Situationship

Thirty-two

Teagan

Wedding weekend has arrived. If I can make it through the next three days, I can . . . relax? No, never that, especially with all the shit I’ll have to clean up with my parents when I get home, but at least my schedule will go back to normal when school starts again. I will be busy doing something I’m good at rather than disappointing myself along with everyone else—too busy to allow myself to fall for the same old trick of getting my hopes up just to have them dashed at the end of the summer.

Hiding behind my responsibilities for the weekend keeps me at a distance from everyone else’s cheerfulness. Seeing their excitement only reminds me of my gloom.

All I need to do is make sure everyone is in the right place at the right time. A harrowing task for a party of fourteen. I scramble to keep everyone together during our short layover in London, and still barely keep Ritchie from missing the flight. Filling first class on both flights, there were only two hours where everyone decided to stay quiet enough to sleep. Tucking myself in the farthest corner, I still managed to make eye contact with Heath again and again. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to talk to me or if I only wished he did—the same way I couldn’t tell if he meant to say more than he did at his mom’s house or if that’s what I wanted.

But what else is there to say? A week left of summer and all this will be over. No more having time to connect without fully connecting, letting ourselves grow closer beneath the guise of meaningless sex. We can go back to our separate lives, living in two incompatible realities, and giving us space to remember why we are mutual friends and nothing more.

We arrive in Valencia at 6:00 a.m. New York time, but a second wind fueled by excitement and the midday sun shining over the crystal blue waters reconfirmed the judiciousness of my schedule. I didn’t book a hotel in Valencia, instead opting to spend the night on Brett’s yacht to force away the jet lag, and then arrive on the island at the hotel’s check-in time.

With Felicity present, Brett is playing the role of Good Husband, leaving the bridesmaids with Ritchie, who is temporarily single after another apparent breakup with Gigi, and Heath, who is . . . Heath. Cocky, delicious, and off-limits. Two of the bridesmaids have been trying to paw at him since the jet.

In a way, I wish he would sleep with one of them to remind me of how much of a fuckboy he can be, but all he has done is ignore their advances. I’m pissed that I’ve become a person who gets mad when Heath acts like a good person. I know why, but it’s difficult to get out of your feelings when the person who put you in them is being very feelable .

On our long walk up the pier, the wheels of my suitcase clack a droning rhythm over the wood planks, reminding me of my lack of sleep, but I have one last message to send. I grip my phone tighter, not wanting to drop it into the ocean.

To my misfortune, I bump into Brett, who nearly knocks it out of my hands. “There she is,” he says with a beaming smile. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

I look up and see the behemoth he calls a boat. The sun glares off the white sides of its two-hundred-foot length and three-story height. It looks to be the size of a boutique hotel.

“That thing is fucking huge, Brett,” I say. “A sentence Liss has never said before.”

He bats my arm playfully but Felicity’s expression doesn’t disagree. She hugs his arm tighter with a smile as big as his. She loves a shiny new toy just as much as he does. I can’t begin to imagine how many millions this boat costs, but he swears renting it out turns a profit. That could never be me, literally or figuratively.

I tag along, going through the motions of climbing on and handing over my bags while I put together the last of the day-of schedule. I lean against the railing beneath the shade and scan through it again. With the hairdresser showing up later and now needing to style the mother-in-law, I have to shift the start time and photo window for the guys to avoid—

“Teags.”

I look up and find Heath. He’s in his element. Bronze skin popping beneath a white linen shirt, his hair in perfect sea-salt waves, the length of his shorts displaying an alluring majority of his thigh tattoos. You can take the boy off the island, but . . . “Hi.”

“I grabbed you this.” He holds out a little paper takeaway box. “It’s an egg soufflé. Balanced macros—proteins, fats, carbs. Perfect fuel for the marathon your thumbs are running right now,” he says with a smirk.

He hands it to me, and I realize I forgot to eat breakfast. It’s comforting the way he doesn’t scold me for it or point it out; he just notices and helps. He’s doing that Good Friend thing again, and I need him to stop.

