Chapter 13 #2
“That could go wrong in so many ways,” I insist.
“A no-strings-attached fling with an end date set in stone? It actually sounds like the perfect way to get over Peter, and not get your heart broken in the process.”
“Can I tell you something honestly?”
“Always.”
“I’m not trying to get over Peter. Like, I think I was over him the minute I saw Jane waltz into his hotel room in lingerie.
I’ve felt nothing but anger and . . . I don’t know.
I kept thinking that I’d be sad, but honestly, the anger is starting to morph into relief.
I just feel lucky that I didn’t end up married to that cheating bastard who sucked so bad in bed. ”
“This is new info,” Sydney says.
“To me too.”
“You didn’t know he sucked in bed?”
“I mean the part about being relieved was new info.”
“Sierra,” she says, “how were you going to marry someone who sucked in bed?”
“I kept thinking he’d get better?”
“Life is way too short to have bad sex, big sis. Beau is sounding like a better and better idea. You said there’s a lot of chemistry there?”
“Off the charts.” I tell her about waking up on the couch last night, and about hearing Beau in the shower.
“Oh my God,” she chants multiple times. “That’s so hot. Seriously, Sierra, what are you waiting for?”
“Sydney, I can’t,” I say, glaring at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are pink, my whole body feels flushed from the memories.
“You can,” she says. “What are you so scared of?”
“Besides ruining my relationship with my best friend?” I pause. “I’m scared that it’ll hurt too much when he leaves.”
“He’s leaving either way,” she says. “You might as well get some mind-blowing orgasms out of it before he goes.”
She’s right, but I’ve never been good at compartmentalizing.
“I’m not sure that would be worth it. Because if something did happen between us, his leaving would feel personal. He wouldn’t be leaving because that’s what he always does, he’d be leaving me.”
“Nooo,” she says, stretching the word out. “He’d be leaving because that was the plan all along.”
“Logically I know that,” I say. “But I worry that I’d grow even more attached than I already am. And it would feel personal. I don’t do sex without feelings. If this was just sexual attraction, it might be easier, but I actually like him.”
“Maybe you’re right then,” she says, but she sounds sad for me. Which makes sense. I’m sad for me too. “It’s a shame, because he’s stupidly handsome and I bet he knows his way around a clitoris.”
“You’re getting married. You should not be thinking about Beau this way.”
“Jealous much, sis?”
“Looking out for Joe, actually,” I say.
“Joe doesn’t care if I find other guys attractive, as long as it’s just looking. But then again, we have a healthy relationship with really good sex, so why would he be jealous?”
I can’t say that I know anything about a healthy relationship with really good sex. “I’ll have to take your word on that.”
“Okay, well, I’ve got to go, but I will text you the details of the hotel and all that. Plan on flying in on Friday. We can party it up on Saturday, and the ceremony will be Sunday afternoon.”
When we hang up, I stand in my new bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. Am I the kind of person who could do this, then walk away, keeping the whole thing a secret that no one but my little sister knows about?
No, you are not, the sensible voice in my head tells me. But maybe just this once you could be.
“This is out of control,” I mumble as I sink into one of the big chairs in the entry of Petra’s building.
She lives in a huge Victorian that’s been converted into several apartments, and her neighbors are some of the most eccentric people I’ve ever met.
Everyone keeps the front door to their apartment open when they’re home, and they wander in and out of each other’s places like it’s a college dorm.
Two of her neighbors, a couple in their seventies, let me in on their way to the market after a short discussion about how I didn’t look like a serial killer and I’d be good for Petra.
I think they thought I was her girlfriend, but whatever, I was just happy to wait inside until she gets home from work.
It’s only Wednesday and I’m already exhausted.
Between trying to help Sydney get the details of her last minute wedding just right and trying to get all my work done so I can take Friday off to head to Vegas, I feel like I’m running myself ragged.
Sydney insists we’ll spend lots of time relaxing at the spa to make up for all the hustle getting there.
At least my boss, Heather, offered to take Winston while I’m gone, so I won’t have to inconvenience Beau. He’s been kind of weird since I told him I was leaving this weekend—distant even when he’s physically present.
