Chapter 4 #2
She turns in his arms and grabs one of his hands to lead him just a few feet away, where a tall blonde white woman is standing with a large glass of white wine.
Frankie – Francesca Sullivan – her childhood best friend.
She grew up next door. She’s impeccably dressed as usual, in a loose-fitting silky blouse and a bright blue pencil skirt (Dodger blue, she runs the team’s analytics department like a total boss).
She’s also wearing the sharp gaze of someone very, very recently divorced.
Frankie takes a long sip from her glass as she looks them over carefully. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Frankie!” Bianca scolds.
Bright blue eyes roll. “Listen, I’m sure you two love each other very much and all that bullshit, but I just got the fuck out of my miserable marriage and I do not recommend the institution, zero out of ten, would never go back.”
“To be fair, you married a massive shithead.”
Xavier lets out an amused snort.
“In my defense,” Frankie says, “Shane wasn’t a shithead when I married him.”
It’s Bianca’s turn to roll her eyes and then she says, mostly to Xavier, “He was very much a shithead and someone would not listen to anyone when we told her he wouldn’t grow out of it and then that very same someone threatened to stop speaking to me if I ever brought it up again.
And I have refrained from saying ‘I told you so’ until right now, which I think is admirable restraint on my part. ”
“I did, didn’t I?” Frankie admits, with half a smile.
“You did.”
“Remind me to always listen to you. So, you’re sure this one isn’t a shithead?”
“Oh, I’m absolutely a shithead,” Xavier cuts in, with a smile that Frankie returns, “but we’re working on it.”
“He cooks breakfast, so it evens out.”
“Never mind, you’re right. If he cooks, absolutely lock that shit down.”
“This is what I’m saying.”
“I’m gonna go get a refill, either of you want one?” Frankie says and at their noes, she wanders toward the drinks table.
“Did you meet Isobel yet?” Bianca asks, nodding toward a petite woman with long dark braids and warm brown skin a few feet away, standing, unfortunately, with her husband.
That’s one person she actually wished hadn’t shown up tonight.
“My freshman roommate,” she clarifies as they approach the couple.
“From Berkeley,” he finishes for her.
“And her husband, Matt. High school sweethearts.”
“That’s still a thing?”
“Very much so.”
When they’re just a few feet from the other couple, Isobel reaches out and starts wiggling her fingers toward Bianca’s left hand. “Let me see!” she demands. “Ugh, gorgeous. Antique?”
Xavier tilts his head and Bianca can tell he’s impressed. “Turn of the century. Uh, nineteenth to twentieth.”
Isobel hums her agreement. “It’s lovely. Bianca, it suits you.”
“Izzy knows her jewelry. She’s a stylist.”
“I’m so thrilled for you, truly. You’re going to be so happy,” she says, putting a hand on the small bump at her stomach which had been disguised by the drape of her blouse until now.
Bianca’s smile wavers. “I’m already happy.”
“Of course you are,” Isobel says, her brow wrinkling like she doesn’t quite understand.
“We should all have dinner some time,” Matt says.
Bianca has to hold back a snort at the suggestion and maybe she doesn’t quite do as good a job at disguising her complete disdain at the idea because Xavier gives her hand a gentle squeeze.
“That’d be great,” Xavier cuts in as she squeezes back.
“Oh, Chloe’s here,” Bianca says, her eyes catching on a woman over Matt’s shoulder, standing by herself near the door, like she might make a run for it any second. “I haven’t said hi to her yet.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles to her as they move away. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to blow our cover in the middle of this room over a dinner invite.”
“You’re right,” she whispers back. “That dude has literally never come out with me and Isobel before. It’s like he’s physically incapable of being somewhere women are around if there isn’t a dude to commiserate with.”
“Douchebag?”
“Not entirely, just . . . not the guy I thought Izzy would end up with. He’s just so ordinary and she’s amazing and I guess I just wanted more for her.”
He squeezes her hand gently at the admission.
“So who am I meeting now?”
“Chloe Pak, we met at summer camp when we were twelve.”
“I can’t picture you as a summer camp girl.”
“Oh, I wasn’t and neither was she. It was a trauma bond. Neither of us ever went back, but we stayed friends.”
“Nature not your thing?”
“Nature’s fine. I more hated being told what to do while I was supposed to be on summer vacation.”
“You don’t like being told what to do? I’m stunned.”
