Chapter 13
In Another Life
I need air. If I can get some air, just fifteen minutes alone to breathe, I can make it through the rest of this reception.
Then there’s the after-party. I can’t even begin to think about the after-party—
On second thought, maybe what I need is another drink.
I approach the bar, then spot a caterer entering through a side door just as the upbeat dance tune fades out, replaced by “Tennessee Whiskey.” I glance back at the dance floor, where couples pair up, and anyone who came alone slyly steps away to grab a drink or sit down.
My gaze is drawn to Cat. Her silky blond hair. Her glowing skin. Her huge white wedding dress. She really is a beautiful bride, swaying to the music and staring lovingly into Ellie’s eyes. I avert my gaze, and as I do, I notice that side door again.
Air it is.
I step outside and take a deep breath, relishing the cool breeze.
“That bad, huh?” I startle, then turn and see a familiar silhouette standing under a harsh streetlight. “The dancing, I mean. Our friends have many talents, but dancing isn’t one of them.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” I scold as I walk over, but I’m smiling.
He looks great, even though the lighting isn’t doing him any favors, and I try not to think about how sweaty I am or how the ugly pastel lavender satin of my bridesmaid dress is clinging to my skin or how I’m sure in this lighting, my pit stains are on stark display.
Alex and I have never been particularly close.
I’ve seen him only a few times in the years since graduation, and while we’re part of the same friend group, I don’t think we’ve ever hung out just the two of us.
But in this moment, I’m relieved to see him.
I came alone tonight—despite me and Madison joking that she’s my date, not Patrick’s—and even though Alex is every bit as coupled up as our other friends, I’m pretty sure he came alone too. I haven’t spotted Ingrid.
“Just being honest,” he says.
“Sometimes honest and asshole are synonyms,” I retort and watch as he takes a long drag of his vape; the scent of watermelon makes its way to my nose when he breathes out.
I smile at the familiarity, a sense memory that time will never quite erase.
We’ve spent many drunken nights passing one of his vapes around.
“I thought you quit,” I remark.
“I did,” he says, then takes another drag. “But tonight’s a night for celebration.”
I glance toward the dumpsters. “Funny way of celebrating.”
“I’m not the only one out here,” he counters with a pointed look.
I offer him a wan smile. “It was getting hot. I needed some fresh air.”
It’s his turn to glance at the dumpsters. “You picked a great spot.”
“Can I try it?” I nod toward his vape pen.
He raises his eyebrows and says, “You’ve tried it before. You were never a fan.”
I shrug. “Times change, people change. Maybe this has changed.”
It has definitely not changed, I realize as I hack up a lung. “What even is the point?” I exclaim, handing the vape pen back to him.
“Here we go,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. He’s smiling, though, so I feel encouraged to continue.
“It’s just—nicotine,” I say. “It does nothing except kill you. What is the point?”
“The only people who claim nicotine does nothing are people who have never been addicted to nicotine.”
“Like, is it the flavor? Because I feel like you could get the same experience from sniffing a La Croix.”
I pluck the vape from his hand and take another drag; I cough only a little bit this time. He takes the vape back and shakes his head.
“No more of that. I won’t have your addiction on my conscience.”
Before I can think of a response, the music, which we’ve been able to hear the faint thrum of, cuts off. A voice—I can’t make out whose—comes over the mic. Time for speeches.
I stare at the door. Its presence looms large until it’s all I can focus on.
I should go back inside.
I don’t want to go back inside.
Do I have to go back inside?
“I’m sorry,” Alex says, drawing my attention to him. “I know tonight isn’t easy for you.”
His voice is so quiet, I could almost believe I imagined his words.
Almost.
“So I am that obvious. I’ve always wondered,” I say bitterly. God, I’m fucking pathetic.
“Not obvious.” Alex shakes his head. “At least, not to anyone you’re worried about. Ellie’s got a lot of great qualities, I’m sure, but he’s not particularly observant.”
I open my mouth to defend him, but what comes out is “I’m pretty sure Cat’s noticed.”
“Yeah, Cat sees more than she lets on. You’re fine, though. She’ll never tell Ellie.”
“Why not?” I scoff. “Wouldn’t that be the perfect wedge to drive between us?”
“Sure, if she had any confidence in their relationship. If not, she’d worry that in bringing up the feelings she suspects you have for him, she’d give him an idea. Put you on his radar, so to speak.”
