18
I did not plan on going to the Garment District tonight, but it’s my last hope. This morning I realized I have nothing to wear to the exhibit launch event tomorrow, but it’s not like I could take the day off work to go shopping, and now that I’m free the mall is already closed so… here we go.
This whole week has been a blur, to be honest.
It feels like I’ve been hungover from the weekend for five days.
But not literally, physically hungover. More like…
emotionally hungover? I swear, I’m only 26 but I’m already too old for this level of drama.
Seeing Elliot, messing up my arm, kissing Andy, then having to talk to Andy about kissing Andy…
it’s enough to knock my brain straight into next week.
And my reward for surviving it all? The Garment District.
If you’ve never heard of the Garment District, just know it’s best known for selling rumpled clothing by the pound instead of by the item—a real Boston gem.
My anxiety ratchets up with each step of the walk there.
Fortunately, Lia’s already waiting by the door when I arrive.
Together, we beeline through the hot pink walls, past the racks of faux fur coats and cut-off jorts, beneath the oversized cut-out of Dolly Parton’s head and a tenuously mounted motorcycle, and into the so-called ‘professional women’s apparel’ section.
“It has to be at least knee-length, and ideally I want something that totally covers my arm bandage, so no cap sleeves or sleeveless.”
“What about this?” Lia pulls out a fitted red dress with a pencil skirt and a sweetheart neckline.
“Oh wow, yes! That’s perfect for my Jessica Rabbit cosplay. That’s why we’re here, right?”
“Point taken.” She returns the dress to the rack. “Do you know what your work friends are wearing?”
“No, I should have asked. I’ve felt so frazzled all week that it didn’t cross my mind.”
I start sifting through a line of heinous gingham frocks as I add, “Oh but actually, speaking of the event, I can bring a guest if you’re free. It’s tomorrow at 7:30 and there’s an open bar. I will have to schmooze for some percent of the time,
but after my remarks are done we’d be free to drink champagne on the company’s dime.”
“Ooh, I’m sorry Soph, I can’t.” Lia pulls out a green dress with long, puffy sleeves and holds it up in front of me.
I shake my head and she puts it back. “I’m supposed to go live with my embroidery classes at the same time every week so that the algorithm will pick it up. I’ve been doing Fridays at 7.”
“That’s okay,” I shrug. “I’ll be brave and go stag.”
“Why don’t you ask Andy to go with you?”
Hearing his name feels like a glass breaking in my chest. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Things have just been kind of weird since the whole kiss thing.”
“The whole kiss thing,” Lia mocks. “You mean when your long-time best friend mauled your face out of nowhere?”
“I told you it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” Lia pushes.
“It was just weird!” I reply in grave mischaracterization. The kiss wasn’t weird at all. Even just mentioning it now has my temperature rising—the memory of his body trapping mine, the firm press of his lips, the moans he pulled from me…
“So you didn’t like it,” Lia probes.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Okay, stop.” Lia takes hold of my shoulders and spins me until we’re face to face. “Look me in the eye and be honest. Did you want Andy to kiss you, yes or no?”
My eyes dart from left to right, making sure we’re totally alone before whispering, “If I tell you this, it goes with you to your grave. Do you understand?”
Lia makes a show of crossing herself piously, then brings her hands together in prayer. “I swear.”
“The problem is,” I start to explain, lowering my voice even further, “I really did want the kiss to happen. I mean, you know I’ve always kind of had a crush on him.”
“Excuse me!” Lia yells, completely breaking the facade of privacy. “Hold that fucking horse right there. No, I did not know that.”
“I told you he was cute the night I met him freshman year!”
“Okay sweetie, thinking a man at a party is cute and having an ongoing crush on your best friend are two very different things.”
“Did you forget that I literally tried to sleep with him that one time?”
“Honestly, I thought you were just drunk and horny, I didn’t realize it was a full-on Andy crush—oh my god!”
“Well, whatever,” I hiss. “Now you know. And these last couple of weeks, every time I’m around him I’m like… I don’t know. Just something about living with him, and seeing all these intimate parts of his life, and how he’s been taking such good care of me.
I just can’t stop myself from thinking about...”
I try to trail off suggestively, but Lia gives me a look that demands I say it out loud.
“Thinking about him! Thinking about jumping his bones! Thinking about ripping a manuscript out of his hands, crawling into his lap, and screwing his brains out right on that beige armchair. God, what is wrong with me?”
My face is nine billion degrees as I bury it in my hands.
“Sophie, oh my god,” Lia whisper-shouts through a laugh. “That’s amazing!”
“Is it amazing though?” I peek through my fingers with desperation.
“Because we finally kissed and he was so freaked out he literally ran away. Like immediately evacuated the dance floor. And then he came back and was still freaked out like two hours later, and we decided to just be friends, and now we’ve been tiptoeing around each other all week and I hate it.”
