Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Daphne
C assie and Damon arrive the way they typically do: ten minutes late, with their hair and clothes mussed just so. An intentional attempt to look casual or a sign they spent the morning getting busy?
I don't know, and I don't want to ask. I may be more open-minded than most, but I'm not so enlightened I wish to hear details of my brother's sex life.
I push the thought from my mind as I greet Cassie at the front door. She throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly. "It's been too long."
"Days." I nod in agreement. Once upon a time, the two of us did everything together. We haven't grown apart as much as we've grown up. She's busy with her job as a songwriter. I'm glued to my textbooks.
"This feels like a last hurrah," she whispers as she releases me. "No. That's way too focused on me. I'm so happy for you, Daph. I'm just going to miss you."
"I'll miss you too." I force my lips into a smile. It's all the truth. I'll miss her. I'll miss her to pieces. But it won't be simply because I'm too busy to hang out as often. It will be because I'm three thousand miles away.
I need to tell her, I know.
After this weekend.
"Of course, it's a last hurrah." My brother Damon steps into the house and pushes his sunglasses from his nose. With that trademarked Webb charm, he says, "It's a bachelor party."
"Is that how you see marriage?" Cassie asks.
He shoots her an I know better than that look. "Since when do you care about marriage?"
Usually, I let them banter, but today, I want to play the game with them. "Oh. Are you writing an album about marriage?"
Cassie stammers. "I-I care about things besides my current song—"
"Oh my god, you are." Damon bursts with a belly laugh. "For who?"
"I signed an NDA," she says.
He shoots her a wicked smile. "So I have to torture it out of you."
Too much information. My nose scrunches in distaste. New subject. "Don't you two have a deadline this weekend?"
"Monday, yeah." My brother notices my discomfort and shrugs that's love . "We'll have to hole up after the party."
"But we'll still hang out. I promise." Cassie mouths her own I'm sorry and mimes zipping her lips. It's our gesture. An old one, from after we traded secrets. It feels like old times. It feels like home.
These people are my home. My best friend and my brother. It's weird now that they're together, but that doesn't change the facts. I love them more than I love anyone else on the planet.
Even if they say too much about their sex lives.
Even if they can't shut up about music.
Even if they hate me for moving across the country.
"Come on, Cass. There's only enough coffee for two." I take my best friend's hand and lead her to the kitchen.
Damon takes the hint. He stays in the foyer, waiting for Jackson.
Cass settles at the counter and steals a sip from my lukewarm mug. "Is everything okay?" There's honest concern in her green eyes.
She looks like the Cass I know well. Like the best friend who's been by my side my entire life. Same green eyes, same light brown hair, same sharp nose. Really, she looks a lot like Jackson. The feminine version of him.
Only with a blunt bob, winged eyeliner, an ever-present band shirt, denim shorts, and high-tops. The feminine, rock star poet version of Jackson.
Maybe that explains my attraction. An attempt to stay close to my best friend. It's not because Jackson is handsome and bossy and sexy as fuck. It's some other twisted thing.
"Daph?" Concern drops into Cassie's voice.
"You and Damon are happy," I say.
"Yes." She looks at me funny, like she doesn't know how to respond to the comment.
It's a weird comment. It's a weird thing to consider. My brother is happy. He doesn't need constant monitoring. I have to let go of my concern.
I am moving across the country, after all.
I can't watch him from New York.
"I'm happy about that," I say. "That's it." I have other feelings too.
But she doesn't call me on that. Or she doesn't know. I'm not sure really. "Me too." She brushes a stray hair behind her ear. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"No. I'm lacking in macadamia milk iced lattes," I say.
She smiles.
"And I wanted to remind you about our marathon." We watch sci-fi shows every Sunday night. "Just 'cause we're in Vegas—"
"Way ahead of you. I cleared the time with Damon."
"So you two will be working nonstop between the party and the marathon?"
"It's possible." She pulls me into another hug. "Come on. Let's get that coffee, huh?"
I nod. That's it. All I need. Coffee. Not a way out of a confession. Or a way to stop wanting my best friend's brother.
Coffee.
Just coffee.
After we load the car, we stop at Cassie's favorite Malibu Hills coffee shop, we pile into the car, and we take PCH to the ten.
The city blurs into the blue sky. I rest my head on the window and watch clouds roll by. There are too many things in my head. Uncomfortable things.
Better to think about a fun topic.
Sex.
We're in Mom's mini-van, the one she swore she'd never buy (well, the replacement for the one she swore she'd never buy). She and Damon traded cars for the week.
She's excited to take his luxury sedan to work. No doubt he's excited to drive this vehicle out to the desert, lay the back seat flat, and have sex under the stars.
Oh my god—
Have my parents done that?
Gross.
My eyes go to my best friend. She's sitting next to me. Damon offered Jackson shotgun, and he accepted. Which is odd. The two of them are friendlier than they were, but they're not really friends.