“Thank you. I’ll be done with this in a hot five, then I’ll be better, I swear.”

“The wedding is still going to happen whether things are in fifteen-minute increments or not,” he teases me. “You’re on a yacht in the Mediterranean. Can you let yourself enjoy it a little?”

Right now, I’d enjoy running my tongue over the muscles peeking out between his shirt’s buttons, but that’s illegal. “I’ll try.”

His gray eyes give me a once-over before I return to my phone. He’s right, though. My schedule is clean enough to review with Mary, which she won’t be able to do until she’s sober. I have hours until that happens.

Heath leans back against the railing beside me. “You’re hovering,” I say.

“We’re on a boat. Where else am I supposed to go?”

“It’s the size of a mansion. I’m sure you can find somewhere.”

He laughs. I smile at the sound until his hand grazes my arm. The light touch makes my entire body tingle. “Can I talk to you about something?”

The sincerity of his tone is concerning. “Sure. What’s up?”

He looks hesitant before Ritchie flies into view like a capuchin monkey, nearly tackling Heath to the deck by his neck. Heath doesn’t look amused, but Ritchie’s too drunk to notice. He pulls him away by the arm, Heath grumbling as he does. He tosses a look my way that says Sorry .

The boat vibrates beneath my feet when we start our journey into the water. I sit down on a couch and open the little box, finding the perfectly baked pastry, a tiny fork, and two strawberries tucked in the corner. It’s perfect.

A lump builds in my throat, but I push it back down and take my first bite.

~

At dinner, the full party sits together in the open-air dining room, enjoying the sunset with paella and sangria. All I want to do is go to bed, but I refuse to miss out on time with Mary or throw off my sleep schedule. My body protests. I blink and it feels like ten minutes have passed. Only the shouts of drunk boys horseplaying brings me back to consciousness.

The guys are on the deck causing havoc, as per usual. I leave them to their own devices, opting to enjoy the company of multiple women for the first time in months . The summer is almost over. I will have more moments like this again soon, but I need this right now.

Mary’s bridesmaids are so much like her—beautiful and sociable—but have an intimidating homogeneity. Some friends, some cousins, their matching black hair falls in matching waves onto matching white resort wear. My outfit fits in, at least.

The loudest of the bunch, Zara, pours me another glass of rosé. I would be lying if I said I haven’t scoped her for sapphic vibes since we arrived, but she, like the rest of their group, hasn’t included

me enough for me to get much of a chance. Wedding party hookups are always messy, but I’m frustrated about sharing a room with Heath when he’s off-limits. Adding wine to that situation makes me inconveniently horny. I try to ignore the heat between my legs when my mind drifts to pictures of the hotel room, images of what could happen inside it, and focus only on the conversation that flows between Spanish and English, relying on Mary to keep me included.

While taking a sip, Mary reads it on my face and her eyes widen. “Oh my god. I just realized this is the first time you’ve met our Best Ma’am in person. Isn’t she wonderful?”

The olive-skinned beauties turn to me with the same smile, like Spanish Stepford wives.

“Teagan is always stuck with Ryan and their chicos locos.” Mary explains away my standoffish behavior. “Be gentle with her, she’s not used to civility.”

I love her.

“It is great to finally meet all of Ryan’s friends,” Zara says. The first part of her next sentence is in Spanish, then, “. . . it is odd that you are the only girl in a group of boys.” Her tone is suspicious, implying a friendship between sexes is inherently untrustworthy.

The thought of Ryan’s tweaked-out confession weighs on me, but Mary has nothing to worry about. “It’s not odd. We’ve all been friends since we were kids,” I explain. Mary’s smile settles my mood. “If you want dirt on any of them, I have it.”

“One of your friends—the handsome one,” Zara says, ruining my hopes and my mood. “What is his name?”

“Heath.” Who needs to clarify when it’s either him or the gremlin, Ritchie?

