Chapter 13
February
Two Months Until The Wedding
Carter sets a pitcher of beer on the table and slides into the booth next to Sabrina. “It’s a mob scene in here.”
It sure is. And while I’m getting more comfortable with Sabrina, I was really hoping for some time alone with Carter. A chance to catch up, feel like ourselves again, remind myself of our easy dynamic and life before the drama of these past few months.
Bodies pack in tightly to the small Lower East Side pub and more trickle in by the minute.
Nothing like the appeal of a short-lived pop-up to draw a crowd, the hype often better than the result.
In this case, it’s not too bad, aside from the decor.
Pink and red tinsel cover the entire area of the ceiling and hearts are plastered on every remaining surface.
Cupid’s Arrow, it’s called. A nod to Valentine’s Day being only a week away.
It’s not the kind of place I could ever picture Carter and Sabrina being—even less so with me as a third wheel.
“Thank you, darling.” Sabrina pours some of the pitcher into her empty pint glass, which is covered in conversation heart stickers. Her auburn hair is loose from her usual bun tonight and falls in waves just below her shoulders. She slides the pitcher to me, and I begin pouring my own.
“So, Libby.” Her grin is devilish as she sips from her pint glass. “Anyone catching your fancy tonight?”
I nearly spit out my beer. “Excuse me?”
“Sabrina, c’mon.” Carter rests his hand on top of hers. “Libby’s not here to hook up with someone. Let’s just have a beer without making it awkward for her.”
I flash him a small smile, but Sabrina’s back stiffens. “I’m not making it awkward, Carter. She’s a talented, smart, beautiful woman in a city teeming with other eligible single people. Libby could likely have her pick of any man or woman in this bar!” She gesticulates wildly at the growing crowd.
I blush into the rim of my pint glass.
“I’m only doing what an honest friend would do and asking to be her wing woman.
You and I, love”—she points between the two of them—“are boring. Libby still has the possibility of finding love, sex, or both at this very bar tonight!” She rests her chin in her palm, a moony look in her eyes. “You must lead a thrilling life.”
Carter snorts. Sabrina narrows her eyes and punches him in the arm.
“Ow! What? It’s just…Libby doesn’t date much. She prefers to stay home. Read books and watch reruns of old movies.” He takes a sip of beer. “She’s not as outgoing as you are.”
“Damn, don’t spare my feelings.” As if it’s not humiliating enough to be third-wheeling the man I’ve fantasized about and his beautiful fiancée, he’s now taking shots at my love life.
Sure, I haven’t had a revolving door with a steady stream of lovers, but it hasn’t been the drought Carter’s implying. I just don’t really discuss those kinds of things with him.
“It’s—that came out wrong. I like how you’re quiet, a homebody. Get wound up about books. It’s who you are.”
Somehow his explanation isn’t any better.
Sabrina presses her pointer finger to his lips. “Carter, you’ll give your input only when asked from now on.” Her eyes snap to me. “Tell me how I can be of service.”
“Uh…”
“Do you have a type? Deal-breakers? What would the ‘looking for’ section of your dating profile say?”
The image of Trip pressing me against the brick alley wall pops into my brain unwarranted.
I take a long pull of beer to hide anything my face might reveal, any flush in my cheeks.
I need to figure this shit out. Being attracted to my potential future husband’s nearly dead cousin is highly problematic.
Maybe Sabrina’s onto something. Maybe I do need to explore my options.
I finish the rest of my pint and slam it down on the table.
“Tall, dark, and handsome. Must be supporting himself. At least twenty-five.”
“Something serious or something fun?”
I grin back at her. “I could use a bit of fun.”
Carter’s eyes go wide.
Sabrina pours me another glass. “Shall we?”
—
Sabrina is, by all accounts, an excellent wing woman.
I’m dancing with a tall PhD student from NYU named Isaac, my hair a wild mane from the sheer body heat in this place.
Isaac wraps his broad, dark arms around my midsection from behind and rests his nose against the side of my neck.
The electricity of his touch is exhilarating, like a release I didn’t know I needed.
Being wanted by someone is also doing amazing things for my psyche.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs into my neck. Something pinches in my gut. This is wonderful and intoxicating, but it isn’t quite right. I crave this touch, these words, but I want them from someone else. But I don’t take the thought any further.
I grasp Isaac’s arms and remove them from my waist. “Restroom!” I yell over the thundering bass. “I’ll find you in a minute.”
The bodies around us are a solid mass and I push through them with all my might. Several steps from the bathroom, there’s a blissful pocket of space. I stand to catch my breath and scan the bar for Sabrina and Carter.
A familiar buzzy energy works its way down to the base of my spine and settles in my hip bones.
I pivot so fast my hair flies from my shoulders, but don’t see the brooding ghost who usually accompanies the sensation.
Am I wrong? Sabrina’s head pops out among the sea of bodies.
She gives me a wave and there’s a warmth in my chest knowing she’s still here, checking in on me.
I point to the doors in the corner and mouth restroom.
