Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter
Twenty-Three
April loved watching Daphne.
Her cheeks were a little flushed, her green eyes still bright with excitement and surprise.
April hated that Daphne had been alone most of the day, but she was glad she was able to give her this tiny get-together, that April had planned something that made her smile this much. Her face was like a sunrise, and she—
“You’re drooling,” Sasha said, kicking her foot under the table.
“I am not,” April said, clearing her throat and forcing the admittedly dopey smile off her face. Daphne was engrossed in a story Dylan was telling about her days on Spellbound, a show Daphne had watched obsessively in college, apparently.
Sasha lifted her brow in that knowing way she had. “Please. You’re writing poetry in your head about her smile or her eyes or some shit.”
April smiled without her teeth. She’d definitely keep just how true Sasha’s assessment was to herself. “Or some shit? You’re such a romantic.”
“Speaking of romance,” Sasha said, dragging a fry through some ranch and popping it in her mouth. “What are you going to do after Nicola pulls the trigger?”
“By all means, let’s not dance around the issue,” April said.
“Not my style,” Sasha said.
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” April said.
“Hey,” Sasha said, presenting her hands, “I know what I’m doing next month.”
“Ah yes, Airstreaming through the canyons.”
“I already told you, Gertie is too feeble for an Airstream. She’s in her golden years.”
April blinked at her. “You’re extremely weird.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Fair enough,” April said, laughing, but something deep in her chest fluttered.
She looked around the café now, felt the warmth of Ramona’s arm against hers as she joined in Dylan and Daphne’s conversation, everything so familiar, but also strange somehow.
Suddenly, everything in this setting looked odd, out of place, and she felt out of place inside of it.
“Where are you going again?” she asked Sasha.
Sasha shrugged. “West. Arizona, New Mexico, maybe Colorado. Trying to hit all fifty states. I’m somewhere in the thirties.”
“That sounds incredible,” April said, fiddling with the straw in her shake.
“Why, you interested?” Sasha asked.
“Me?” April asked, brows lifting. “I—”
But she caught sight of Daphne again then, laughing at something Dylan had said, all the uncertainty between them swelling in April’s heart like a river in the rain.
“Here we go again,” Sasha said, rolling her eyes. “You two are gross.”
“You two who?” April asked, sipping her shake just for something else to focus on.
“Oh, please,” Sasha said. “Ramona, back me up.”
April stiffened a little as the conversation between the others halted abruptly.
“Back you up?” Ramona asked.
“Daphne and April,” Sasha said. “Smiling like fools at each other all the time.”
Ramona glanced at April, who kept her eyes on Sasha’s clueless rat-fink face.
“I did notice something like that,” Ramona said coolly.
“So what if we are?” April said quietly, calmly.
Her heart was pounding though. She inhaled slowly.
She hadn’t told Ramona about anything that had happened in the last month after the engagement dinner.
At least, not the specifics. She’d only seen Ramona with Dylan since that night, and they’d all been busy with wedding preparations.
The only texts they’d exchanged had been wedding related as well, like how Ramona wanted the wedding party in blush-pink suits or dresses of their choice, while Dylan would don an ivory suit and Ramona would wear a gauzy ivory-and-floral dress she’d designed herself.
They also texted about how Blair Emmanuel, Dylan’s best mate, was coming into town a few days before the wedding and renting the huge lake house where she and Dylan had filmed several scenes for their movie two years ago, As If You Didn’t Know, for all their Hollywood friends to stay in, and no, Blair didn’t need April’s help planning the wedding shower, she and Olive had it covered, but thanks for asking.
And there had been some communication about flowers (boho-inspired pale pink and ivory poppies, anemones, roses, and eucalyptus), the music (a queer band called Beach Glass that Dylan loved playing dreamy versions of queer pop songs), and how Dylan had decided to hire private security to deal with any paparazzi for the ceremony and reception, which would take place under a glowing silk tent in Ramona and Dylan’s expansive backyard on the lake.
All of which resulted in April’s staid responses of Sounds lovely and I love a good violin, because all of the information was simply relayed to April like a daily update feed.
There were no questions. No pleas for help.
No stressful freakouts on Ramona’s part, no emotional venting.
There weren’t even any exclamations of happiness here and there.
Other than an occasional That will be so pretty, April wasn’t sure how to respond to any of it, particularly since her first instinct was Blush pink, really?
She and Ramona still hadn’t talked—really talked—since news of the engagement broke weeks ago.
April knew they needed to, but didn’t want to do anything to ruin this time for Ramona.
At least, that was what she told herself.
She was being selfless.
Swallowing any hurt or left-out feelings—and the fact that she hated wearing pink, how Ramona knew she only liked pink in her hair or in her favorite cocktail—for the sake of her best friend’s happy day.
But deep down, she knew it was more than that, more sinister, even. She just didn’t know how to address it, or even how to admit it to herself.
So she said nothing.
Kept it all inside, kept it to herself, including how she was having incredible sex with her ex’s ex.
Now, Daphne laughed nervously, her cheeks rosy as she got up from the table. “I’m going to run to the restroom.”
April nodded, then squeezed her outstretched hand.
