Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SOPHIE
“I missed all of that?” Otis asks, looking dejected.
We’re sitting at the breakfast table at ten on Saturday.
It’s a bit late, especially since my shift starts at noon, but I didn’t sleep much last night. After leaving Buchanan Brewery, Hannah, Briar, and I went to Prohibition, a speakeasy-style bar, to get another drink so we could dissect our conversation with Rob and the other guys. Basically, they wanted to know everything Rob had said to me.
I told them most of it, including a suspicion I hadn’t shared with Rob, that GingerBeerBabe might be helping Jonah. A woman had made that call to Rob’s caseworker, and even though I didn’t like Patricia, I couldn’t see her condescending to do that.
“But why would he be banned from The Ginger Station if she’s still into him?” Hannah asked, which was a good point.
“I’ll check with that bartender,” I offered, because apparently she and Dottie have been trading recipes.
The only thing I kept from my friends was my information-sharing pact with Rob. I trust Hannah and Briar, but I’m not ready to tell them about my past either. I’m worried they would judge me.
I couldn’t bear it if they did.
“So he wants to practice pretending to be a couple?” Hannah said, wagging her eyebrows. “You know, you really should have seen the look on Jonah’s face last night. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m just gonna say it. You should definitely make him suffer more by sleeping with Rob.”
“Hannah,” I said. “That’s a terrible idea. He’s Jonah’s brother.”
Briar lifted a finger. “Agreed. I’m going off men for at least six months, and then I’m only going to date people who adhere to a very specific checklist.”
“Eating granola?” Hannah asked. “Believing in crystals?”
Briar gave her the side-eye. “Not being a cheater or related to a man who cheated on me would be a good start.”
I sighed. “Briar’s right. If Rob and I got together, I’d have to see Jonah all the time. I wouldn’t be able to escape him.”
Hannah laughed, her eyes flashing with mischief. “Yeah, I’m sure the two of them are going to hang up Christmas stockings for each other.”
That almost put tears in my eyes. “Did I ruin his relationship with his brother forever?”
“They hated each other anyway,” she replied. “You said so.”
I had said so. I’d thought so. I still think so. I’m ninety percent sure Jonah did something awful to Rob, something unforgivable , but the only way I can find out is by telling Rob my own story.
“What about his father?” I asked. “His relationship with him sounded complicated anyway. What if I’ve destroyed it?”
Hannah shrugged. “Shouldn’t you leave that up to him?”
Maybe she was right, but I slept fitfully anyway last night. Then I got up and made pancakes for Otis, because he’d texted me to say that he’d accidentally captured the wrong pigeon and had claw marks all over his arms.
We glumly ate them while I told him all about what had happened at the brewery last night.
“I would’ve come if I’d known that would happen,” he continues.
“Trust me,” I say, pushing away my plate. “It was not fun. Catching that pigeon was probably more fun.”
“It was kind of fun.” My cousin sighs and runs a hand through his already-messy hair. “I had to use my wits to set the trap. But it was a bummer when I figured out I’d been chasing the wrong bird the whole time.”
This feels a little too close to home for some reason. I get to my feet, grabbing my plate. I’m about to grab his, too, when I realize I’m doing it again. Parenting my cousin. Trying to take care of other people’s problems so they’ll think I’m helpful. So I leave his plate and bring mine to the sink.
Otis doesn’t even hesitate to bring his things into the kitchen too.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You seem a little, well…you’re not going to do the fork-and-ice-cream thing again, are you? I mean…if you want more ice cream, I picked up some extra spoons you can use.”
I hug him spontaneously, which seems to make him nervous, but what a completely Otis thing to do, buying more spoons instead of cleaning the ones we already have. Or buying the actual ice cream, for that matter. At the same time, it shows he cares and was thinking about me. “Thank you, Otis. That’s wonderful. I’ll make sure to use one later.”
He pulls back. “Uh…okay. Do you want to talk about the Briggs Mayers thing? Maybe you should take it too?” He scratches nervously behind his ear. “I haven’t wanted to say anything, but you’re always making things.” He gestures to the room at large, and I can’t deny it’s full of an unusual number of craft projects, even for me. Crafting is my nervous tic. “Are you fulfilled? Don’t you want to do that craft business?”
Yes.
“I don’t have the money to do that right now, Otis.” Heat burns behind my eyes. “That wedding dress took out most of my savings, and I lost most of the money I poured into the business in Greensboro.”
“Really?” he asks, looking perplexed. “How much could your dress have possibly cost? Two hundred? Three?”
“Much more,” I say, touched by his naivety.
“Do you want me to try to sell it online for you?”
“You’d do that?”
“I just need to know how much it cost.”
Embarrassed, I look away and mutter, “Eight thousand.”
He drops his dish, and it shatters, spraying syrup and pottery shards everywhere.
“Sorry,” he says. “But did you say eight thousand ?”
“It’s vintage.”
“Is it a car?”