She gives me a thumbs-up and resumes dancing. Carter isn’t anywhere in sight.
The single-stall bathroom is occupied, so I stand with my back to the wall in the hallway outside and take a few deep breaths. The room spins a bit, and my senses get fuzzy when I close my eyes. I make a game of trying to get it to stop. Behind my eyelids, the lights flicker slightly.
“What are you doing?” That familiar baritone. Will he be wearing a suit and tie or something more casual? I picture him in sweatpants and snort.
“Trying to will myself into sobriety.” I keep my eyes closed and my head against the wall.
“And how’s that going for you?”
“Splendidly.” A cackle breaks through my lips like air from an untied balloon.
“You’re drunk.”
“Hence the task at hand.”
“You might be the only person I know to use the word ‘hence’ when drunk.”
I can’t take it anymore. My eyes shoot open and take a moment to adjust. We’re alone in the hallway.
Just us and whoever’s in that bathroom stall.
Trip wears a navy suit, a slim light blue tie, a brown belt, and brown shoes.
I switch my game of wills to one in which I don’t let my insides jump at the sight of him.
“Hello,” I say. “I wasn’t aware we had a meeting scheduled.”
“Hi.” A smile creeps up his lips. That beautiful, full, teasing mouth. “Who’s Romeo?” He tilts his head to the side.
“Ro—? Oh, Isaac.” I rub my neck, where heat is threatening to claw its way to my cheeks. “I didn’t know you saw me out there.”
“Mmm.” He looks at his shoes.
“What?” I spread my arms wide. “Something you want to say about my life decisions?”
The door to the restroom opens and a woman in a red dress shuffles out. I stare straight ahead at Trip and she walks through him. We both stay silent for a minute.
“No,” he finally says.
“What?”
“No, I’m not here to comment on your life decisions.”
What did I expect? Did I want him to cause a power outage at the sight of Isaac’s lips on my neck? To haunt this very bar out of scorn? I should know by now that’s not the story I end up with.
“Well, good. I’m glad you’re okay with—”
“I never said I was okay with it.” His eyes darken. “But I won’t stop you from doing what you want, Elz.” Trip takes a step forward, closing off the already small space of the hallway. “Just know, I don’t shy away from what I want either.”
Blood pounds through my chest. I can’t hear the music in the bar because my own heartbeat is deafening in my ears.
“Which is?” I lift an eyebrow.
Trip huffs a laugh and strokes his jaw. “Well, how do I put this? I know I’m at a slight disadvantage here—” He steps closer, light dancing in his eyes.
I can’t look away. I’m paralyzed under his gaze.
“But I think I’d like—”
“Libby?” Carter enters the hallway at a fast clip.
Like a puff of smoke, Trip is gone.
I’m still reeling from what just happened. From what he was about to say. I press both my hands to my forehead, lifting my hair off my sweaty brow.
“Lib.” Carter stands there, eyeing me.
“What?” It comes out harsher than intended, but the man has impeccably bad timing.
“What the hell’s going on, Libby?”
My thoughts exactly.
“I’m looking everywhere for you and find you drunk and alone, staring off into space.”
Staring into your cousin’s eyes. Amber, chocolate eyes.
“Did you take something?” He grabs my arm, and the touch startles me.
“What? No, Carter. I’m fine. I didn’t take anything. And I’m just a little tipsy.” I shrug out of his grasp.
“And that guy out there.” His voice lowers. “I’m confused. Are you trying to prove something? Trying to be someone else for—I don’t know—Sabrina? This isn’t you, Libby.”
I scrunch my nose. Isn’t it? A hollow feeling settles in my stomach. He’s angry with me. I’m embarrassing myself and I’m embarrassing him. This isn’t how I win him over.
You were having fun, though.
A memory pops into my brain. I was fifteen and Babcia had sprung to let me get a manicure at a nearby salon. I’d picked an electric blue color that complemented my tan skin. With my wild hair streaked with highlights from the summer sun, I felt like a goddess, a queen from some fantasy story.
“It’s too weird,” Carter had said. “Most of the girls I know paint their nails red or pink.”
I went home and picked all of it off. At breakfast the next morning, I sat on my hands so Babcia wouldn’t see.
Was that when I started letting Carter Coldwell make my decisions for me?
Tell me the type of person I am? I’ve bent myself every which way and back again to show him I am worthy of friendship, worthy of something more.
If I’m just good enough, he’ll wake up and see how he feels about me.
Isn’t that what I’ve been telling myself?
I’m not even sure what my preferences are versus Carter’s at this point.
Is Rubirosa actually my favorite pizza place?
Would I choose to run the lower loop in the park every time, or do we do it because it’s what he wants?
Is my signature pantsuit really even my signature, or something he complimented one time?
Something that’s a socially acceptable fashion choice?
And he still didn’t choose me. The reality lands and deflates like a balloon inside my rib cage. I became everything he asked me to. And it still wasn’t enough.
Can’t some things be good enough simply because I like them?
“Deal with it, Carter.” I look him straight in the eye and storm out of the hallway.