another bite. “I think a little while, if it’s okay with you,” she asks, looking over at me. “I have a break in filming for a minute and hopefully I can stay here and keep working on the book.”
“It’s your life,” I say, taking another swig of beer. Since when does she care if I want her here or not?
“Maybe, yeah. For the first time.” She carries her plate into the kitchen. “Do you have any water?”
“What’s wrong with the beer? Not expensive enough for your tastes?” Johnny asks.
“It’s certainly more expensive than tap water, and I’m fine with that. You’re going to have to try a little harder to be rude
next time.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry, I will.”
“Johnny, cut it out,” I sigh. “Don’t go all fake alpha asshole. Your favorite movie is 13 Going on 30, for god’s sake! You cry every time we watch Iron Giant. This isn’t you, even if she doesn’t know that. Either be cool or come back in an hour when she heads out.”
“Yeah. She’s clearly not gonna blow you, bro,” Nikki says, apparently having had enough of his glaring. “So relax.”
My face goes hot when she says that and her eyes widen as she notices, her head tipping forward in disbelief. She flicks her
eyes to Johnny, who’s now wincing like things have taken an ugly turn even for him.
“I need another beer,” Regan says, throwing her napkin down.
The fact that Johnny and I slept together isn’t really a sore subject or anything—like I said, we’ve all talked it through. Still, I’m sure it’s not fun for Regan to have it randomly pop up at a pizza party that her bestie is part of her almost, semi, kind of if you squint boyfriend’s body count.
“This guy?” Nikki seethes. “Seriously? What the hell, Andy?”
“Anne,” I say, because she doesn’t get to judge me for anything I did to move on from her. Not even this. “Did you think I
would stay celibate forever?”
“No, but he’s an absolute prick, Anne. You could do so much better.”
“Hey,” Johnny says before casually taking another swig of my beer. “At least I don’t cry in the middle of going d—”
“Jesus, Johnny!” Regan shouts, looking as furious with him as I am.
Nikki sets her glass of water down and squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them, they’re wetter than I expected.
“I . . .” I stumble over my words, because how do you apologize for sharing private, intimate information with someone who
was only too happy to weaponize it. “I shouldn’t have told anyone about—”
“It’s fine,” Nikki says, rushing over to grab her bag and coat from where she draped them over the chair at my small kitchen
table. “I should really get going anyway. Thank you for inviting me but this isn’t . . . I’m not . . . Bye.”
“Nikki,” I call, but she’s already bolting down the stairs, the jingling of the bells over the shop door turning to angry
clanging as she pulls on it roughly in a hurry to get it unlocked.
Nobody says anything for a minute as I stare down the stairwell after her. A hint of her perfume still lingers in the hallway,
and I fight the urge to breathe in deep—only resisting because I’m too angry to enjoy it.
I turn back to Johnny, ready to dress him down, but Regan beats me to it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she screeches at him. “You’re being disgusting. Do you really think that helps anything?
Anything at all?! You should be ashamed of yourself!”
He looks devastated by her scolding, as if it’s just now occurred to him how far he crossed the line. “I’m so sorry,” he says—I
assume he means it for me, but he’s still only looking at her. “I was out of line.” He shifts his eyes toward me. “I’m not
trying to be an asshole, Annie. I don’t mean to be. I just don’t want you and Regan caught in the crosshairs of all this drama.”
“I know,” I snap. “But that’s not your decision.”
“Don’t you remember what it was like when you first came here? You were half dead! Regan and I practically had to force you
to eat and sleep, let alone leave your apartment! The stories you told us about what your life was like before, about what
she did to you . . .” He trails off, shaking his head. “But you’re going to take her back?”
“No! Of course not!” I say, ignoring the way my belly flips at the idea.
I know deep down there is no universe where we work out. If there was, we would have that first time, right? But still . . .
she’s always been, will always be, my biggest what if.
What if we put each other first? What if we ran away when Hollywood got too heavy? What if I never left? What if she turned
things around? What if love was enough, just this once?
“Then why does it matter if I’m nice to her or not?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Because she’s a human being?” I offer.
“Human beings are not inherently worthy of respect and kindness,” he says. “If we were talking about a dog or Gouda, then yes, but people? People are awful.”
“You were awful tonight,” Regan says. “The second I told you they were in the coffee shop you had to go charging over like some
meathead. It was ugly. I hated seeing that side of you! It’s everything I don’t want in my life. Besides, you haven’t seen them in the shop, John. It’s not how you’re picturing. It’s not for us
to decide how Annie gets closure!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to hold it together. “I get that you two were ground zero when I crashed here. I’ve
never had friends who cared this much, and I’m super grateful for that, but . . .” I sigh. “I have to navigate this however
I think is best. You don’t have to support it or even hear about it—especially you, Johnny, if it really triggers you or something.
But you do have to let me, even if I screw it all up. Okay? Because I have always let the both of you.”
Regan and Johnny look at each other, probably registering for the first time that Nikki and I aren’t the only two people in
town being ridiculous about each other.
“You’re right,” Johnny says, a sad, crooked smile on his face. “I promise I’ll rein it in.” Regan reaches her arm behind him
to rub his back gently and he looks at her like she just handed him his whole heart back. “Are we okay?” he whispers, and
as much as I want to finish this group therapy session that’s happening in my living room, I can’t.
I owe someone an apology tonight too—if I can find her.
It wasn’t my story to share what happened between Nikki and me the last few times we made love—the way she cried, the way I held her, the way I knew then it was already all over.
I hadn’t meant to share it. It had slipped out the night of her book announcement, when we were watching an interview where she came off cocksure and braggy about her sexual prowess.
I was too many beers in to think rationally, but drunk or not, it was wrong of me.
How can I argue that she can’t tell our story when I’ve been telling it myself for years—albeit to a much smaller audience.
“I’m going to go try to find her,” I say. “Would you two mind throwing the food in the fridge and letting yourselves out?”
“It’s the least we could do,” Regan says, giving Johnny a small smile.
“Sorry again, Annie,” he says, grabbing the paper plates off the table in front of him.
“I know,” I say softly. “I know.”