Chapter Twenty-Eight
I see Henry every day.
Now that everything’s out in the open with Jamie, Sonya, and Henry, it’s like a sigh of relief. Henry fits in with us. He sat through all of Mamma Mia! and Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again . Here’s the kicker, though: he liked it.
I feel myself getting deeper and deeper in this. Wanting him more and more. We took a trip to Arlene’s Grocery to see Terrance play with his band, the Curtanas, and I couldn’t get Henry off the dance floor. He swung me around, clutching me close to him as we rocked back and forth to heavy-metal guitar. We went back to the dog shelter to see Fred get officially adopted by his new owner, and we both got misty-eyed as they trotted down the street into the crowd. Henry whistled “The Way You Look Tonight” the whole way up to his place, an ode to our old friend Fred on his journey home. We walked arm in arm at the Queens night market, smelling the kettle corn and dumplings and kebabs and smoke from the charred grills of the vendors.
Our Passion Projects have become nights together, kisses between subway stops, lunches at L’italiano. They’ve morphed into morning sex and afternoon coffee. Lazy days learning each other’s bodies, our likes and dislikes. How I can make Henry come apart in my hands, how he can do the same for me. He tells me stories about Denver, about hiking with his dad, and I show him pictures of my family, of Andy, the Chases.
I’ve also been going on adventures alone now. Last week I took a pottery class in Queens. The week before I took a pasta-making class at Eataly all by myself. I Rushed a Broadway show and sat in the back row, crying softly to myself at the end. I read a poem in front of everyone at a coffee shop. I spent half a day getting lost in the bookshelves at the Strand, and then had my aura read by a woman in Chinatown. I actually tried a street vendor pretzel…and it honestly wasn’t half bad.
Sonya’s teaching me how to knit, and I started making her playlists again.
After every one of my excursions, I ring Henry’s doorbell. I usually find him in sweats, unshaven, going through edits from photo shoots. He pulls me in, kissing me like he missed me. Really missed me. He asks me if I’ve found my passion yet, and I shake my head no. Not yet.
This morning, we’re at my place.
“Can you grab me a spoon?” Henry pours himself a cup of coffee from my French press.
“Mm-hm.” I yawn. I have to be at the library in an hour and Henry has a closing shift at the restaurant, which means we’ll have to spend the night away from each other.
My finger grazes a piece of paper in the silverware drawer. I pull the heavy card stock out and pinch it between my index finger and my thumb, holding it delicately, as if it’s a bomb that might explode at any moment. The invitation to Andy’s wedding. I’d completely forgotten. Actually, I hadn’t forgotten. I’d been ignoring it.
The Chases. How can I face them? The doting family I let fall out of my life? A pit sinks in the bottom of my stomach.
I’ve been prancing around New York, the home I was supposed to share with their son, with someone else. And I’ve been happy. It feels like such a slap in their faces.
Henry comes up behind me, kissing my neck, and my brain is quiet. “Sonya’s not here, is she?” he whispers.
“Nope.” I pull his arms around my shoulders, letting him hold me close.
He slides his hands down my body, pressing his palms into my stomach. “I’m going to miss you tonight,” he whispers as he nibbles my ear.
“Down, boy, I have to get ready for work,” I say, but I don’t pull away.
“Screw work,” he says. One of his hands slides up my body and lands on my chest, fingers lazily tracing my nipple through my shirt. “What’s that?” he asks, noticing the invitation.
This is the moment. I can’t keep pushing it off. “The wedding invite.”
I turn around to face him, holding the card stock between us.
“I kill it at weddings,” he says, grinning. His bright eyes burn a hole in my heart. “And I crush it with parents.”
“Do you think…maybe…it’s a little weird for me to bring my new…um… something to the wedding of my dead ex-boyfriend’s sister?” I know I already asked him to go with me, but now that our relationship has changed, it feels strange.
He pulls back slightly, rubbing at his jaw. “You don’t want me to come?”
“No, it’s not that.” I take a breath. “Is it inappropriate?”
“Depends.” He shrugs. “On what you mean by something .”
I fold my arms across my stomach. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t usually get caught up in semantics, but if by something you mean guy who’s just a friend I sleep with , I’d say I shouldn’t go. But if by something you mean boyfriend …” He smiles sheepishly. “I’d really want that, actually.” He pauses, noticing my hesitation. “Unless you don’t want to…you know. Make it official.”
“I don’t know,” I say, because it’s the truth. “I’m scared.”
“That’s okay.” His face lightens. “Anything worth doing is at least a little bit scary.”
“What if we break up?”
“What if everything is fine and we’re happy?” he says, cupping my face with his hands.
I close my eyes, imagining what it would be like—it wouldn’t be much different than how we are now. How everything we’ve done this summer has scared me a bit, but it’s also been worth it. How I tackled plenty of fears, including dangling off the side of a skyscraper, and I came out on top.
I open my eyes to him looking hopefully down at me, feeling that same adrenaline buzz as I did on that skyscraper.
“Okay,” I say, with a little catch in my voice.
“Okay?” His eyes brighten and a slow grin spreads across his mouth.
I take his face in my hands and kiss him. His arms hook around my waist and he holds me against him. How can he taste this good in the morning? It’s tingles, it’s warmth, it’s hot buttered bread. “Yes,” I say.
“You’re my girlfriend,” he whispers between kisses.
Girlfriend was only ever a thing I was in relation to Sam. I feel dizzy hearing it again. Being it again.
He hoists me into the living room, laying me down on the couch. I peel his shirt over his head. Girlfriend.
His hands move down my back and land lightly on my hips. I reach between his legs, pleased that he’s already ready and I won’t have to wait long for him to be inside me.
