Chapter Seven Eleanor #2
I’ve always hated seeing Tyler frown. He’s such a mellow guy, it just doesn’t look right on his face. “What makes you think you might get fired?”
I let go of my straw and cross my arms. “My boss sat me down a couple of months ago and gave me a list of things I needed to work on before the end of the fiscal year—which is in like two weeks. I’ve tried, but…” I shrug.
Tyler makes a considering noise. “Well, what about life outside of work?”
I can’t help it. I laugh. “Uh, things aren’t going much better in that regard.”
The food was cleared from our table while I was in the restroom. Tyler rests his hand right where Adam’s plate was, fingers tap-tap-tapping while he stares at me, and I know he’s not a prosecutor, but it feels like some kind of intimidation tactic. Like he’s waiting for me to spill my guts.
“Ever since the Griffin thing, I’ve tried so hard to make sure everyone thinks I’m thriving.
Especially Iris and my mom. And the more time passes and the worse things get, the harder it is to admit that I’m broke, and that work—the part of my life I’ve prioritized above all my personal relationships and made all these sacrifices for—has been going downhill.
So instead I keep faking it, and doing stupid shit like buying my sister the designer wedding gown she had her heart set on, that my mother couldn’t afford. ”
It didn’t matter that I couldn’t afford it either. What mattered was that she believed the lie I’ve been cultivating for years now—that I’m successful and that I don’t need anyone’s help.
Across the table, Tyler lets out a slow exhale. “I wish I’d known you were having such a rough go. I feel bad I haven’t been there for you.”
“Well. That’s hardly your fault, is it?”
I have never, not once in all the years I’ve known him, felt judged by Tyler.
Not when I went through my phase of refusing to wear a coat out to parties, even when it was in the single digits or blizzarding in the part of Michigan where we attended college.
Not even at the height of my social media addiction sophomore year, when I attempted to go viral with a video of me looking like an absolute fool doing a choreographed dance to a song I wouldn’t be caught dead listening to now.
He was probably silently judging me, to be fair.
But he never made me feel judged, and that’s what counts.
All that said, it was very clear he never approved of Griffin.
And, like, I get it. In hindsight, I also do not approve of my decision to get involved with the man.
I’ve invested a lot of time and money in therapy trying to figure out whether I would’ve been better off if I’d never met Griffin, or at least if I’d never slept with him. I’m still not sure of the answer.
But Tyler visited LA when I was in the thick of it. Right when things were turning bad, but not yet so bad that I was ready to leave. It was sunk-cost fallacy at work.
Unlike me, Tyler was considerate enough to reach out ahead of time so we could make plans while he was in town.
I wound up inviting him over to Griffin’s house.
I’d been spending a lot of time there, because Griffin wanted me to, and because it was a literal mansion in the Hills, whereas I lived in a run-down one-bedroom apartment in Studio City.
We were hanging out by the pool when Griffin came home.
I can still picture his smile while he shook Tyler’s hand, can feel the kiss he pressed to the crown of my head as he draped his arms over the back of my chair.
I remember how red his face got a little while later, when I told him I couldn’t come to the dinner he’d sprung on me because I’d made plans with Tyler—plans he knew about.
But we were standing in his kitchen, on his turf, which somehow made it seem like he had a right to tell me I had to cancel, because this was his biggest client, and he wanted me there, needed me there—This is a huge opportunity for you, Eleanor; you’d be an idiot to pass it up.
Holding my ground would only lead to an even bigger fight later, and the prospect of dealing with Griffin when he was that angry had my anxiety spiking.
So I backed down, and I let Griffin walk me outside, to where Tyler was waiting by the pool.
I couldn’t tell how much of our argument Tyler had heard, whether he saw it coming when I made my excuses and bailed on our plans.
He didn’t get mad, or try to change my mind.
He simply told me that we’d catch up again soon.
But then, of course, we didn’t.
It makes me cringe, thinking about how long it took for me to finally accept Griffin was an irredeemable bastard. And cringe harder, being confronted with another lasting impact he’s had on my life.
Shame sits heavy on my shoulders. I shift in my seat, trying to shake it off. “I’m glad we’re getting the chance to reconnect now.”
“Me too,” Tyler says, folding both arms on the table. “Speaking of which, are you ever going to tell me the rest of the story from last night?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Let’s start with the sex and then work our way back. Was it good? Adam’s built like a runner; I bet he has great stamina.”