Does Jackson have a lot of friends?
He's kinda prickly.
And he works more than I do.
When did he have time for a girlfriend?
It's hard to imagine him getting dumped, but it's hard to imagine him ending things either. Really, it's hard to imagine the guy in love. He has all the traits of a perfect husband except for that one.
There's not enough softness.
Or maybe he doesn't share it with me.
It's really none of my business, but that doesn't stop me from diving deeper, in my head.
The guy is so tightly wound. Is he a control freak in the bedroom too?
There isn't good research on whether or not uptight people are into domination. The anecdotes tell us the opposite—the executive who goes to a Chinatown sex dungeon to submit to his mistress—but the real research is lacking.
In his day job, he's a lawyer, which means he's obsessed with rules and justice.
So in his sex life, he's probably—
Really fucking hot.
Uh…
Next topic.
The trip. We're heading to Las Vegas for a family friend's joint bachelor party (the grooms are celebrating together). It's a weird bonding ritual. Why do we celebrate weddings with strip clubs anyway?
"How many exotic revues do you think we're attending tonight?" I ask.
The question echoes through the car. It interrupts the quiet conversation up front. It pulls Cassie from her daydreams.
My best friend laughs of course that's your question . I'm as much of a parody of myself as she is. I bring everything to sex. She brings everything to music.
"Zack is planning the party," Cassie says.
"So a hundred," Jackson finishes.
Their younger brother Zack is a major instigator. No doubt, he's planning something to embarrass all of us.
He and their younger sister, Laurel, are already in Sin City. They arrived a few days early to celebrate solo with the grooms.
They're closer to the pair than we are.
We're more, well, obligatory invites. Honestly, I haven't seen the groom in ages. And I haven't met his fiancé. That's one of the great and horrible things about having popular parents.
Their friends' kids still invite us to all their celebrations. Weddings, baby showers, birthday parties, oh my.
"A strip show isn't wild enough for Zack," Cassie says. "He's probably taking us to an orgy."
"You wouldn't go to an orgy," Damon says to his girlfriend.
"And you would?" Cassie laughs.
"I would," I say, without thinking.
Cassie laughs.
My brother clears his throat.
Through the rearview mirror, Jackson makes eye contact. "It is a prime research opportunity." There's something in his voice. A teasing tone. I think.
It's hard to tell with him. The guy's wit is drier than white wine.
It almost feels like flirting.
No, it does feel like flirting.
Is that possible? I try to examine his expression, but he's a whole row away. I can't see his face. I can't see his green eyes or his brown hair or his strong nose or the tattoo on his chest, the one he got with Cassie—
Why is that so sexy? A man who cares about his family?
I guess it's primal. A man who takes care of his sister will also take care of his future children. Even though I'm looking for a fling, I can't fight the hard-wired desires in my brain.
Symmetry.
Shoulder-hip ratio.
Signs of good genes. Strength. Intelligence. Competence.
Jackson is a strong, capable man who provides and keeps me safe.
Of course, the glasses shouldn't make him more appealing. That's a genetic deficiency. Poor eyesight.
But they're so sexy. As sexy as the serious look he always wears.
Well—
Uh—
All these ideas of why we're attracted to certain things are theories. We know certain traits, like symmetry, are attractive across cultures, so we know there's a biological basis. We don't know why there's a biological basis or what it means.
"Prime opportunity to observe voyeurs and exhibitionists," Damon agrees. There's something in his tone too, but ew, gross—
That is way, way too much information about my brother's sex life.
Of course, my brain ignores the very sensible ew, that's my brother and jumps right to the compelling question.
What does it say about his and Cassie's personalities? How does a taste for voyeurism or exhibitionism match or contrast with their values?
They're a songwriting team. Behind-the-scenes talent. They write words and music for other people to perform.
So they fill their need to perform another way.
Or maybe it's in a relationship with Cassie's obsession with authenticity. A way to find the authenticity she craves (and sometimes lacks in her job writing for others). Or a way to say fuck authenticity and put on a show.
Maybe it's both at the same time.
Or maybe one or both of them like to watch. That would fit with what they do all day—watch each other perform, watch artists perform, craft performances.
That's the romance novel idea of sex. The billionaire is a boss in the boardroom and the bedroom.
It's not wrong either. There's plenty of anecdotal information to support the hypothesis.
The photographer who loves sending sexy snapshots. The artist who performs everywhere. The researcher desperate to discover her paramour's desires.
"Flirt after the drive," Jackson says.
Right. They shouldn't flirt in front of us. That's rude.
Just like how I shouldn't picture Cassie's brother naked while I'm sitting next to her.
"Oh, I know," Cassie teases her brother, "we can talk about music instead. Best bachelor party songs. Go."
I should jump on the change of subject, but I can't pass up the opportunity to tease my best friend. "Flirting would be less painful."