I’d never really bought myself any nice clothes before buying that dress. I’d thought it was wasteful and vain to focus on myself. But Jonah had proposed, and then it had become something I was doing for someone else. I didn’t want him to be embarrassed of me, and he’d made a point of telling me to choose something fancy. So I’d tried it on, fallen in love, and it had felt okay, because it was for him, really.
It wasn’t until I’d gone shopping with Hannah and Briar that I’d actually let myself buy things that were just for me. For no greater reason than that I liked how I looked in them.
My phone chirps with a text, and I’m grateful for the distraction. (And, yes, I may have turned the volume on because I was hoping to hear from a certain someone.)
Picking it up, I see Rob’s name, and my pulse quickens. What is happening to me? When I was with Jonah, I felt a sense of satisfaction, of having done well for myself, and I tipped my diamond ring into every shaft of light just to watch it sparkle. But I never felt like this.
Otis starts to clean up the broken dish. Part of me feels guilty, like I should put down what I’m doing and help him, or take over. But I muffle the feeling as I read Rob’s message.
Dottie turned my face blue. But now it’s only black and blue, so my day’s looking up.
I gasp when I see the two photos he sent through. One of his face looking bright blue, the second of the black and blue radiating out from his nose.
I’m so sorry.
I’m the one who’s sorry, Soph. It’s not even eleven, and you’ve already exceeded your apology quota for the rest of the day. I’m not sure what you’ll do with yourself now.
I suppose I could start thanking you. Or just give in and go to sleep so I can start apologizing again in the morning.
That’s defeatist thinking, Pollyanna.
I spoke with my caseworker, and she said she’d like to meet you at my apartment. She’s on vacation for a week and a half, but she asked if we could meet the Thursday after next. Would that work?
Sure, I can do that.
“Oh, good, you’re smiling,” Otis comments. “Is it Hannah? You always smile when you’re talking to Hannah.”
I hide my phone’s screen with my hand, not sure why I feel the need to conceal the truth, but slightly panicked. Another chirp sounds. “Yeah, it’s Hannah. She’s funny.”
He grunts. “Well, think about what I said.” He gestures to my handiwork again. “Crafting, I mean. Would you like me to list the dress?”
I think about what it felt like to wear the dress, like I was a desirable, beautiful woman. The kind of woman a man would be proud to marry.
But I bought the dress for Jonah. To impress him and make him proud. And now that I’ve had my one day with it, I don’t want it anymore.
I nod. “Please. It’s dead to me.”
“Women are so melodramatic.”
“Says the man who’s so obsessed with Briar he turned down a fictional date with Hannah.”
He sighs. “Touché.” Only he pronounces it toosh .
He goes to leave, then pauses, giving me a sidelong look. “I think we’re both going to be okay, Soph.”
I smile at him, feeling a sweet warmth in my chest. I never had a brother. Or a sister. Or even a dog. So I wasn’t sure what to do with Otis when I first moved here. But it feels like we’re becoming closer, more like siblings. He’s buying spoons for me, and I’m making him pancakes, and we’re supporting each other’s dreams. That’s something. Maybe even a lot.
“Thanks, Otis,” I say, and then I rush forward and hug him. He’s sticky with syrup, and probably half terrified, but it feels good.
He pulls back and pats me on the shoulder with a goofy smile on his face, then leaves the kitchen. He missed a big shard of the broken dish, but at least he tried.
I clean it up and then retrieve my phone, carrying it over to the small kitchen table. My heart pumps faster as I get closer to the moment when I’ll be able to check my messages, but I tell myself that’s normal. It’s only because I’m anxious about this mess I’ve created for myself.
I unlock the phone’s screen and look at Rob’s latest texts like they’re a present I’ve unwrapped.
Perfect. That gives us time to prepare. Want to meet up after your shift tonight?
We could get a late dinner.
My heart beats faster, giving me away to myself.
Fake date.
Anything else would be impossible. He’s Jonah’s brother, for one thing, and for another, I just got out of a relationship that fell apart in a spectacular mess. I’m not ready for another.
Even so, my heart warms as I text him back.
We could. Should we?
Yes.
Jonah’s favorite restaurant is Curate, but I don’t know how late it’s open.
Couldn’t give a fuck what his favorite restaurant is. What’s yours?
My mouth forms an ‘O’ as I try to process that. He’d said we should go places where Jonah might see us, but this…
He’s asking me where I want to go. Admittedly, there aren’t that many places open after ten, but there are some. I write:
I like pizza.
Thank God. I’d worry about you otherwise.
I know just the place.
I’ll pick you up from the brewery.
What a good fake boyfriend.
Way to find the silver lining, Pollyanna. ;-)
To be clear, this isn’t a date, is it?
Nope, but I’m looking forward to our Not-a-Date.
Me too.
I’m smiling to myself as I get dressed for work, choosing a pair of shorts and a top that’s not Buchanan branded. Then I text Hannah and Briar to share the latest news.
Hannah: You stroked your crystal necklace, didn’t you? This was a quick result. It sounds an awful lot like a REAL date.
Briar: It does.
Briar: Please be careful.
Briar: Rob’s really nice, and so are his friends, but we can’t forget he’s Jonah’s brother.