“He’s muy guapo ,” another says. She is one of the two who have been ogling him since we arrived. “What is his situation?” she asks.

Me , I want to say, but refrain. That’s not the truth anymore. “He’s seeing someone.”

“Oh. Is it serious?”

My laugh is more awkward than intended. “Knowing him, probably not.”

“Yes! You should go for it!” Zara encourages the other one.

My heart drops when she stands to approach him. I force myself to look away, which is stupid. No matter how intertwined we are, it changes nothing. He’s with Shelley, and that’s a good thing. For him at least.

“I can tell her to back off,” Mary whispers to me.

“Why?”

“If you don’t want her to flirt with Heath.”

I study her, wondering how much she knows. When I open my mouth to speak, someone else’s voice comes out instead. “Tea-gan!” Brett bellows, adding extra emphasis to the last syllable. He’s drunk as hell, my nightmare. “It’s groomsman time in the hot tub!”

“It’s what time where?”

“Come on,” he complains, as if I have any idea what he is talking about. He stumbles over and pulls out my chair.

“Brett, what—” He scoops me into his arms, grunting when he lifts me. Flattering. “Well.” I grab my glass on the way up, knowing I will need it to get through whatever mess he’s about to pull me into. “It was nice meeting you!”

The girls giggle to themselves as Brett carries me away.

He carries me—somehow maintaining his footing—over to a hot tub embedded in the deck near a bar, the water glowing with lights that fade from green to blue to purple. Ryan and Ritchie are in the water already. Brett walks into it, flopping as he lets me go. I manage to keep my glass above the water. Priorities.

“Guys, come on! We have shots!” Brett calls to the rest.

I set my glass on the side of the tub, remove my drenched swim cover, then secure my braids into a bun on the top of my head. I didn’t spend eight hours in a chair just to soak them in unshowered-ass-and-ball juice.

Jeremy climbs in next to me. He gives me a snarky look, then pulls me to his side. I hug him and lay my head against his hairy chest, a quiet I forgive you for the past few days.

Ritchie lifts the tray of twelve shot glasses into the middle. I take one and sniff it, smelling the floral scent of expensive brandy. Brown liquor? This is going to go downhill quickly.

Brett raises his glass. “To Ryan on his special weekend! Welcome to the married club, bro!”

We clink then drink. The liquid slides down like water but makes my next breath come out like fire. As I fight for less flammable air, I succumb to the peer pressure and take the next glass.

“And to Jer! The next in line to join the club!”

I swear I hear a record scratch. Eyes shift around in silence as we decipher who knew before Brett snitched.

“What?” Ryan asks. “You’re getting married?”

“We were going to wait until after the wedding to tell everyone,” Jeremy says, giving Brett a look . “I don’t want to take any attention away from your special day.”

“No! This is great news!” Ryan is intoxicated but his happiness is genuine. Crisis averted. “Congratulations! Oh my god, cheers to that!”

Clink. Drink.

The minute I swallow, it tries to come back up, but I don’t let it. We sit down, and I attempt to chase the taste away with my rosé. Bad idea, but not worse than anything else happening in this tub.

“Where’s Chet?” Brett asks. “Chet!”

“You said this was groomsmen only,” Jeremy says.

“Eh, he’s a dude too. This can be all the guys.”

I wave to Brett. “Hello?” He ignores me.

Chet comes over and climbs into the tub as well. Six bodies is a lot, even for a hot tub this luxuriously sized, and seven is a squeeze, but no one can be upset when Chet is the exception. That’s like getting mad a puppy showed up in a playpen of kittens.

“Hey, guys,” he says in his honeyed tone. “I guess you heard the news.”

We exchange congratulatory sentiments, then the conversation devolves into engagement parties and wedding planning. With a yawn I rest my head against the edge of the tub, letting a jet massage my lower back, and stare up at the sky.