I grab a condom from my purse on the floor and help him get it on.
He tugs my pajamas down and tosses them to the side. I pull his hips back to mine, squeezing my legs around him. The couch creaks under our weight. Let it crumple. I don’t care.
“My girlfriend,” he breathes as he dips inside me. I cling to his shoulders, wishing that being Henry’s girlfriend made the fear go away.
At the library, I open the wedding website, my chin resting in my hand. I take a quick look through their engagement photos, beautifully bright and popping off the screen. Andy and Theo look so happy I could cry.
When I read about the wedding party, I’m embarrassed that I don’t know anyone in it. How could Andy’s life have changed so much in just a couple of years? Theo’s brother, Alonzo, is the best man, and a woman named Vanessa is the maid of honor. Once, Andy wanted me to be her maid of honor and Sam her best man. Neither of us are either of those things.
I keep scrolling until I hit the bottom of the page and I see it. A small picture of Sam under a caption. Honorable best man: Samuel Chase. I clench my jaw. I haven’t seen his picture in years. I haven’t let myself look. He’s wearing a suit and tie, smiling in front of a hydrangea bush. It’s from graduation. I tied his tie that day.
I remember watching him walk across the stage, my throat tight with the fear of the post-graduation unknown. I remember being proud, but selfishly sad because I knew everything would change. Andy and I sat together in the crowd with Mr. and Mrs. Chase, the four of us each hiding our tears from each other, swallowing the emotions that come along with growing up and moving on. After the ceremony, the Chases took me to dinner, and it felt like a moment suspended in time. I wished I could be at that table, squished in a restaurant booth between Sam and Andy forever, sipping on iced teas and nibbling on french fries.
I scroll down to read the text.
Brother of the Bride. Samuel Chase passed away in a tragic accident, but the family feels his presence every day. The bride will wear a small patch of one of his baseball jerseys stitched into the bodice of her gown to honor him and to keep him with her every step of the way.
My breathing shortens to shallow pants. A lump rises in my throat. I click off the page and pretend I didn’t see it. My fingers shake as I scroll to the RSVP section and find my name in the computer system. I click yes to the rehearsal dinner, and I pick the chicken and the steak so Henry and I can share.
Oh god, what will they think of me?
The Chases accepted me the minute Sam introduced me to them. They showered me with gifts at birthdays and holidays, they invited me to family vacations, they loved me because Sam loved me. They used to call me their third child.
How could it be okay that I’m bringing someone new to this wedding? That I haven’t spoken to them in so long and now I’ll be showing up with a new boyfriend who’s not their son?
Inviting Henry was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I thought he would be the perfect person to bring, since pretty much everyone who meets him loves him. When I asked him, I pictured introducing the new friend I met in New York City, not my boyfriend. Those are two hugely different things. The former tells them that I’m doing well, trying to get my life together. The latter tells them I’ve moved on from their son. That I’m happy when I should be grieving.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and open my messages with Andy.
Are you still at the same address? Sending our invites soon.
I never responded. God, I can be such a jerk. I debate with myself for far too long over whether I should acknowledge the fact that I never responded, or if I should act like it never happened and tell her I’m coming to the wedding. I debate for so long that Andy beats me to it, and my phone pings.
I just got the RSVP notification. You’re coming? With a plus one?
My lungs tighten, and so does my grip around my phone.
Andy texts again.
Who are you bringing?
How the hell am I going to explain this? I did not think this through. Not at all. I type out a response.
I’m bringing my new boyfriend which feels like a massive betrayal to you and your family seeing as I used to date your brother and now he’s dead because of it.
Delete.
Can’t wait to rub my new boyfriend in your face when I’ve completely abandoned our relationship.
Delete, delete, delete.
I clasp my phone between my hands and squeeze my eyes closed. Panic rises up my chest, until it feels like it’s choking me, stopping the blood from flowing to my head.
Plus one is just a friend.
Send.
Immediately my stomach churns. I’m pretty sure the worst option for me was to lie, and that’s exactly what I did. Henry is very much not my friend, and one look at the way we interact with each other will make that extremely obvious. I open my messages to see if by some miracle it didn’t send, but Andy is already typing her response.
If you want a room for your friend, one of my cousins dropped out last minute so we have an extra one on the block. Yours, free.
You don’t share hotel rooms with people who are just friends, right? Not if there’s also a free one hand-delivered to you by the bride herself. This lie is already ahead of me and I told it two seconds ago.
I’ll take care of it, but thank you.
Andy types back.
I know how you are about your personal space. Just send me your friend’s name.
I can’t argue with her. She’s the bride. The bride always wins.
Henry Adams.
The blue dots appear at the bottom of the screen and Andy’s message pops up.
I’ll send you the confirmation.
My heart is beating like a damn jackhammer. She texts again.
Weekend is going to be pretty busy but I want to catch up. Sunday morning?
I bite my lip and hope I don’t bleed.
I’d love that.
Within seconds I get confirmation from the hotel in L.A. with a room under my name and a room under Henry’s. I flop my head down on the desk in front of me and wallow for a couple seconds, and then I bury my phone out of sight. I can’t even look at it right now.
How will I explain the two hotel rooms to Henry? If I tell him I lied to Andy and told her we’re just friends, it will hurt him. If I tell Andy I lied to her and Henry is really my boyfriend, it will hurt her. I’m trying to salvage this relationship, not set it on fire.
Get it together, Bennet.
Maybe it’ll all be fine and Henry won’t be mad that I booked two separate hotel rooms, and Andy won’t ever find out Henry’s my boyfriend, and rainbow pigs will fly out of my ass and start dancing the Macarena.
I hunch over my desk, pressing my palms to my face. I don’t know why I can’t stop screwing things up.