Chapter 14 Now
Now
“Maren Murphy,” says Andre Silva in his signature flirtatious tone. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
At this, Maren rolls her eyes, but accepts the two glasses of champagne he offers her, passing one to me. We’ve just arrived at Bubba’s for the surprise party. Bubba herself isn’t due to arrive for another thirty minutes.
“Nice to see you, too, Andre,” Maren says, tucking her curls behind one ear. She sounds bored, but I can tell by the quick up-down she gives him that she sees what I see: The years have been kind to him. “Playing greeter for the evening?”
“Anything for the Nikolaous,” he replies, flashing a dazzling smile.
He’d been a star soccer player in high school and one of the most attractive guys in the grade two above ours—maybe even hotter than Sebastian, depending on who you asked and how much they valued muscle mass, which Andre had no shortage of.
He’d also definitely had a thing for Maren the summer before our junior year, but she’d always dismissed him.
The jock thing, she’d insisted, “just didn’t do it” for her.
I know from Instagram that he’d gone to Villanova on a soccer scholarship and wound up staying for law school, and that now he splits time between his firm’s Philly and Jersey offices.
No girlfriend, to my knowledge. And, as if to emphasize just how far behind him his jock days are, he’s shown up to the party dressed the part, in a sharp navy suit with a crisp white button-down.
In other words: Maren is doomed.
Andre finally says hi to me, then makes a sweeping gesture toward the door, as if he’s welcoming us into a much fancier establishment. Right this way.
The dining room looks like it’s been dipped in sunshine.
A tribute to Bubba’s favorite color, no doubt.
A pale yellow balloon arch shoots up from either side of the hostess stand, which has been turned into a makeshift bar, complete with a metal ice bucket of Coronas and Surfsides.
Half the tables have been removed, and the half that remain are topped with vases of dahlias, tulips and marigolds.
Close to forty people are here already, greeting one another and mingling.
Maren tugs me toward a table with familiar white baskets of food and picks up one that holds a hot dog and onion rings. She closes her eyes and takes a bite.
“Ohmygod. Home.”
I laugh, then snag a cheeseburger and French fry combo for myself. We find an open table and arrange ourselves so we have a discreet yet unobstructed view of the entrance. Maren and I are both people watchers to our core.
“So what’s our game plan?” Maren says around an onion ring, eyes on Andre as he bends down to hug a white-haired woman who’s just arrived.
“You tell me, Coach,” I say, dunking a fry in Omar’s scratch-made honey mustard sauce. “I’m not even sure we should be playing this game in the first place.”
It’s the truth: An uneasiness had come over me while I was getting ready for the party that I haven’t been able to shake.
Why did I keep throwing myself back into Sebastian’s orbit like this?
He and Claire had ignored my texts, emails and calls.
Showing up in person feels like a statement—and not the good kind.
Then again, I’d thought as I’d swiped on my mascara—the only makeup besides lip gloss I wore in the summer, if I wore any at all—throw felt like too active of a word.
I felt more like I was being pulled, and doing little to stop it.
I wipe the grease off my hands and smooth the front of my pale green sundress.
I’d picked it because it was simple yet flattering, with a flowy cotton skirt and spaghetti straps that tied at my shoulders.
I’d initially paired it with white espadrille wedges but ultimately dressed it down with my go-to tan flip-flops.
I wore my hair natural, in loose layered waves, the longest of which fell just above my elbows.
I’d sent Maren a mirror selfie, as is our tradition any time we go out in public together, so that we could match each other’s vibes.
She’d gone with a dark green tank top with a similar neckline, white jeans and a pair of raffia mules, curls fully embraced.
I picked Maren up thinking we’d dressed appropriately for the occasion, but now that we’re here all I can think about is how well we match the shades of Sebastian’s eyes, and I feel extremely creepy.
Maren nudges me. “Hm?” I mumble, realizing I’ve missed something she said.
“You know I can’t resist a suit,” she groans. “And it’s even tailored properly.”
She’s still looking at Andre, who’s left his post at the door and is now headed for the “bar” with Theo Louros.
Sebastian had once told me that Theo was his oldest friend—they’d met as kids in Greek school.
By the time I met Sebastian, he, Andre and Theo had become an infamous trio in the halls of BBH.