The last bit of orange slips away over horizon, dragging darkness in behind it. The waning crescent adds little moonlight to the equation, but it’s better that way. The night sky is full of stars I’ve never seen before, multitudes more than what you can see beyond the city lights of home. Open bodies of water usually freak me out—a vast depth filled with the unknown, the possibility of the boat sinking and no one finding us before the hungry sea creatures do—but it’s easy to forget that when I’m in a glowing hot tub with the warmth of liquor settling in.

Ryan leaves my side to go after Ritchie, splashing water into my ear. They laugh about something, but I have been out of the conversation for too long. I turn my head and find Heath moving out of the way of the aggressive bromance.

He sits beside me. “Feeling good?”

It must show on my face. My warmth gains a happy blur, my brain floating like my body in the water. It erases every other feeling except the ache I have for him. “Sure. You?”

He shrugs, then sinks deeper into the water, matching my position. His thigh slides against mine and his hand appears on my leg. The little bit of touch he allows teases in my core. I would think he was pulling fuckboy shit again, but the timid grin he gives me makes it seem like he has a deeper intention hidden away.

“What did you want to talk about earlier?”

He stares for a moment and then shakes his head. “Later.”

His mood doesn’t sit right with me. “Okay.”

Heath stares up at the sky the way I had before, but I can’t look away from him. I don’t want to. His fingers trace absent-minded circles on my inner thigh, and I despise how quickly it makes my body hotter than the water.

Jeremy grumbles beside me. When I see him, he is red and fuming. I imagine steam rising from his head while he glares at Brett. Chet’s arm is around his shoulders attempting to keep him calm.

“I’m just saying. Making us travel to a wedding in Philly? You might as well get married in Jersey.” Brett’s laugh is as smug as his sentence. He means to tease, but Jeremy is going to pop off if Brett says anything else. Lucky for no one, he continues, “If you don’t want us to go, just say that.”

“You are oblivious to everything, aren’t you?” Jeremy says.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jeremy drowns his snarky comment in a heavy swig of his drink. “You know what? No. It’s not nothing.”

Heath sits up at the same time I do. We both know what’s coming.

“Why would I want you at my wedding, Brett? With your shitty little comments and judgments.”

“Because we’re family,” Brett says.

“Family? We’ve been friends for a long time. That doesn’t mean we need to keep being friends.” Jeremy didn’t come to play.

“Honey.” Chet’s attempt to calm him is obscenely futile.

“What?” Brett looks shocked. “Why would we ever stop being friends?”

“You say borderline homophobic and racist shit all the time. ‘No homo-ing’ with Ritchie, talking about Teagan like she’s not even a person.” Not sure why I’m getting pulled into this, but here we are. “You voted for a guy who said he’d take away my right to get married.”

“Oh, come on. You know that’s not what I believe. We have different politics, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“It’s not ‘just politics’ when it affects someone’s humanity,” Jeremy corrects him. Politics isn’t a taboo subject to him: it’s his profession. “You always make jokes then laugh off my feelings about them, not caring that it makes me feel subhuman. And you do it all the time.”

“Why are you blaming me for everything?”

“I’m not blaming you. I’m telling you,” Jeremy says.

“But I do love you, Jer. And I respect the hell out of you.”

“You can love someone and still dislike everything about them.”

The wide-eyed look of shock on Ryan’s face gains my attention. “Hey, so maybe this isn’t the best time for this conversation,” I say. “How about we do this later. Like not—”

“I’m not a bad person, Jer.” Brett sets his glass on the deck, but his slurred speech proves it’s too late for me to stop him. “I don’t dislike anything about people like you or Teagan.”

That hits me in exactly the wrong place. “People like me?” I feel my face twist in confusion but try to give Brett a chance to fix his mistake.

“I’m just saying.”

“Saying what ?” I ask.

“You know exactly what. The same shit he always does,” Jeremy says.

“Yo, why are you causing drama when we’re supposed to be celebrating?” Ritchie butts in.

“Shut up, Ritchie,” Jeremy snips. “You are just as bad. Always starting shit and causing drama for no reason other than to be just like your idol, Brett.”