"Who goes?" Damon ignores my question. "Clockwise? Why don't you start, Cass."
She's sitting behind him, so clockwise means Cassie, Damon, Jackson, me.
But then, how would anyone begin to pick this?
Still. It's a safer topic than sex.
Cassie names a song I've never heard of by an artist who I've also never heard of. Of course, Damon does not experience this same struggle. The two of them have an intimate understanding of every song ever written.
He nods his agreement, but he takes mercy on us and picks a song everyone knows. " Sexyback is classic."
The Justin Timberlake song. Of course.
It's a little obvious, but then, a bachelor party in Las Vegas is not a time for subtlety.
Cassie launches into a debate about the merits of the song's theme. Should it be about partying or about marriage? And should it be a romantic angle on marriage or a more realistic one? She loves this one song about a man picturing his marriage in five or ten or fifteen years. He sees all the flaws, but he still wants to be with his paramour. Isn't that romantic?
Jackson turns back to me and raises a brow. See what you've done .
He's right. Once they're on music, they can't discuss anything else. They can connect any subject to music, and music is the sun in their sky. The gravity always brings them to music.
No. That isn't how gravity works.
Whatever. I'm not a writer. I don't need to get metaphors right.
I enjoy the gravitational pull of their passion. I like sitting and listening to them. And I really like sitting and tuning them out. I mean, yes, I love my best friend and my brother, but I can only listen to so many conversations about the most romantic pop song of all time.
This is a good subject to keep my mind off sex.
So I nod along as the lovebirds discuss the merits of love songs. I let my mind wander.
This is how Cass and Damon used to talk when they were kids. We've been best friends since I can remember. She's been there my entire life, the sister I never had.
My father used to work with Cassie's father. They were in a band together. They sold a bajillion albums, toured the world, took over Hollywood. They were still touring when I was a kid. I don't remember a lot of the details, only the feeling of going from place to place, never settling long, never knowing home.
Then, later, when it was just Dad touring, that sense I didn't know where he was or what he was doing.
It was normal, at the time. After all, Cassie was already my best friend, and she went through the same thing, and we all get used to our family dynamics, no matter how strange they seem from the outside.
Eventually, the band stopped touring, and our fathers started their own businesses. Her dad runs an independent record label. Our dad is a songwriter. She and Damon learned from him.
We used to spend every summer together at my parent's summer house (they're that kind of rich). After Cassie and I watched The Matrix , or walked the beach, or did our nails, or attempted to apply perfect eyeliner (she always had to do mine), Cassie sat next to Damon and worked on a song. Dad helped too. He was happy to have a mentee.
Back then, I imagined her and Damon falling in love. I wanted them to get married so she'd legally be my sister. Then my brother started drinking, and he hurt both of us enough she stopped talking to him. (Well, she tried. She was kinda stuck since she's in my life).
A year ago, she tried to make nice. She needed his help for a project. They not only wrote an album together. They also pretended they were a couple because the label loved the idea of a real couple writing real love songs, and, of course, they fell in love in the process.
No. They were always in love. They just had to realize it.
I'm happy for them. I am.
But it's weird. Complicated.
I'm not ten anymore. I don't want my best friend dating my brother.
When they finally told me they were really together, I was hurt by their deception. And I was jealous. I wanted her as my best friend first, not my sister-in-law first.
I wanted to keep the dynamic we had, where I could complain when my brother upset me, and she could nod and say he's so difficult, and she could complain about her boyfriend, and I could nod and say men, huh? And she could laugh yeah, but women aren't really better (she likes men and women), and we could be friends, first, foremost, always.
I know. It's selfish.
But everyone is a little selfish. And I'm past it. Mostly. I'm happy for them. Really.
Especially now that I'm leaving. I'm glad they have each other. They'll do better without me.
I just—
I don't love the idea they don't need me anymore.
I crave that freedom from everyone's expectations, but I don't want to let go either.
Hypocrisy. Or the human condition. Or both.
Or maybe just how I grew up.
Like our father, Damon is a recovering addict. When we were young, people looked at us with concern, like they weren't sure if we could hold ourselves together.
They were right.
He couldn't.
He started drinking too much when I was thirteen. The chaos was too much, but by then, I knew how to deal with it. I knew how to turn off my emotions and find stability in the only place I could: alone, in my room, pouring all my attention into my work.
Homework, at first. Then homework and track. Then med school and running. I don't run as much as I did, but I still put in twenty miles a week. The stress relief keeps me sane. The routine too.
Because that's the other thing I learned, the only way to find stability is to create it.
All those years of Damon drinking too much, then working at it, then falling apart again—
Even though he's okay now, even though I trust he's okay now—
I don't know how to let go. Not on my own. And not with someone else.
That's the real reason I'm attracted to Jackson. The guy is holding the world together. He could hold me together for a while.
It would feel good to surrender to that, to let someone take care of me for once.
But I can't.
I don't know how.