“Holy shit, we did not have sex.” I glance around, flustered by the abrupt change in topic, but no one within earshot seems to care about us. Obviously, we are not the main attraction at this venue. “Nothing happened.”
My gaze drops to my bag. I resist the urge to peek at the photo from the chapel. That kiss doesn’t count.
“You two really aren’t a thing?”
I snort. “God, no.”
“Well, as your wingman—”
“Pretty sure you stopped being my wingman like six years ago.”
“—I feel obligated to point out that if you were interested in him, this is kind of the perfect opportunity to hook up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” He wags his eyebrows ludicrously.
“I’m sorry, have you forgotten why I’m here? I’m still actively trying to fix the mistakes I’ve already made.”
Tyler holds a palm up. “My point exactly. You already messed up, so what’s the harm in having some fun with it?”
I sputter for a moment, then latch on to the first argument that comes to mind. “Wouldn’t fucking Adam make it so we couldn’t get an annulment anyway?”
“Bah.” Tyler waves his hand. “I can do a workaround.”
“Okay, well. It’s moot, because I’m not into him. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s an asshole. And I’ve sworn off assholes. I feel like you of all people should be supporting me on this.”
Tyler shifts again, propping his chin in the L of his hand. He never was capable of sitting still unless he was stoned. “I’m not saying you have to marry the guy.”
“Oh, ha ha.” I fish an ice cube out of my glass and throw it at him. He dodges it gleefully.
“You’re really going to tell me you’re not even a little bit interested?”
“I’m not.”
Tyler’s got his shit-eating grin on again. “You want to climb him like a tree.”
Everything I say, Tyler is just going to twist around. I cross my arms and give him a flat look.
“All I’m saying is I picked up on some tension there.” Tyler holds his hands up in surrender. “And you know as well as I do how much fun a hate fuck can be. Remember my roommate sophomore year?”
“Oh god, Bobby. He was so obnoxious.”
Tyler laughs. “He was. And yet, I seem to remember the two of you sexiling me for an entire night that one time.”
I roll my eyes skyward and briefly consider firing Tyler and finding another attorney to handle this.
I bite my straw and suck down the little bit of melted ice at the bottom of my glass while Tyler mercifully changes the subject to what he might get from the buffet.
My phone buzzes on the table. It’s a text from Adam, asking me to meet him outside.
I relay the message to Tyler, and when we both stand up he draws me in for a full-body hug.
I can’t fathom why he seems so invested in the prospect of Adam and me fucking.
But I have to admit, I missed this—the casualness of a friendship that goes back years.
Having enough history with someone that you can joke with them, say what you want without running every thought through a filter first. Without worrying what it will make you sound like.
I feel unburdened in a way I never would have predicted when I walked into this strip club.
“Missed you, buddy,” I tell him as I step back.
“Missed you too. Don’t disappear on me again.”
“Promise.” I blame the hangover, but I find myself getting weirdly emotional at the prospect of saying goodbye to Tyler, even though we’ll be in touch soon enough about the annulment. I shake my head and quickly press fingers under my lashes. “Okay. Time to go.”
“Go ride Adam’s cock into the sunset?”
Jesus.
“Enjoy your lunch,” I say as I start to back away. “Don’t choke on any congealed mac ’n cheese.”
“Enjoy your hate sex. Don’t choke on Adam’s—”
Despite the fact he is clearly immune to my wrath, I shoot Tyler the middle finger. He cuts off with a giggle, and I’m left stumbling toward the exit, scrambling to think about literally anything other than Adam’s dick.
It’s a jarring transition, stepping out of the club and back into the light of day. I wince and raise my hand to shield my eyes from the glare as I walk over to Adam, who is hovering a few yards away from the entrance.
I tell myself to compartmentalize. Tuck the conversation I had with Tyler away to think about later. “Any luck?”
“Yeah. I looked through my pictures from last night like you suggested. We were holding microphones in a few of them, so I called around and found my ID at a karaoke bar across town. I already ordered an Uber.”
“Excellent.” I dig through my purse until I find my sunglasses, which I shove onto my face before asking: “Why don’t you look happier?”
A car pulls into the parking lot and Adam gestures for me to follow. We slide into the back seat and he greets the driver and confirms our destination before turning back to me.