The confusion makes Ritchie squint. His lack of self-awareness will baffle me until the end of time. “Don’t act like you don’t know this. Look what you did in Vegas, if you even remember,” I say.

“Well, you’re not perfect either. You can be really bitchy sometimes, but we all take it on the chin because ‘That’s Teagan.’”

Even with my lack of sobriety, Ritchie’s words sting. It reminds me of what Rowan said, Teagan did it first or Teagan did it better , and the wound reopens again. It’s painful to be the villain in everyone else’s story when I’m not even the hero in my own.

“Shut up, Rich. You’re literally starting shit right now,” Heath says.

“Don’t defend her! You act like she doesn’t treat you like shit all the time.”

“She doesn’t,” Heath says, his voice low, his tone defensive. Once again, he protects me when I should be protecting myself.

“Ritchie’s right,” Brett says.

“Oh, is he?” I dare him to grow balls and double down. He doesn’t answer, just takes another sip of his courage juice. “What? Do you expect me to apologize?”

“No, we definitely don’t,” Brett says with a roll of his eyes.

Ryan tries to pacify the situation. “Guys, let’s just calm—”

“You call me the problem when Teagan is the drama queen. Always pissed off at someone about something.” Ritchie reinserts himself in a conversation he has no place in.

“Are you saying I’m angry ?” I ask.

“Pretty much.”

“Rich, stop. You don’t even know what you’re talking about right now,” Heath warns. They never hear what they’re saying, never see how it could affect me worse than what my words can do to them. They don’t see me at all. Only Heath does. “Shut the fuck up before I make you.”

“Even if I was the stereotype you want to paint me, I have plenty of reasons to be angry, especially when I’m surrounded by ‘friends’ like you.”

“Have you ever stopped to think maybe you’re the reason everything sucks for you?” Brett asks me. “Always mad about life being unfair when you’re the one making it hard for yourself by always being a fucking bitch.”

His words land on me like an anchor, and I can’t keep it in any longer.

“As if there’s any other way I could hold my own in a group like this? A bunch of overprivileged, cishet white dudes, thinking that my life is exactly like yours. I don’t tell you half the shit I deal with on the daily because you wouldn’t listen or believe me even if I did!” I’m so mad I’m shaking, my anger spilling out. “I’m a bitch to protect myself. You’re a willfully ignorant bigot for fun.”

Brett’s eyes narrow. With a deep swipe of his arm, he splashes water in my face. I gasp.

Before I can react, Heath shoves him down, looking like he wants to start swinging. I grab him and pull him back, not needing him to fight my battle for me yet again. The scene devolves into chaos, Jeremy and Heath exchanging more choice words with Brett and Ritchie, but I’m too focused on keeping my angry tears from spilling to take in anything else they have to say.

The girls finally come over, Mary leading the way, their faces blanched by our bullshit. “What is happening?”

Shit . I deflate, remembering how I had tried to keep the peace two minutes ago, just to let the guys weasel their way under my skin and put me right back in my feelings. But I’m tired. The last thing I should have to do is defend myself against the people who call themselves my friends.

“This was my point,” Jeremy says. “We’re not friends. We’re just a bunch of people who have been in the same places for a long time, and it’s about time we admit it. Relationships are a choice, not a default.”

A painfully awkward silence settles between us. It’s the quiet that falls when a debate is over, when the perfect point is made and there’s no counterargument to be had. For what feels like a minute the only sounds are the bubbling jets and my heart pounding in my ears.

Finally, Felicity pulls Brett from the water. Mary is by her side, doing the same with Ryan who looks like he’s crying. I feel guiltier than ever.

Brett sees Ryan’s face, too, and turns back. “This is your fucking fault, Jer!”

“Fuck you, too, Brett.”

My skin aches and my stomach turns. Everything is shattering under my feet. But frankly, I’d rather drown with the sea monsters than feel like this any longer.