Hannah: You don’t trust men in general right now.
Briar: True.
Hannah: Well, let it be known that I’m NOT encouraging her to marry Rob instead. But I do think you should have rebound sex with him, Sophie. You owe it to yourself.
Me: He’s NOT interested in that.
Hannah: He’s a man.
Briar: She has a point. Meet up before our shifts tomorrow so you can tell us everything?
Me: Yes.
Briar’s words give me hesitation.
Am I setting myself up for disaster again?
I remind myself it’s a fake date. Sure, Rob isn’t the man I thought he was, and I’m not the woman he assumed I was, but that doesn’t mean we’re suddenly going to be an item. We can be friends, maybe. Friends who are helping each other out in a very unusual way.
And maybe…
Well. He is very attractive, and I need to get my groove back. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to take Hannah’s advice. Out of curiosity, I check a couple of message boards I’ve joined for scorned women to see what my fellow cheating victims have to say about rebound sex. Everyone seems very pro rebounding!
But no, no. I can’t sleep with him. I shouldn’t. Still, I change into a short blue dress that I picked out with my friends, feeling almost giddy—and very naughty—as I slip it on.
You’re not going to sleep with him.
But would it be the end of the world if I did?
Something has changed between us, and it buzzes with possibility like a hive of bees, plenty of danger mixed in with the honey.
You’re not going to sleep with him.
But I wear the dress anyway, and I feel good in it. I feel beautiful and wanted.
When I get to the brewery, I discover my coworkers have hung up a photo of Jonah behind the bar with the word BANNED scrawled across it in red. It puts a ball of emotion in my throat. Especially when the other server on shift suggests we hang it on the dartboard.
Dylan pulls me into the back and says, “We’re family here. I wouldn’t let that man distribute a pack of gum for me, Sophie. Doesn’t matter how many contacts he has. And if anyone asks me, I’m going to tell them exactly what I think of him.”
In the past, no one other than my great-aunt had stood up for me. No one. But suddenly I have a whole army of people in my corner. Still…it’s hard to believe I deserve it, after everything, especially since I know Otis is right. I’m not fulfilled at Buchanan Brewery. I like working here, but it won’t be enough for me, long term. It feels dishonest to accept their support when I know I don’t plan on staying.
“Working here isn’t my dream, Dylan,” I blurt out. It’s probably not the right time to admit that, given that he just did something nice for me, but I don’t want him to burn any bridges for Buchanan Brewery if I’m only going to be here temporarily. Also, I can’t stand the thought of lying to him.
He gives me a strange look. “Uh, yeah, pouring beer isn’t most people’s dream. This place may just be a stop in your journey, but that doesn’t mean you’re not part of our family. And, hey, I shared your recipes for the NA drinks with the owners. They want to put them on the menu. Good work. You can come up with the names if you’d like, but no swearing. The Buchanans will get on my case.”
My heart swells in my chest as I get back to work, and it’s a good night. A crowded night. But I won’t lie. I’m happiest when my shift ends. I want to see Rob’s golden-hazel eyes light up when he catches sight of me. I want to see his lips and remember what it felt like when they brushed over mine, lighting me up with a fire I didn’t know I could feel with a man.
Which is why it really sucks when he doesn’t show up.
I sweep the floors a second time. Wipe the counters a third. I text him, but he doesn’t text back. I call, but it goes directly to his voice message. I’m torn between being upset and worried that something happened to him. What if Jonah hurt him or his father did something to him or…
What if he realized this is insane, and he figured out another way to help Emil? Or maybe there never really was an Emil, and it was all a lie. He and Jonah may BOTH be liars.
Maybe he realized you want him, and he’s embarrassed for you. Because you’re too vanilla.
I pretend to clean some more, feeling like an idiot for putting on this dress. The staffers who worked with me probably knew exactly why I was wearing it and felt sorry for me, because I’m the last person any man would want to sleep with. Certainly the last woman any man would want to marry.
I inhale a few deep breaths and then close up the brewery and drive home.
I find Otis watching a dirty movie on the couch while eating burnt popcorn. It doesn’t look like porn, necessarily, but it’s definitely close—even if the dick the woman on screen is about to suck looks like a stack of quarters covered in Play-Doh.
“I didn’t think you were going to be home,” Otis says frantically. He fumbles to turn it off and somehow increases the volume, blasting the living room with deafening moans.
I press my hand to my chest to calm the lurching sensation there. The pull of bad luck must be more powerful than good fortune. Maybe this is the kind of mishap I’m doomed to suffer again and again. Thinking I’m going to have a late dinner with a guy I like and instead walking in on my cousin about to jerk off.
A voice in my head suggests that at least I got here before and not during, but it’s not much of a silver lining.
Finally, Otis gets the movie turned off, and I grab a pint of ice cream from the freezer and a fork.
“What about the spoons?” he asks, his expression alarmed, no doubt having flashbacks of all of my low moments over the last couple of weeks.
I sigh. “A spoon just doesn’t have the same gravitas.”