Chapter 8
Ipull a bottle of wine from the fridge and set it on the counter. Lola scoops it up and eyes it as I dig through the drawer for my corkscrew.
“I thought you were doing a dry May.”
I pull the corkscrew from the drawer with a triumphant “aha!” Lola arches a dark brow at me. “I am,” I say. “It’s a dry Sauvignon blanc. Duh.”
The corner of her lips pull into a smile and she passes me the bottle.
“So,” she begins, perching herself on the only open counter space in my itty bitty kitchenette. “The shower planning must have gone well if you’re recounting it to me with wine several days later.”
It’s been almost a week and I’m still not over the way everything I say to him becomes bickering and competitive. There’s just something about him that makes me want to be right, even if I know I’m wrong, solely so that he can’t be right.
I pour Lola a glass of wine and pass it over to her before pouring one for myself. “I needed time to decompress.”
Lola arches a brow at me. “So it went really well then.”
I wave a hand flippantly. “Oh you know, Reid thinks he knows everything about food—”
“It’s quite literally his job,” she interrupts. I ignore her.
“And he thinks he’s far superior than I, a little hobby baker.”
“They are two different calibers of food.”
I eye her over my glass. “Whose side are you on?”
She sighs, crossing her legs as she gets comfy on the countertop. “I’m always on your side, but you always make me look at other perspectives, so I’m trying to do the same.”
“It’s not as fun on this side of it.”
“You’re telling me,” she says, taking a sip of wine.
“Yeah, but you got a great boyfriend and a booming dream career out of my advice.”
“Yeah yeah,” she says. “So the planning party.”
“Well, he said he’d cater, I said I’d bring dessert, he scoffed at that, we got into a battle of egos, and now we’re betting on who will bring the better food to the couple’s shower.”
“You are a good baker.”
“Thank you. That’s much better.”
“But, again, his job is literally to cook food.”
I glare at her half-heartedly. “I will call Kai and have him come pick you up if you don’t pick a side right now.”
She laughs softly, then reaches a hand out to pat my arm. “I’m on your side. Let me know when you’re baking and I’ll come and help.”
“I’m getting you an apron that says ‘pastry sous chef.’”
“Love it.”
I lean back against the counter, sipping my wine and thinking about Kate and the pressure I feel to make sure this wedding and everything associated with it is perfect for her.
We may have drifted slightly over the years, but the twins and I were always incredibly close growing up.
When they were little, they looked up to me, and as I got older, I always had the instinct to look out for them.
They may have grown out of looking up to me, but my instincts to protect them never went away.
“It just needs to be perfect. All of it.”
“It will be.” Lola’s voice is gentle, encouraging. I tilt my head to look at her. She gives me a soft smile. “You do anything for those two. I’m sure you’ll go above and beyond for them. And to prove Reid wrong,” she adds on in a teasing lilt.
The worries about perfection for my sister melt away into pure competitive drive. I feel like I need to go put on a sweatband and take a motivational jog like I’m in Rocky or something.
“I just need him to know he’s not always right. And he’s not as good as he thinks. He needs to be humbled. He’s such an arrogant, egotistical—”
My insult is cut off by my blaring ringtone, so loud that Lola and I both jump.
An old photo of me and Kate in a tight hug on a family vacation five years ago lights up my screen.
I give myself the usual. 0.5 seconds to smile at the photo, the warm fuzzy nostalgia from that family beach vacation coming back to me before I accept the call.
“Hey, Kate.”
“Hey, what are you up to tomorrow?”
“Um . . .” I look at Lola, hoping something in her expression will help me think of cooler plans. But when nothing comes to me, I finally admit, “Doing laundry and finishing a puzzle.”
She snorts. “Of course you are.”
I lean back, the bottom of my upper cabinets digging into my shoulder blades. We really should go sit on the couch. This isn’t ideal. “What do you mean ‘of course’?”
“You have such granny hobbies.”
I let out an exasperated breath. “Was there something you needed, Kate? Or is this just a Roast Jane Call?”
“Oh, yes,” she says like she suddenly remembered this call had a purpose. “Do you remember when you told me you’d help me with whatever for the wedding? I need to call in a favor for it.”
“And what favor would that be?”
“I need your help with a gift registry for the shower.”
I grimace. This sounds like the least fun task out of every terrible wedding planning task. “I’m confident there are websites with starter lists or something.”
“I know but I wanted to go in person.”