“If I haven’t been on his radar for the past seven years, I never will be,” I remark, but a memory comes to mind, one I’ve been dutifully trying to ignore for the better part of a year.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Alex says thoughtfully. “You seem like the kind of woman who could sneak up on a man’s affections when he least expects it.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” I laugh. “Is that a compliment? It feels like it’s supposed to be a compliment, but it’s woefully lacking. I might actually feel a little insulted.”
“Don’t, I’m just talking out of my ass. Thanks for calling me on it.”
“Anytime,” I joke.
“You want to get out of here?” he asks, standing taller, his eyes brightening as if new life has been breathed into him.
I’ve always known, in a cold, distant, sort of clinical sense, that Alex Aquino is a cute guy. Attractive in a way that sneaks up on you, like he said about me. But now, with excitement in his eyes, the air around him rife with possibility, he looks so good, it’s dangerous.
I’ve never had a particular taste for danger.
“And go where?”
“Anywhere. I don’t want to be here; you don’t want to be here. Why should we stay?”
“If you don’t want to be here, why’d you come?” I laugh incredulously. But I’m pretty sure he notices that I don’t deny wanting to be elsewhere.
“Why’d you?” he challenges.
“What, are you saying you’re secretly in love with Ellie too?” I joke, then gasp in earnest. “Or Cat? Are you in love with Cat?”
“I find the very notion of both those options extremely nauseating.”
“What? Why? What’s wrong with Cat? Cat’s great.”
I don’t really like Cat, but I’m also well aware that most of my reasons for disliking her have more to do with me than with her.
“Nothing’s wrong with Cat,” Alex says easily.
He does everything easily, I’m starting to notice.
Every word out of his mouth, every tilt of his head, every puff of his vape pen.
It’s as if he doesn’t have a care or worry in the world.
His confidence should probably be annoying, but instead, it’s magnetic.
Addictive. Infectious. Was it always? I never noticed before. I seem to have lost my immunity.
“There’s just nothing particularly right with her either. She’s… fine,” Alex finishes.
“The notion of being in love with someone who’s fine is nauseating to you? Seriously?”
“What’s it going to be? We staying or are we going?”
In the coming days, weeks, months, I will replay this night and wonder how I allowed things to go so wrong, how I could possibly have let myself veer so far from propriety. I knew better, and what’s worse, I knew I knew better, and yet—this is the moment I will pinpoint as the start of the fall.
His easy, casual use of the word we when heretofore there had never been any semblance of a we to speak of—like we’re partners, allies, just trying to get through this terrible, awful night.
Together.
“We can’t just leave,” I insist, sounding scandalized more because I know I should want to stay than because I actually do. The truth is, the idea of never again having to see Cat in her wedding dress—such a beautiful bride, but beauty can be grating—is incredibly tempting.
“Sure we can.” He shrugs. “It’s a victimless crime.”
He says it so simply, and my conviction continues to crack.
I hesitate but finally say, “You can. I can’t. I’m a bridesmaid.”
“So what?”
“So… I have duties,” I sputter.
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that tending to Cat’s every whim all night is your definition of a good time.”
All night? Try all week.
“It’s not about having a good time. It’s about being there for a friend.”
“Since when are you and Cat friends?”
I hesitate, too embarrassed to admit I was talking about Ellie, who pushed for me to be in the wedding.
Alex must pick up on my discomfort, because he continues, “She can find someone else to… fluff her train or whatever. There are other bridesmaids. You’ve done enough work. Text Madison and say you had too much to drink, got tired, took an Uber home.”
“What about you?”
“No one’s going to be looking for me. So? What’s stopping us?”
We. Us.
Him. Me.
Together.
Victimless crime.
(Plenty of victims. Ingrid. Ellie. Cat. Myself. Shh, let me have this.)
He holds his hand out, and I take it, though I make sure to mutter something about him being a corrupting influence just to save face.
Later, thinking back, I’ll wonder if I actually felt sparks when our fingers touched or if those came later.
Or were they ever there at all? Maybe it was just a trite concept that my brain transposed onto a night that was simultaneously amazing and awful, a dreamlike haze and an absolute fucking nightmare, a figment to make me feel a little less guilty about doing something terrible.
I mean, sure, I helped a man cheat on his wife, but who could blame me?
The sparks, Your Honor, the sparks! I plead the Fifth.
He walks me to his car, and I stop short.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“What, you don’t like it?”
It’s a bright-blue Corvette. Loud and ostentatious and—“It’s kind of cliché, isn’t it? You’re a bit young for a midlife crisis.”
“I think that makes it not a cliché.”
A few minutes later, as I take in the sleek interior, he says, “What are you thinking?”