Chapter Two #2
The whole complicated and humiliating story spilled out of me. Although I was speaking to Brittany, I was aware of Reza’s presence, too. They were shocked to hear about the situation with Cory and equally shocked that I had made a move on my own coworker.
“You have to help me,” I begged. “Go out with me.”
“To a bar?” Brittany asked.
“Yes! I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“And you think I do?”
The question was valid. One of the reasons we had all become friends was because we were the same age and in committed relationships when none of our other young friends were.
We were all twenty-two at the time, fresh out of college.
Brittany’s parents were devout evangelical Christians from Alabama, and Reza’s parents were devout Shia Muslims from Pakistan, and the only way they could live together without upsetting everybody was by getting married.
So they did. Like Kat, they were already married when we met, but like Cory and me, they didn’t have children.
“Please.” My voice cracked, the dam readying to burst again. “I can’t do this alone.”
Resignation descended on the other line. “Fine. Once. I’ll be your wingman once . Wingwoman. Oh God. The wingwoman isn’t also trying to sleep with strangers, is she?”
Gratitude overwhelmed me. “I have no idea. But obviously mine isn’t.”
“So on Friday, we’ll find a bar or wherever single people go these days—”
“Friday?” My gratitude plummeted. “That’s three days away.”
“O-kaaay. We’ll go tomorrow—”
“That’s a whole twenty-four hours from now!”
“I’m sorry,” Brittany said. Not sorry. “You’re asking me to go tonight ?”
“Please.” I was on the verge of hysteria. From the heated silence, I could tell that Brittany and Reza were frantically communicating in some way.
“I can’t,” she said after a minute. “You can’t. For one thing, it’s snowing.”
“People in Minnesota drive in the snow every day, and they’re fine.”
“Everything will be closed.”
“No way. There are always people who need alcohol. Something will be open.”
More silence on the other end of the line. More assumed communication.
Reza picked up. “Hey, Ingrid.” He still had a light accent from his childhood in Karachi. “We understand your emergency, so here’s our offer. Brit isn’t comfortable driving in this weather, so I’ll come get you—”
“I don’t mind driving. It’s barely snowing.” It was snowing more than barely, but who cared?
“Ah, but you see, I do mind you driving to a bar in your crappy Volkswagen when there’s ice on the road. My Subaru has four-wheel drive. So I’ll drive you and Brit wherever you need to go, I’ll stay invisible and sober, and then, whenever you’re ready, I’ll drive you home.”
“Isn’t the point for me to go home with somebody else? Or for somebody to come home with me?” I wasn’t sure.
“She’s right,” Brittany said in the background.
“This is a nightmare,” Reza said.
Brittany texted when they arrived, and I dashed outside.
Reza drove a truck—a package car, they called them—for UPS, so he placed a high value on speed and punctuality.
Fear gripped me. As I’d cleaned myself up, I realized Kat was right.
I should have gone to bed and cried myself to sleep.
This was insanity. All of this could wait until tomorrow.
But I had already begged, and Brittany and Reza were going out of their way to help. There was no backing out now.
A gust of snowflakes whirled in behind me as I slid into their back seat. Reza stared me down in the rearview mirror. “For the record, I still think this is a bad idea. I’m only here to make sure you don’t go home with Ted Bundy.”
“Understood,” I said.
“I mean, all of this is bad. This temporary breakup is a terrible idea. The worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
Brittany turned to face me. “Don’t listen to him. We’re just… a little weirded out. We support you—you know we support you and Cory—but…”
“I know,” I said so she wouldn’t have to finish the thought.
Reza shook his head but began to drive. “Where are we going?”
I was embarrassed not to have an answer.
“Also for the record,” he said, “I agree that every place will be closed because of the snow. I’m getting that out of the way now so I won’t have to gloat later when I’m right.”
“Oh, you’ll gloat if you’re right,” Brittany said.
“I will absolutely gloat,” he said.
Thankfully, Brittany had come prepared and was ready with the save. “I thought maybe that cider house by the river? The one with that giant Friar Tuck mural. I’ve never been there, but there are always tons of cars out front. I bet they’ll be open.”
“They will not be open,” Reza said. But he glanced at me for the okay.
“That’ll be fine.” I nodded vigorously. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
The large number of apple orchards nearby had given rise to Ridgetop’s unusual alcohol of choice, hard cider, and the town had several rival cideries.