I glance back at my phone, and at the out-of-control notifications from Winston’s social media account. I’ve never seen numbers this high on anything I’ve posted, and I’ve worked in social media management for close to a decade.
When Beau posted the caption, these two humans who keep posting pictures of me aren’t together, they’re just roommates, Winston’s followers went crazy.
It had the opposite of its intended effect.
They became even more committed to the idea that something should be going on between us.
The comments were bold, insistent, and in most cases overstepping.
They took screenshots of the photo of Beau with Winston on his lap and the photo of me loving on Winston, and put them side by side in their stories.
They even created a hashtag #ShippingWinstonsParents, which had a stupid number of posts over the past couple of days.
Luckily, no one seems to have figured out who we are yet, but I’m worried that it’s only a matter of time before Beau is recognized.
I’ve considered just deleting the account, but haven’t because it does seem to be fulfilling its purpose.
People are inquiring about how they can meet Winston.
The shelter has started processing applications from people they consider possible candidates to adopt him, but they are backlogged right now and told me today that it could be weeks before they’re able to get to Winston’s case.
I glance at the notifications again. Since I last checked at lunchtime, 175 people have reposted our photos in their Stories and tagged Winston’s account.
I click over to Winston’s account and look at the picture Beau took of that little brown fur ball sleeping on the couch. God, I’m going to miss that puppy.
“Why are you looking at pictures of puppies?” Petra’s sultry voice booms out from above me.
I turn my phone off quickly and slide it into my jacket pocket, then look up at her. “Because they’re cute.”
“Meh,” she says. “They’re a lot of work.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that she didn’t recognize Jackson’s emerald green velvet couch in the background of the photo. “Yeah, they are. But I’m sure it’d be worth it.” I stand and we walk toward the huge wooden staircase.
“I’m not so sure,” she says. I get where she’s coming from. Petra’s job has her constantly jetting off to some event she’s planned, whether it’s a corporate retreat in the British Virgin Islands or a party for potential political donors in LA.
“Hey, I appreciate you fitting me in before you go,” I tell her as we crest the top of the stairs to the second floor landing.
She’s leaving tomorrow for San Francisco.
There’s some big pharmaceutical conference, and she was hired to plan a ritzy cocktail party Friday night for one of the big pharma companies.
“It’s no problem,” she says. “My closet is your closet.”
I’m here to pick out some things for my Vegas trip because her wardrobe is extensive and her closet is magical—you can always find exactly what you need in it.
The second we’re inside her apartment, she offers me a glass of wine, which I happily accept.
When Heather came into my office right before I left work to offer to take Winston for me this weekend, she also asked if I’d talked to Beau about not sending me half-naked pictures of himself.
I admitted that I hadn’t, but that it was a nonissue because he hadn’t sent one since.
Of course, I didn’t mention that he walks around the apartment like that all the time anyway, or about our whole conversation about gray sweats and just wearing his boxer briefs instead.
And now I haven’t been able to get those mental images out of my head for the past hour.
I’m hoping that hanging with Petra for a bit will get Beau out of my head.
“So, what do you need in terms of clothes?” she asks as we head into her closet. The only reason her apartment is a one-bedroom is because she’s converted what could have been a second smaller bedroom into a floor-to-ceiling storage facility for her wardrobe.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to Vegas,” I tell her.
“Oh, you are in for a treat. You want to go in with an open mind. Think of it like Disney World for adults. Anything you want to experience, you can find it somewhere in Vegas.”
“I’m sure I’ll be pretty busy with Sydney’s wedding.”
Petra starts pulling semiformal dresses from the racks and giving them the once-over.
“How are you feeling about going to your little sister’s wedding?
I mean, you and Peter broke it off,” she says, which is her gentle way of saying Your fiancé dumped you for another woman, “and then you had Jackson’s wedding.
Now, like two weeks later, you’ve got your little sister’s wedding. Are you doing okay with it?”
“I’m thrilled for her, actually,” I tell Petra.
Because yes, while I am a little jealous that the one thing I’ve always wanted for myself seems to be happening for everyone else, I am equally relieved that Sydney’s wedding will prove once and for all that there is no family curse.
But, of course, I know Petra would think the whole story of the curse was absolutely ridiculous, so I don’t mention it.