Chapter 6 Pick Out the Bridesmaids’ Dresses #2
“Now let’s see,” Cheryl carries on, ignoring Javi’s mild protest. She eyes her phone screen. “I have a Jade. A Jayla. Jessie. Joan—oh, no, she’s at least fifty. You’re not into cougars, are you?”
Jordan face-palms, holding in a scream.
“Josie. Journee,” Cheryl lists. “Joyce—wait, she might be married. We don’t need that kind of scandal. There’s Jules. Juno. Hmm, scratch that. Juno might be a guy—”
“Mom!”
Jordan abruptly leaps from his chair. His knee catches the edge of his desk, finally knocking over his smoothie. Fortunately, the lid is secure. The last thing he needs is a mango-banana mess to clean up. Or more blind dates.
He stands the smoothie upright. His mom and Javi stare at him with startled eyes. Like he’s an off-the-leash feral dog and they’re not sure if he’ll bite.
Good.
“I need to focus,” Jordan says. “No distractions until after the McClintock wedding.”
Cheryl’s mouth puckers. “Son, one date can’t hurt. What about work-life balance?”
Jordan considers chugging the rest of his smoothie. You can be hospitalized for severe brain freeze, right?
The universe must hear his desperation. His phone lights up with a new calendar notification.
A smile unrolls across his mouth.
“Speaking of—I have a very important appointment to keep.”
Since classes ended in early May at UPenn, there’s been a bimonthly appointment added to Jordan’s calendar: brunch date with Nic.
He happily leaves the office—and his mom’s matchmaking attempts—behind to brave the thirty-minute drive from downtown to a cute neighborhood near the suburb of Druid Hills.
Jordan already knows the trek back is going to be hell.
Friday traffic in Atlanta starts at approximately 11:30 AM on Thursday. But it’s worth it.
This is his spot.
Their spot now.
While Jordan appreciates the Last Pour’s “we’re trying to look unpretentious even though we really are” vibes, the come-as-you-are Southern charm of a place like This Side of Sunny appeals to him more.
The heady scent of melted butter on a steaming bowl of grits.
Fern-green walls that contrast with golden pancake towers.
Forks scraping plates clean, not a crumb left behind.
Cool glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice against your palm.
Warm cinnamon from the French toast sticking to the back of your throat hours after leaving.
It’s all he needs.
That, and the absolutely unhinged stories from his younger cousin’s freshman year of college.
“Then she just sat down in the middle of our dorm room floor,” Nic is saying over her buttermilk short stack, “surrounded by a forty-piece Chicken McNuggets, wearing a Wonder Woman Halloween costume, like nothing happened.”
Jordan snorts.
“Wait.” A forkful of frittata pauses halfway to his mouth. “Halloween costume? I thought you said this happened last month?”
“It did!”
“So why was she—”
“Did you miss when I mentioned the shots of homemade apple pie moonshine our other roommate snuck in?”
“Well, no, but—”
Nic holds up a finger. “That’s not even the best part.”
Jordan flexes a curious eyebrow.
“She woke up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning to write Merlin fanfic before her Intro to Sociology exam,” Nic says, elated. “She aced her final and had almost two hundred kudos on AO3 by lunch!”
She cackles.
Jordan shakes his head, chewing. “I guess that means you won’t be transferring closer to home next semester like your mom wants?”
“Hell no. I fucking love it there.”
The restaurant’s big windows splash late-morning summer glow across Nic’s warm brown skin.
Jordan can easily pick out Auntie Leena’s features in Nic: strong eyebrows, feathery eyelashes, thin nose.
But she has Uncle Kenny’s cheekbones and artful jaw.
Her thick hair is in two long braids. She’s wearing a VOTE, YOU COWARDS T-shirt and a pair of rose-colored cropped chinos.
“I’m glad you’re back for the summer,” Jordan says.
She rolls her eyes. “Only because I make you look way cooler than you really are.”
“Harsh, but true.”
They smirk at each other.
Jordan wasn’t always this close to her. There’s a seven-year age difference between them. Growing up, he had Denz. Nic preferred keeping to her small group of friends. She was band T-shirts and emo vibes while he liked competitive sports and being an overachiever.
But after UCLA, Jordan came home to a brokenhearted, career-driven Denz.
Suddenly, Nic got the loneliness that came with being away from family for so long that Jordan could never explain to Denz.
Then, when she left for UPenn, Jordan was the only person who understood her.
No other Carter had left Georgia for college until him.
He recognized the edge in her voice that first semester.
The simultaneity of being homesick and wanting nothing more than to prove you’re okay.
To carve out your own path outside the enormity of being a Carter.
“Speaking of elevating your cool factor,” Nic says after a sip of orange juice, “I need your help.”
“You need my help?”
She smiles innocently. “For a small task.”
Jordan’s eyes narrow. “Where’s the dead body?”
“In the basement. Denz’s old room.”
“Murder weapon?”
“Disposed of. They’ll never find it.”
“Did you clean up the crime scene?”
“Please.” She sucks air through her teeth. “What do I look like? An amateur?”
