Chapter 1 #2
We’d also eat ramen together in his dorm room, sitting there under these tacky, twinkly chili pepper lights he’d strung around his window. We talked about love and life, boyfriends and girlfriends, fantasies and—and—
God, we were young. Young and passionate and ready to take on the world.
But we’re older now, and friendships drift apart when you’re separated by three thousand miles.
I set the phone down and pick up my champagne before turning to Cassie. “How goes the wedding planning?”
“It’s coming along,” she says. “Dax is doing this cool mixed-metal arch for the ceremony. Here, let me show you.”
As Cassie scrolls through her phone, Lisa sits beaming at the mention of her fiancé. It’s no secret she’s a big fan of Dax’s artistic skills, not to mention the rest of his talents.
Cassie holds out her phone so I can check out the arch. “It’s symbolic of the intertwining of his career in tech and mine in soil science and—”
A buzzing from the coffee table yanks everyone’s attention back to my phone. The screen lights up with an incoming message, and there’s an unexpected flutter in my belly when I see Ian’s name.
Hey! Long time no chat. Happy birthday to you, too.
I smile to myself and hold out my hand for Cassie’s phone. “Let’s see the arch.”
She draws it back like I’ve just asked for a crack pipe. “No way. You need to respond to that right now.”
I give her a dramatic eye roll. “It’s girls’ night,” I tell her. “Ian Nolan is definitely not a girl.”
“All the more reason to respond,” she points out. “He has a penis. You enjoy penis from time to time.”
I’m not sure I follow the logic, but I pick up my phone anyway and tap out a quick reply.
Hope it’s been a good year for you.
Dorky, but true. I do hope he’s doing well. I hope he’s happy and healthy and—
His reply appears before I can finish that thought.
Can’t complain. You celebrating with husband, kids, boyfriend, whatever…?
I stare at the words, not sure what to make of them. In ten years, Ian’s never asked about boyfriends or marriage. Not once.
“What is it?” Cassie asks.
“I can’t figure out if he’s super-clueless and hasn’t bothered checking my social media, or if he’s fishing for details about my relationship status.”
“He’s a guy.” She shrugs. “I’m going with super-clueless.”
Junie grabs the bottle of sparkling cider and refills her glass before reaching for one of the homemade gluten-free crackers Lisa always brings for her. “Ask him if he’s married,” she says.
I’ve gotta hand it to Junie—her directness has its merits.
But I’m not ready to be quite that direct.
No husband, no kids, no boyfriend. Just enjoying a little birthday bubbly at home. Cheers!
I snap a quick photo of my hand holding my half-empty champagne flute, then click to send that with the message. Ian responds with a thumbs-up emoji, which would normally signal the end of this exchange.
Normally.
Hell, I’m thirty, right? Time to be a little bold, to do things outside my comfort zone? Maybe I owe it to myself to be a little more like Junie.
I hesitate. Then I start typing again.
How about you? Married? Kids? The whole ball of wax?
I flip the phone face down, feeling silly. What does that even mean, ball of wax? And why am I keeping this going? I’m here to enjoy a night with my girlfriends, not a flirtation with some long-lost guy friend.
I grab a piece of salami, determined to get this ladies’ night back on track.
“What are you doing?” Cassie’s question sounds exactly like it would if she caught someone urinating on the Mona Lisa.
“Uh, eating salami.”
“No.” She waves at my phone. “Keep chatting with him. We’re living vicariously through you.”
“Way better than soap operas,” Junie says. “And maybe there will be kissing.”
“There will be no kissing,” I insist as my phone buzzes with an incoming reply. I do my best to ignore it.
“If you don’t look, we will,” Cassie says. “And that could be embarrassing for you.”
“Very,” Lisa agrees. “We’re very nosy.”
“Please,” I mutter. “You guys know all my secrets.”
Most of them, anyway. I sigh and pick up the phone.
Not married. No wife, girlfriend, or badly deflated blow-up doll in my bed. Hey, remember that pact we made?
Holy shit. He remembers? I sit back on the sofa, too stunned to reply.
Cassie gives me an odd look. “What is it?”
I hold out my phone for her to see, and she passes it around the group. The ladies nod thoughtfully.
“What?” I ask. “Is it weird that he remembers?”
“You remember,” Cassie points out. “Why would it be weird?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “He’s a guy.”
“I’ll say he’s a guy.” She taps the phone screen. “Is this his picture?”
“Yep,” I say, noticing she’s pulled up an image of him running shirtless through the finish line at some Ironman event. “He—uh—works out a lot.”
“No kidding.” She nods appreciatively before handing the phone back. “I don’t usually dig redheaded guys, but he’s a hottie.”
“I like the freckles on his shoulders,” Junie says.
I glance down at the photo and I have to admit, I dig the freckles, too. I hesitate, then type out a response.
Ah, the marriage pact. We were going to be each other’s last resort?
His response comes before I’ve set down my phone.
Your flattery is touching. You still up for it?
I laugh and take another sip of champagne. He’s kidding, right?
Sure. I’m not doing anything this weekend, so a wedding would be nice.