“Sophie, he definitely freaked out because he thought you were freaking out. That man has been in love with you for years.”
“What?” I shriek, grabbing her arm. “Did he tell you that?”
A fake marriage, real jealousy, and one hidden heir waiting to complicate everything.
See where the trouble starts on Lokepub.
“No, but he didn’t have to. It’s obvious from literally everything he does.”
I drop her arm and turn away, trying to hide the emotions I’m wearing like makeup. “That’s not true. We just have a very close friendship. Whatever—why am I explaining this to you of all people? You know what we’re like.”
“Yes, I do,” she insists. “I know what you’re like together, and I know what he’s like when you’re not there, and I know what he’s like when he’s watching you and thinking about you and talking about—”
“Stop!” I shove her shoulder. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m not going to stop until you admit he’s in love with you.”
“If he was in love with me, why wouldn’t he just ask me out? Ever? Even once in the last nine-plus years?”
Lia turns towards me, hands on her hips. “Do you really want to know what I think, or are you going to dismiss it out of hand?”
I mirror her pose, feigning bravery. “I really want to know what you think.”
“I think, at first, it was just Andy being Andy. The boy is indecisive and nervous as all hell and too used to dates just appearing from thin air. And then I think as time went on, it just became too much pressure. He loves you too much, even as a friend, to risk messing it up.”
“But he knows I’m interested in him!” A woman at the adjoining rack shoots eye daggers at me and I realize I’m shouting again. I lower my voice, leaning in towards Lia. “He’s always known, ever since that first summer. Why—why wouldn’t—I mean, if he really—”
“There’s no use looking for logic,” she interrupts.
“Andy’s a gold medalist in mental gymnastics.”
She turns back to the rack, continuing to browse like this conversation isn’t shattering my whole worldview.
“I think you should invite him to the museum event with you. It can be as friends, low pressure. But hey, if you happen to look stunning in a new dress with your hair and makeup done, and he happens to end the night by confessing his undying love, then all the better.”
I’m a pesky little bird, flitting at her shoulder. “I thought you didn’t want us together? Don’t I recall you saying something about me staying away from him unless we’re going to get married like… four days ago?”
“I was trying to protect him, Soph.” She hits me with a genuinely somber expression, and I realize she’s telling the God’s honest truth.
“And you. I was picturing the two of you starting some half-assed friends-with-benefits thing, and it’s all fun and games until it's not. One of you is in love, and the other is just there for a good time, and suddenly our friendships are all fucked.”
I exhale, and it’s an echo of the fears she just voiced. “Yeah, that would be awful.”
“But if you are serious about starting something with him…”
Lia slowly pulls a black dress out from the bunch before her.
It has a structured top with half-sleeves and a collared V-neck, almost like a blazer.
The bottom is a sensible knee-length skirt.
She holds it in front of herself with an eyebrow raised like what do you think?
A tinny announcement sounds through the loudspeakers. “The Garment District will be closing in ten minutes. All customers please make your way to check out.”
I grab the dress out of Lia’s hands. “Time to make a choice, I guess.”
The living room is empty when I get home. I kick off my shoes, toss my purse over the back of the couch, and—finding uninspiring options in the fridge—decide on a well-rounded dinner of chips and salsa.
Just when I shove the first chip in my mouth, Andy surprises me by walking out of his room. He obviously didn’t hear me come in, and now stands frozen in his doorway, blinking.
His posture is tense. He looks nervous. I feel nervous. Everything sucks.
I swallow my chip, then say, “Hi.”
He replies, “Hi.”
“How was your day?”
“Okay.”
With no idea what to say next, I dip a fresh chip in the jar of salsa and extend it towards him. He looks like he has to gear himself up just to come accept it, but then crosses over to me, sitting down across the table and popping it into his mouth.
How did this get so weird between us? Maybe Lia’s suggestion has some merit.
We both chew through a few more seconds of silence before Andy asks, “How about your day?”
“It was busy, but good. I think we’re ready for the event, but I’m still nervous.”
“Don’t be. Everything’s already done, right?”
“Well, almost,” I say. “I actually have to give some remarks at the launch. But once that’s done I’m planning to chug at least three glasses of complementary champagne immediately.”
“You’re speaking at the event?”
“Yeah.” This is my opening and I’m going for it. “By the way, I’m allowed to bring a guest with me if you’re free tomorrow at 7:30. No pressure, I know it’s last minute.” I look away from him, dipping another chip to give him time to think.
“You’re inviting me?”
“Yes, but if you don’t want to come you don’t have to. Really, it’s fine.”
“No, yes, I—I’d love to come. I’ll be there.” He sounds genuinely excited and I can feel my self-consciousness evaporating. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“Thanks for saying yes.” Our eyes meet across the table, and it feels like we’re halfway back to normal again.
Progress.