On anyone else, Jordan could identify the cracks in that blank expression. But this is Nic. It’s impossible to tell when she’s lying. Plus, he’s seen her angry before. Jordan isn’t ruling out having an alibi and a lawyer on standby.
“I’m not helping you ditch an ex’s corpse in Lake Lanier,” he says before sipping from his own glass.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not an ex. It’s Jamie.”
Jordan almost snorts orange juice out his nose.
“Excuse me?”
“That Disney Hercules hunk wasn’t at Twist-n-Salt last week,” Nic says, glowering. “My friends were looking forward to half-priced margaritas.”
“Nic, you’re nineteen,” Jordan deadpans. “You’re underage.”
“You were fifteen when you got wasted off Jell-O shots.”
“How do you know about that?”
She winks at him. “I have my sources.”
“I’m from a family full of spies and gossips.”
“Anyway. This isn’t about Jamie.”
Thank fuck, Jordan almost says. At the rate his heart’s thumping, Nic might really be convicted of murder.
“What kind of help do you need?”
“It’s for Skye’s the Limit,” she replies.
Jordan tilts his head. “The nonprofit Braylon works for?”
“The one and only.”
Skye’s the Limit is an LGBTQ+ nonprofit with branches in Atlanta and Los Angeles. Braylon’s the advocacy director in LA. Jordan doesn’t know a lot about them. Mostly things he’s learned from Denz. They were his first client when he started his social media consulting brand.
Jordan’s never visited their downtown youth center. But he’s seen photos online. He knows how important it is to the community.
“I’m volunteering there for the summer,” Nic says.
“Why?”
She shrugs. “I have my reasons.”
Jordan stares suspiciously at her.
Nic sighs and says, “It’s a great place. Braylon talks nonstop about how much STL changed his life and—I don’t know! I want that. For them and…” she trails off.
Jordan bites his lower lip to minimize his smile. “Nicola, are you becoming a good person?”
Nic points a butter knife at him. “Tell anyone and I will end you.”
He laughs.
“Those teens need things to occupy their time during the summer,” she explains while he forks up more frittata. “STL is a safe space for a lot of them. I want it to be fun too.”
“Fun how?”
“I’m organizing a one-day basketball tournament. We have a court behind the facility.”
“What do you need me for?”
Vaguely, Jordan remembers Denz assisting Braylon with a Skye’s the Limit event last April. Some sort of spring break gathering? The mayor might’ve been involved? He’s not sure. All he knows is Denz’s resources are what helped Braylon secure his promotion.
“To help plan,” Nic says.
“Oh, now I get it.” Jordan snaps his fingers. “This is your way of preparing for a future role at 24 Carter Gold.”
Nic retches. “Fuck no. I have zero interest in working there.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not my dad, sister, or brother.” She exhales, like she’s repeated this a dozen times to her parents and siblings. “I want my own thing, okay?”
Jordan swipes a piece of bacon from her plate. He crunches on it, leaning back.
This is what he means. He gets Nic. He knows exactly what it’s like to live in the shadow of his other family members’ achievements. Or failures. To constantly prove he’s better.
He also knows Nic’s never subscribed to that particular kind of torture.
“Why not ask Kami?” he suggests. “She’d love to—”
“First, she’s busy being a mom, a girlfriend, managing a Forbes-ranked company, planning Audrey Hudson’s anniversary party, and my dad’s birthday bash in August while avoiding her own thirty-first birthday the following week,” Nic recites.
“Sounds like her.”
“Second”—Nic holds up her index and middle fingers—“I need you for more than logistics. You’re a former trophy-winning player. A GOAT. Your high school records are all still unbroken.”
Jordan scoffs despite the growing warmth in his chest. “Flattery, Nic? Really? That’s how you plan to win me over?”
“It’s working, right?”
“A little.”
Nic pushes her plate aside. “Your insight will help. Plus, you’re the perfect role model for the teens.”
Jordan’s fork slips from his hand. The restaurant’s busy and noisy enough that no one notices. Not that he cares.
He’s too busy wondering how Nic knows.
To his family, Jordan’s still … Jordan. Assumed straight man. No neon question mark hanging over his head.
No weird, unexplained feelings about Jamie following him like a shadow everywhere.
That doesn’t sound like a role model. Not the kind Nic’s imagining.
His phone vibrates on the table. A text from his mom. He doesn’t need to open the message to know what it is—info about his next blind date.
Another notification follows: a calendar reminder to finalize vendor meetings for Sam and Amy’s wedding. Which means he’ll have to see Jamie again. Possibly Sloane too.
Jordan should’ve ordered a mimosa.
Today’s not the day to be responsible.
Nic’s foot nudges his ankle. “Hey,” she says gently. “I promise organizing the tournament won’t take up too much of your time. I know you’re busy.”
He studies her for a minute. Then he says, “Don’t worry about it. I’d love to help.”
“You would?”
“Absolutely!”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’s worked on dual projects. Multitasking is one more thing he’s great at.
Besides, if he’s too busy wedding planning, too busy assisting Nic, then there’s no time to go on blind dates for his mom. Not a single free minute to spend thinking about who Jamie’s been on dates with. He can’t fret over one stupid dance, kiss, or how he does or doesn’t feel about any of it.
He grins at Nic. “Tell me what you need.”