Andre, the charming jock. Theo, the mysterious introvert.
And Sebastian, the cool, laid-back surfer with a heart of gold.
They were the kind of ridiculously handsome guys you assumed were total jerks but had the audacity to actually be on track to becoming good people.
Or at least that’s how it seemed. They were cool without being exclusive.
Fun without being reckless. Confident without being smug.
They respected the teachers. Spoke highly of their moms.
It was hard not to fall in love with at least one of them.
“Let’s get a drink,” Maren says suddenly. She clasps my fry-free hand and tugs me toward the bar, stifling laughter while I roll my eyes like we’re fifteen again.
We walk up as Andre is helping Theo fill a cooler with the craft beers he brought. I recognize the cans immediately: They’re from Kane, a popular local brewery based one town over in Ocean. A good choice.
“Strange to see you two drinking anything other than Natty Light or Franzia,” Maren says.
The guys look up. Andre smirks. Theo looks from me to Maren and back with a raised brow, curious.
“Hey, Maren,” Theo says, rising. He smiles at me. “Lina.” I flash to another time he was smiling, but at my expense. All three of them were. This smile is much kinder.
“Drinks?” Andre asks.
Maren and I accept two Surfsides and crack them open while the guys finish filling the cooler. Then the four of us migrate to a nearby table.
“You’re living in Europe these days, right?” Theo asks Maren. “How is that?”
“London, yes. It’s lovely. But I’m stateside for a bit.” She glances at Andre. Internally I roll my eyes at her suddenly prim vocabulary—and her intentionally vague timeline.
“And Lina, you’re still in Brantley Beach.”
I don’t love the lack of question in his tone—or his inclusion of the word still—but I nod.
“Yep. I worked in the city for about a year, but when that job didn’t pan out I started at a local outlet.
” Maren shoots me a warning look like she always does when she’s worried I’m about to go into self-deprecation mode, so I leave it at that.
And anyway, I have nothing to be ashamed of around this group: They’re still here, too, and they don’t seem to mind.
We spend the next few minutes catching up on our jobs and parents and even our relationship statuses, which come up when Theo tells us he’d married his college sweetheart, Hana, a couple of years back and that she’ll be arriving later with their two-year-old daughter, post-nap time.
They’re both teachers. Andre had dated someone seriously in college, too, but they’d broken up a few months into their respective grad programs. For the time being, he says, he’s focusing on his career and enjoying the single life.
We, of course, have already gleaned most of this information from Instagram, but part of being a member of our particular age group is never revealing who you keep tabs on.
Maren’s update is characteristically brief and cryptic: She dates here and there, nothing serious.
I think of the string of suitors she’s had since college—plenty of attractive men (usually older and wealthy) had pursued her, but she always cut them loose within a couple of months.
I wonder if she’ll ever find someone who can make a compelling enough case for her to settle down, but I hope someone rises to the challenge one day.
Andre produces another round of drinks and passes them around.
“What about you, Lina?” Theo asks.
My love life isn’t much to talk about, but this question comes up more frequently than I’d like, so I’ve perfected a canned response.
“I had a boyfriend senior year of college. Nice enough guy, smart. But it never felt like a forever thing. He wound up going abroad for a Fulbright, and we both agreed it was best to just end things. I’ve dated a bit since then, but I don’t know,” I say, deviating from my script. “It’s hard to meet new people here.”
“And she knows too much about the old people,” Maren chimes in.
A clanging sound draws our attention toward the middle of the room, where Omar stands, holding a pot lid in each hand like two cymbals.
“She’s one block away,” he announces. “Quiet on the set!”
A hush falls over the dining room. It’s filled up since we’ve been talking, but no sign of Sebastian.
A minute later, Bubba appears in the doorway.
I glimpse a broad shoulder behind her just as everyone yells, “Surprise!” It’s clear by the look on her face that she’s genuinely shocked.
She shoots Omar a playfully angry look. Then she turns and reaches up to hug her son to the tune of about fifty awwws.
When Sebastian guides her inside, she’s swiping away tears.
She hugs Omar next, and Sebastian begins greeting some of the other guests. He looks ridiculously handsome, in a white linen polo, navy chinos and Vans. I can tell by the way that the middle-aged lady he’s greeting smiles at him that I’m not alone in this opinion.