16. Amanda #2
She nods, uncertain. “I don’t want to pick something that makes me seem cold and distant.” One hand drifts to her chest, smoothing her blouse with the same movement she did when she tried on the dress. “It’s Vivienne Westwood. It was on sale.”
I cross my arms. “You’re buying Vivienne Westwood for a wedding you keep mocking?”
She keeps her eyes on the road. “Yeah, well, we’re all going, so I just don’t want to disappoint.”
“I don’t know. Red satin and public appearances feel like a lot of commitment.”
She smirks faintly. “Maybe I just wanted to remind your loud friend that I clean up extremely well.”
“Diego?”
She nods. It’s more than she’s said before, but I know that tone—half-deflection, half-dare. So rather than intruding, I support her.
“You looked amazing,” I say instead.
Val nods, accepting it like a fact she already knew. “Good. We’ll both look terrifyingly hot.”
I glance out the window as she takes a left turn so sharply she nearly drives on the curb. We’re headed back to the home I share with Eric, more home than the apartment I shared with Daray ever felt.
I’m about to text Eric when—
“I still don’t have your abstract for my conference,” Val says casually.
I sigh. Not this again.
“It’s in mid-July, so I have some time,” she continues, merging too fast and cutting off a minivan. “But I need it soon.”
“Val,” I say, bracing myself. “It might not have registered with you, but I’ve been a little busy.”
“I am short on submissions, Mandy,” she says, flicking her signal one way before abruptly switching lanes in the other. Horns erupt behind us. “You have three studies worth presenting.”
“I don’t want the stress. I’ll attend. I’ll go to the dinners. I’ll schmooze. I just don’t want to present.”
She huffs, then says, “I did receive an interesting submission.”
I side-eye her. “Do tell.”
“Dr. Simone Esposito.”
She lets the name hang between us, thick as fog.
“Simone applied for your conference?”
“Indeed, he did.” Her smile turns sharp, predatory. I am a mouse she hasn’t decided if she should kill.
I bite my lip. “You’re inviting him?”
“It’s a good paper,” she says, tapping the brakes as a cyclist veers into our lane. “Your Simo is a solid international name. I can’t blacklist him because you two have history in Milan.”
“We weren’t involved,” I say flatly. “We fucked.”
“For about as long as you lived there.”
“So?” I shoot back. “We weren’t exclusive, and we both took advantage of that. It was companionship and good sex. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else?” She gives me a look. “People get married for less.”
“Invite him. We ended on good terms. It’ll be fun to see him.”
Val whistles low. “You should figure things out with Eric before then. Especially if you’re seeing Esposito.”
“I’d be seeing him at a professional event.” I glance at her. “And, well, Simo’s good. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
She snorts. “Just keep it in mind, Amanda. Eric—”
I cross my arms. “What’s with you today? I thought you weren’t on Team Eric.”
“I’m not.” She shrugs, slowing at a yellow light, then flooring it anyway. “I’m on Team What’s Right. And even if you’re just having dinner with Esposito, you and Eric should be crystal clear.”
“We are crystal clear.”
She glances sideways at me. “Yeah. Like seawater.”
As we get to the door of the apartment, Val tries to snatch the keys from my bag, rolling her eyes dramatically.
“You’re being absurd,” she mutters. “You live here.”
She gives me her spiel about how therapeutic exposure works better if you don’t chicken out halfway. Giving me the kind of side-eye look she reserves for unruly patients, she tells me that: “avoidance reinforces fear.”
“I’m not afraid.” It’s not a lie, more like caution and history. What she calls avoidance, I call learning from past mistakes. “I just don’t want to.” To-MAY-to, to-MAH-to. I hear her voice in my head.
She huffs to my left, but stops wrestling me for the keys.
Once I knock, Eric opens the door after a brief beat.
His hair’s darker, wet tendrils escaping from behind his ears.
When his eyes find mine, his face breaks into one of those rare smiles that makes his cheeks dimple.
I have to bite my lip, hold myself in place, until Val cuts us off, walking in without an invitation and nudging his shoulder. Then she swivels back to us.
“Neither of you told me he’d be here.”
“Who?” Eric and I respond at the same time. After he pulls me into the apartment, closing the door behind me, his hand lingers on the small of my back.
“DJ Mouthpiece.”
It’s not salsa or bachata this time. Diego has reggaeton blasting from the front room. Still, she stomps into the room.
“Val—” he says, arms opened. “Light of my life!”
“Why are you here? And turn that off!”
“Diego,” I say. “She’s in a bad mood already because I won’t present at her conference.”
He comes across the room and gives me a side hug. Eric’s hand falls from me—a bright smile on Diego’s face and a schooled expression on his.