“Shut up,” she grouses, shoving a light elbow into his side, but she can’t help smiling.
They hug tightly without even saying hello once they reach her. Chloe is about Bianca’s height, but otherwise her total opposite, her skin luminous and pale, her dark hair trimmed into a neat bob around her face.
“Josh couldn’t make it.”
“Because I cared about seeing Josh.”
“Bianca . . .” Chloe says, with a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “I don’t want to do this right now. Tonight is about you and I’m just so happy for you, B. I’m so glad you found someone who makes you happy. You make her happy, right?”
Bianca spares him from answering and slides an arm around his back, fitting herself against him. “Of course he does.”
Chloe nods in satisfaction, but then her face sort of collapses as a thought obviously occurs to her. “God, you guys probably have great sex. It’s great, right? Of course it is.”
“I am so sorry about her; she has zero filter. Really none of them do,” Bianca says, laughing, trying to keep the tension out of her voice and not sure she entirely succeeds. Her friends can be a lot on a normal night and this night is anything but normal.
Chloe’s on a roll though. “You’re finishing up your degrees, job hunting. All that stress and then the relief, it’s gotta go somewhere. And now you’re engaged! Out of nowhere, it’s great, just . . . great.”
Her friend’s eyes are tearing up. Shit. Why hadn’t she thought about Chloe when she decided to do this?
Chloe, who’s waited for years for her boyfriend to shit or get off the pot and just propose , and now she has to watch another friend get engaged before her and .
. . there’s nothing for it. Bianca needs to call a halt to this right now, but before she can open her mouth to confess, the front door opens, the music cuts and all eyes turn to the two people standing there, huge smiles on their faces.
“Surprise!”
For the second time that night the word is shouted into the room, but if she was stunned before, this is a whole new level. Her legs feel like they’re not quite up to the job of holding her up as she sways into Xavier’s side, thankful when he slides an arm around her waist to keep her steady.
A man and a woman stand in the doorway.
The woman is tall, fair-skinned and blonde, though a few streaks of silver shine through, while the man is a few inches shorter than her, with a stocky build and the same olive skin and twinkling brown eyes that Bianca sees in the mirror every morning.
Her parents are here.
Holy shit.
“Mom. Dad,” she says, breaking the oppressive quiet in the room, but she’s not moving forward and neither are they.
And then, finally, the silence is broken.
“I never thought this day would come,” Mrs Dimitriou says and races forward, throwing her arms around Bianca, pulling her from Xavier’s side and full out sobbing as she towers over her younger daughter.
“Gee. Thanks, Mom,” Bianca says, patting her mother gently on the back.
She can’t really manage any other words.
The shock hasn’t worn off. Can you be aware that you’re in shock?
If you can, that’s what she’s feeling now.
She’s here at the party, and her mom – who should be in Arizona – is hugging her, but none of it feels real.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” her mom says, stepping back and wiping at her eyes. “And you must be Xavier.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Dimitriou,” he says, but then he’s pulled into a hug as well.
Over her mom’s shoulder he meets Bianca’s eyes and she can’t even muster a reaction beyond an incredibly bland grin.
He returns it and the party around them picks up again, the music volume rises, conversations flowing over the top of it.
She’s still numb, even when her mom reaches up and squeezes Xavier’s face gently between her hands.
“You’re going to call me Eleni.” Then she leans in and says, “And my God, you are exactly my Bianca’s type!”
“Mom!” Her face feels flushed and her head is spinning. Maybe she really is in shock, but before she can protest more, her dad pulls her into a tight hug and her mom scoffs.
“Oh please, you don’t think he knows that? Of course he does,” she says, patting his cheek gently.
Xavier just lets his eyes twinkle at her and then back to her mom before he leans in and stage-whispers, “She’s exactly my type too.”
With that, her dad releases her and moves toward Xavier. “You can call me Mr Dimitriou.”
“Yes, sir,” Xavier says and her parents both laugh with him, her dad pulling him down a few inches to kiss each of his cheeks.
“Kidding, my boy. I’m George to you!”
Is this what it would have been like, to find someone she loved, to bring him home to her family, to have them be this happy for her?
She doesn’t know whether it makes her want to laugh or cry.
The shock is wearing off now and she feels herself flagging, and once her dad lets him go, Xavier’s there, at her side, his arm around her shoulders again and maybe he can feel it in the way she leans against him, letting him take most of her weight, but he looks down at her, brows furrowed in obvious concern.