I hit send before I can tell myself it’s a bad idea. I’m being way flirtier than I normally would, and he has to think it’s weird.
Maybe I’ll blame the bubbly.
Ian replies with a thumbs-up emoji, followed by the little dots that tell me he’s still typing.
Want me to pick up a gumball-machine ring and print out a marriage license from some shady internet site?
I laugh and grab an olive. Ian was always one of those serious guys who didn’t pull stupid pranks or get off on frat-boy humor like most guys our age.
Maybe that’s why his moments of lighthearted humor seemed more charming.
But something changed when his parents split and he dropped out of school after his brother—
The screen fills with a silly GIF of Homer Simpson in a wedding dress, and I smile as I take another sip of champagne.
“What?” Cassie asks. “What’s he saying?”
“We’re just joking about the marriage-pact thing,” I tell her. “He says he’s ready to go through with it.”
“Let me see his picture again.” Cassie holds out her hand, and I tap the screen a couple times to find another image. This one shows Ian in the cockpit of an airplane, wearing aviator glasses and a black T-shirt that showcases his toned biceps. The sisters and Junie peer at the screen.
“Very hot,” Cassie pronounces as she hands back my phone. “Those green eyes and that rumply red hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it.”
I stare down at my phone, surprised to realize I’ve never once considered running my hands through Ian’s hair. True, I’ve pictured a few other things. Not in explicit detail or anything, but—
“What should I say?” I turn to my girlfriends for wisdom. Considering they’ve had more champagne than I have, it’s possible they’re not the best source of advice.
“Tell him you’ll marry him,” Junie says. “Wait. Does he have a job?”
“A good job,” I reply. “Some kind of aviation management thing.” Not that I know what that means, but it sounds impressive.
“Yep, might as well marry him.” Cassie lifts her champagne glass and gives me a smirk. “Better yet, tell him you want to skip the wedding and go straight for the honeymoon. Wedding planning is a pain in the ass.”
The sisters launch into some cheerful bickering about the perils of wedding planning, but I’m only half listening because I’m staring at my phone screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the oddly flirty tone of his last couple messages. Whatever it is, I suddenly find myself tapping out a reply that’s sooo not what I’d normally write to Ian.
Sure, I’m game. Let’s skip the wedding and go right to the honeymoon. I hear Hawaii’s nice this time of year.
There. Not too forward. If he freaks out, I can just say I’m tired and need a vacation. That’s all I’m after, not someone to talk sexy to me.
Liar.
There’s a long pause before the little dots appear to indicate an incoming reply. I hold my breath, wondering if I should have called it a night a few messages ago.
Excellent plan. Might as well consummate this engagement to make it official?
Holy shit. He’s totally flirting. And I’m totally smiling. Why can’t I stop smiling? It’s the champagne, dammit. I glance at my flute and remember I’ve only had a glass and a half.
Okay, maybe it’s the fact that he’s three thousand miles away, on the other side of the country. Flirtation is safe at a distance like this. I tap out a short response:
I’m game. I’ll expect you here in 20 minutes ready to satisfy my every sexual desire.
His reply is almost instant.
I’ll be there in 10 if traffic’s not bad.
I stifle a giggle as I tap out my speedy response.
You’ve got the address. I’ll be waiting. Maybe naked.
I bite my lip to keep from grinning like a doofus. I’d never have the balls to write stuff like this to anyone else. Or to anyone in my same zip code.
But this is Ian, and we’re obviously joking, so it feels safe.
Safe, and maybe just a little naughty.
I set my phone down, embarrassed to be the kind of person who ignores her houseguests to message some random dude. “Sorry about that,” I tell them.
Cassie grins. “Are you kidding? This is the most fun I’ve had all week. I love seeing you get all glowy.”
“Please.” I pop an olive into my mouth and do my best not to glow as I turn to Junie. “So how have driving lessons been going?”
“Great.” She beams. “Simon says he’ll take me in for the license test next month if I pass the class.”
“Junie, that’s wonderful.” It is wonderful. I love that she’s been hitting so many milestones lately. Not all adults with Down Syndrome can tackle challenges like driving or dating or living independently, but Junie’s always been high-functioning. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks.” Junie looks at Lisa. “Dax says he’ll teach me to ride a motorcycle next.”
Cassie stands up and opens another bottle of champagne while everyone starts chattering about motorcycles and wedding plans and whether we should schedule a night out at the new tapas bar down the street.
I’m mostly relieved we’ve moved on from the topic of Ian, but a tiny part of me is dying to check my phone again.
A splash of trepidation leaks into my subconscious. If he’d responded, wouldn’t my phone have buzzed? And if that’s the case, maybe I offended him. Did I cross a line?
A sharp chime bounces off my living room walls. It takes me a second to recognize the sound of my own doorbell. I hop to my feet and pad sock-footed across my living room.
“If one of you ordered pizza, I’ll love you forever.” I reach for the knob to fling open the door. “Forget what I said about not wanting presents. Right now, I’m craving p—”
The word pepperoni dies in my throat as I face another fierce craving. Something that’s definitely not a twenty-inch pizza with extra cheese.
Swallowing hard, I force my voice to work. “Ian?”