“Alright.” Diego claps and rubs his hands. “We’ve got the right music.” Val scoffs. “We’ve got the people.” He points around to each of us. “Now, we just need food to think about logistics. Good thing I brought treats.”
He disappears into the kitchen, yelling something about beef empanadas.
“Do you always let him loose like that in your house?” Val asks Eric.
“He may not look like it, but I promise he’s house-trained,” he responds.
Val walks away and sits down on the armchair, crossing her legs. I sink into the couch. By now, this cushion has become my spot. Eric sits next to me, leaning slightly toward me, arms crossed. Everything shifts with his weight.
Diego returns, bringing a large foil tray and an array of sauces on a different tray.
He’s managing to carry all the things needed for a meal with the ease that only those in a large family seem to master.
He settles everything on the coffee table and takes a seat cross-legged on the floor, the tiniest bit closer to Val than to me.
“About this wedding,” Diego says, handing her an empanada. “Val and I will drive Friday evening.” She grabs it without complaining about his fingers touching the food. He bites into one himself and moans. “I did so good, guys. Help yourselves.”
“I’m not driving with you. You drive too slow,” Val says, reaching for more food. “I’ll fly.”
“You can’t fly to Galena. It makes no sense.” Diego’s eyes are locked on Val’s. “Come on. Road trip. Music. Truth or dare.”
“Hard pass.”
Eric hides a smile, passes me an empanada, then dips his own into the spiciest sauce. “Did you guys book a hotel yet?” he asks casually.
I avoid looking at Eric. We’re going together. We live together, so it makes sense to arrive together. It’s practical.
Val nibbles on her empanada. “I can book a double room. Amanda, you’re with me. Unless you want to share with either of these two over here.”
Eric glances at me.
“I’ll stay with Val,” I say quickly.
Diego shakes his head, rushing to chew and then swallow. Eric’s spine relaxes.
“No way. Val’s my date for the weekend. I already booked a room for us. Lake view with a balcony.”
Val narrows her eyes at him. “Fine,” she says. “But we’re not sharing a bed.”
“You tell yourself whatever it helps you sleep at night, babe.”
Under their banter, Eric squeezes my hand.
He nudges a container toward me with his other hand.
“You want this last one?” I nod, and our fingers brush briefly.
He doesn’t move away right away, and neither do I.
“We can look at rooms at the resort tonight. See what makes sense.” He swallows.
“Also.” He tenses. “We don’t have to match. ”
“Match?” We’re whispering by now. Diego’s voice is louder.
“Yes, match.” His eyes avoid mine. “My last text. You didn’t respond, so I figured…”
“Oh—” I let go of his hand to pull my phone. Three texts and a call sit on the screen.
Eric
I’m your date, aren’t I?
I mean, I don’t have to be. We’re going as friends, I know that.
We don’t have to match.
Amanda?
My stomach twists.
“Oh!” I say, too loud. “We can totally match. I got a blue dress. I’ll show you.”
He winks. “You’ll show me?”
I smack his chest, covering the butterflies in my stomach with the gesture.
Val huffs, and we turn our attention back to them.
“Anyway, Val and I will be there Friday evening,” Diego asserts, folding both of them into a single plan. “I need to check the DJ setup for Saturday, and I planned something for Val and me to do.”
You’re on your own on Friday. Received loud and clear, Diego.
“Pool and breakfast Sunday, though,” he adds. “Probably with the whole gang.”
Val, pursed lips and all, doesn’t argue.
Diego stands then, bumping his knee against the coffee table without flinching. “You good to clean up, man? I’ve got to head to work.”
Eric gets up to walk him out.
“Working tonight?” I ask.
“Yeah. Short staff, and there’s a Jeep that needs parts first thing Monday.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes the way Diego’s smiles do.
I glance at Val. She’s looking down at the carpet, her jaw tense, and her face slightly flushed. At the door, Diego and Eric trade quick goodbyes before it clicks shut.
When Eric sits on the couch again, Val is already pulling on her coat, movements brisk. She’s out the door before I can catch up to her. Now it’s just Eric and me, a whole lazy Saturday afternoon ahead of us, and resort rooms to book.
I bring leftover food and plates to the kitchen while he cleans. It takes me a couple of trips. Eric’s scraping crumbs off into the compost bin, his jaw tight. “Thanks.”
I set the last tray beside him and reach for a towel.
“We don’t have to go as dates, you know,” I say softly.
“I mean, we don’t even need to stay the night.
I could just drive after the reception. It won’t even end that late, and I can’t drink anyway.
Hell, this is my mess. You don’t even need to be there—”
“What?” Eric stops and turns off the sink, drying his hands so he can face me. “Why would you say that?”