Locals and tourists flocked to these establishments year-round, but I generally only went when we were meeting up with Cory’s friends.
I preferred going out for dinner, not drinks. Or even better, not going out at all.
I fidgeted with the large buttons on my coat.
I had changed out of my work clothes—I would have to burn them— the horror in his eyes as he stumbled backward — No.
Ingrid. No. —and into a cute thrifted dress and my nicest coat.
I was paranoid that wherever we were going would be filled with carefree youths in trendy denim, but I also believed it was better to be overdressed than under.
Brittany turned to give me an encouraging smile. “You look great.”
“You do, too,” I said. She always did.
Brittany wasn’t merely beautiful; she was dramatically gorgeous.
She was curvaceous and fat with tremendous breasts and a heart-shaped face.
Her dark eyes and dark hair were always exquisitely made up, and because she was a seamstress, her clothing always hugged her in all the right places.
Tonight her dress was violet with a pattern of flying cranes.
The fabric looked like silk, and the neckline plunged, but she had paired it with a casual jacket that effortlessly toned the whole thing down.
Her appearance was living and breathing art.
I was her physical opposite. When I was young and scrawny, my mother had assured me I would grow into my body in adulthood, and I mostly had.
My hips had filled out, a little, and my breasts had rounded, a little.
But I did have long legs for my average height, and my hair was naturally blond, a color that other women paid a lot of money for.
The mole on my left cheek that I’d lobbied so hard to have removed as a teenager now added character, and my eyes were large and wide, which lent an unusual openness to my face.
As a child, strangers had found it spooky and off-putting.
As an adult, it made them want to tell me their secrets.
I had settled into a quiet type of pretty.
Like a Scandinavian deer , Cory had said not long after we’d first met.
I still treasured the compliment. I had felt gawky and gangly, eyes bulging and limbs knocking, and he’d been the first person to frame it as something beautiful and mysterious.
He had changed the way I thought about myself.
“Just to be clear,” I said, scooting forward to talk to Reza, “Cory and I are still together. Earlier you called it a ‘temporary breakup,’ but we haven’t broken up. We’re taking a break. There’s a huge difference.”
“‘We were on a break!’” Brittany said in a very particular voice.
I flinched, and Brittany cackled.
“Is that Friends ?” Reza asked. “You know I’ve never seen a single episode, but even I’m aware that after Ross slept with somebody else, Rachel never forgave him.”
“Which is why Ingrid and Cory are both sleeping with other people,” Brittany said.
“And we planned this,” I said, grateful for the unexpected backup. “Ross and Rachel didn’t plan anything.”
“Ross and Rachel also hadn’t been together for over a decade,” Reza said.
“How do you know if you’ve never seen a single episode?” Brittany asked.
“Had they?” he asked, indignant.
“No.”
Brittany and Reza dissolved into the easy laughter of best friends. With a pang, I realized they sounded like Cory and me. Or Macon and me.
I needed to stop thinking about Cory and Macon.
The snow was still coming down steadily, and the streets were deserted, so it was a surprise when we finally caught sight of the cider house.
Its parking lot was packed, and its windows blazed with life.
The jovial friar painted on the side of the building was laughing and toasting our arrival with a sloshing tankard. Brittany crowed to Reza, “It’s open!”
But his eyes had already snagged on something else. “Uh, I don’t want to alarm anyone, but—”
The next four words reached me in a ringing haze.
“—isn’t that Cory’s car?”
It was Cory’s car. I could tell even with the curated mass of vinyl on his rear windshield—stickers of obscure DIY bands and comic books and demands to buy local—covered by snow. It’d been parked for a while. My vision dimmed, and I grew faint.
Reza slowed as he drove past it. “Now what?”
“Are you okay?” Brittany asked me.
“I need instructions!” he said.
“Go! Isn’t there another place just up the river? There must be a dozen of them around here.”
Their voices faded as I searched for the familiar figure though the crowded windows, which were framed in blinking Christmas lights. I couldn’t make out anything inside, but the lights flashed a redundant warning. Cory was in there, and I was out here, and our town was way too small.
The next several cider houses we tried were all closed, but Reza didn’t gloat. Seeing Cory’s car had shifted something inside him. He was serious now, more determined to help. Or perhaps his motivation stemmed from sympathy and resignation.