“Okay, what exactly is going on between you two?” Ramona asked as soon as Daphne was out of sight.
Sasha tilted her head, frowning at April before mouthing, “Sorry.”
April sighed and waved a hand.
“I mean,” Ramona went on, “of course, I noticed when you came inside that the two of you…well…you—”
“Kissed,” Dylan said bluntly.
“Yes,” April said, “we kissed. We’ve been kissing.”
“For how long?” Ramona asked, her brows dipping low.
April blew out a breath. “Um, the first time was the night you got into town? But it was a fluke.”
“A fluke.”
April shrugged. “Sort of like a dare on the solstice?” She told Ramona about Daphne’s wildling escapades, and how Sasha and April had been helping her out.
“And you’ve kissed since then?” Ramona asked.
April opened her mouth. Closed it. When she’d held back all the details of her and Daphne’s—Fling?
Dalliance?—whatever they were doing, she hadn’t thought about how awkward it would be when she eventually did tell Ramona.
She’d never done this before, kept something from Ramona that felt this big, this affecting.
Hell, one time a few years ago, she called Ramona from Leigh Reynolds’s bed while Leigh showered, simply because she had to tell her best friend immediately about how Leigh had made her come four times in half an hour.
But the best friends sitting at this booth right now weren’t the same April and Ramona of two years ago.
“Yeah.” April rubbed her forehead. “We’ve kissed since then.”
Ramona’s frown deepened.
“And we’ve had sex,” April said, fast and low.
“A lot,” Sasha said under her breath. April kicked her under the table.
“You’ve…you what?” Ramona spluttered.
“They’ve had sex,” Dylan whispered loudly, leaning close to Ramona’s ear.
“Yes, I heard her,” Ramona said, splaying her hands on the table. “I just don’t…I’m not sure…”
April braced herself, waiting for Ramona to express hurt over this secret.
She’d be justified in feeling that way—April would’ve felt the same.
She had felt the same. April almost welcomed Ramona’s reaction, because maybe this would open the door to talking about other things April didn’t know how to bring up, all the reasons why, what the hell had happened to the April and Ramona they both knew and needed.
And how they were going to fix it.
But when Ramona finally got out a coherent sentence, she didn’t express hurt. She didn’t even express humor or shock. Instead, she winced and said, “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
She said the words softly. Gently. Lovingly. But they still landed heavily, a sudden downpour when it had been clear and sunny all day long.
“You…wait, you what?” April asked.
“Oh, boy,” Dylan said, sipping on her water and looking straight ahead.
Ramona sighed. “Apes. Come on.”
“Come on?”
Sasha’s booted feet sandwiched April’s under the table, the strangest hug she’d ever gotten, but she welcomed the pressure as her heart crawled up her throat.
“You know I’m right,” Ramona said.
“You’re right?”
Apparently, all April could do was repeat everything Ramona was saying right now, but for the life of her, she couldn’t find a different reaction.
“I’m just worried,” Ramona said, then quieted her voice even more. “She’s Daphne Love. The woman whose Instagram you pored over for months when Elena left. The person you claimed ruined your life.”
“That was heartbreak talking,” April snapped. “Daphne had nothing to do with it.”
“I know,” Ramona said calmly. “But she’s still that symbol in your mind. And what about the Devon? Also, she’s young. Really young, and I just worry that you’re not—”
“Stop,” April said. Her voice was low and sharp, a knife slicing through Ramona’s warnings.
No, her insults.
“Just stop,” April said again.
Ramona closed her mouth, a pained expression on her face. And April knew she shouldn’t say it. Knew she should just leave it alone, deal with this later, that this was Daphne’s birthday and no place to air months—maybe even years—of friendship issues.
But April was never very good at should.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said quietly, her eyes locked on Ramona’s.
And that was all she needed to say.
Ramona’s entire demeanor changed. She froze, then sort of deflated, her shoulders dropping, her throat working in a hard swallow.
“April,” Dylan said, a questioning plea in her tone.
“It’s okay,” Ramona said, taking Dylan’s hand and squeezing until her knuckles went white. She looked away, gripped her water glass with her free hand.
April felt a tinge of guilt, but there was no regret—what she’d said was true, at least right now at this point in their lives, and she’d needed to say it, needed to finally say something.
Daphne slid back into the booth then, her hand on April’s leg.
Everyone was silent, though, and she must’ve picked up on the awkwardness, because she lifted her brows at April, mouthed, “Are you okay?”
April winked at her in response, even though she wasn’t sure if she was okay or not.
She felt numb, relieved, and sad all at once.
One thing she did know, she wasn’t about to let her own issues ruin this day for Daphne.
They’d both had a shit year, and at least one of them was going to have a great fucking birthday.
Owen came back to check on them then, a welcome distraction, and they all ordered another round of fries and fresh shakes.
After he left, April lobbed a question about Marlene Dietrich at Dylan to get the focus off herself and Ramona.
Soon they were talking about bisexuals in Germany in the 1920s, and April had tangled her fingers with Daphne’s under the table.
Ramona was mostly quiet, but April forced herself to focus on everyone else.
To focus on herself.
And after a few minutes and several bites of the best burger in New England, she didn’t have to try.
She just did it.