I pause. “Where are we supposed to go that still does in-person registries?”
“Walden’s. Duh.”
Ahh yes. The bougie department store. It’s so out of my budget that I honestly forgot it even existed.
“Don’t they have a website you can use for an online registry?”
“That takes all the fun out of it. And I wanted to be able to feel the towels and pillows and things before I put them on.”
“I’m not sure fun is the word I’d use to describe this experience,” I mutter.
Lola gives me a confused look and I make a face to say I’ll explain in a second.
“Plus, I feel like this would just be much better with you and Jason at home by yourselves enjoying a glass of wine as you add stupid expensive butter keepers and steak knives to your wedding website.”
“I thought you promised me the best wedding ever.” I can hear the pouting in her voice and a crack forms in my resolve.
“Yeah, wedding, not gift registry. What do I know about creating a registry? Shouldn’t you ask Charlie or Elise?”
“Charlie said he’d rather die than do another registry in his lifetime.”
I sigh. “He is so dramatic.”
“I know.”
“Elise?” I try.
“Working.”
“Lydia? She is your maid of honor after all.”
“She’s not interested.”
“I’m not interested either.”
“Jane, come on,” she pleads. Another crack webs. “No one else will help me with this. Please? It’ll be so much more fun if you’re there. Please, please, please, please.”
The last please shatters my resolve like an opera singer shattering a wine glass. I squeeze my eyes shut. She knows exactly how to get to me.And now here she is, calling in a favor, using the “fun” card on me. And I am ashamed to admit that it works on me, like it always does.
“Fine,” I snap.
I can already hear that little logical voice in my head, asking me why I didn’t say no, why I felt the need to appease my sister, why I keep tamping down my own feelings to make sure she’s happy when it’s never reciprocated.
And, as always, I never have an answer. So instead of working through it, I push all those thoughts aside, sure that I’ll have to unpack them eventually, and sigh.
“When and where do I meet you?”
Armed with a cup of coffee from the Corner Cafe the next morning, I pull open the door and step into Walden’s.
The store smells like expensive upholstery and rich leathers.
The first room at the entrance is for living rooms, so I step into an array of massive couches staged with pillows and fluffy rugs and tall, bright floor lamps.
God, I feel so out of my element here. Most of the furniture from my apartment is hand-me-downs or from Black Friday sales from already discounted overstock sites.
My eyes snag on one of the price tags dangling off a gray sectional as I walk past and I nearly choke on my coffee at the numbers on it.
I round the corner to meet Kate and Jason by the next display of living room furniture and stop dead in my tracks when instead of my sister, I spot Reid eyeing the price tag on a wooden end table.
As if sensing my presence, his head lifts and he looks my way.
My fingers tighten around the coffee cup so hard that my lid pops.
When he realizes it’s me, he lifts his head toward the ceiling and lets out a dramatic groan.
“This is becoming a really irritating pattern,” I say as I stomp toward him, clumsily fixing my coffee lid as I stop in front of him.
“You’re telling me,” he says, rubbing a hand across his scruff-covered jawline.
“Why are you here?”
“Jason told me to meet him.”
“Kate told me to meet her.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
I rear back. “What do you mean ‘no kidding?’ I could’ve walked in here on my own to shop.”
“For what? A cutting board? In what world is this place in your budget?”
It’s not, but I’ll be damned if he’s right. He doesn’t need to know my budget. Or lack thereof.
“Don’t you have a job or something you have to be at? Why are you always free on Saturdays as a chef?”
“The restaurant doesn’t open for seven more hours. Do you think I just sleep in the kitchen?”
“Kind of.”
He ignores me and glances at the leather-banded watch on his wrist. “Well where are they?”
I arch a brow at him. “Oh, you can’t stand being in my company for an hour?”
He faces me full on now, his blue eyes zeroing in on me with a fire that brightens something in me. He clenches his jaw before he grits out, “Not a single minute, Jane.”
Hearing those words from a man as handsome as Reid might hurt some women’s feelings, but I honestly feel pride in the fact that I annoy him so much that a minute is painful.
So I simply scoff in response and pull my phone from my purse.
Just as I lift it out, my screen lights up with that nostalgic picture of my sister.
“Aha,” I grin and show him the screen, suddenly victorious that I got in touch with the couple of honor first. “I guess my source likes me more.” I slide the button to answer the call. “Hey, where are you?”
“I’m so sorry, Jane, we aren’t going to make it.”