Chapter 24 Now
Now
The buzzer to my building rings around seven o’clock Saturday evening. I told everyone to come over any time after eight with the exception of Maren, who’s arriving early to help me set up for her own mini going away (again) party.
“Damn,” she says a minute later when I open my apartment door. “You look hot.”
“I like wine,” she replies, following me inside. “Even though anything remotely good out here is ridiculously overpriced for what it is.”
“We’re uncultured Americans,” I say, setting the bags on the island. “We don’t know what we don’t know.”
Maren opens the cabinet next to the fridge, retrieving two glasses and a corkscrew. “And to answer your first question,” she says, “it’s definitely not too much. Sebastian is your—what’s that saying? Your white elephant?”
“I think that’s the Christmas gift swap we do at the office. White whale?”
“Yes, that!” She unloads six bottles from the bags, then gets to work on the cork of a Cab. “You gotta pull out all the stops. Show him what he’s been missing out on all these years.”
Maren’s still wary about Sebastian, but I appreciate that she’s trying to be supportive for my sake.
I called her the second Sebastian dropped me off at my apartment this morning, which timed up perfectly with her drive home from her grandparents’ house, and fully briefed her on last night’s events.
I detailed how, after the shower (which took a rather steamy turn), Sebastian and I chatted over flat whites (mine iced, his hot) at the café.
Then we checked out of the hotel and spent a couple of hours driving up and down the island, splitting various coffee and espresso drinks until I had a caffeine headache.
I had to have him pull over so I could beg to pee at the Ron Jon Surf Shop just before we exited the island.
It was one of the best mornings I’ve had in a long time.
So much so that I didn’t want it to end. Which is why, not long into the drive home, I wound up inviting him to come tonight.
“Count me in,” he’d said, glancing over at me from the driver’s seat. (There’d been a lot more glancing from both parties on the ride home.) “I’m grabbing dinner with Andre and Theo and Hana, but I’ll come by after.”
The moment he’d said this I immediately regretted extending the invitation.
Not because I didn’t want to see him again so soon (I definitely did), but because the thought of giving Maren and David a front-row seat to whatever is going on between us—with only Henry as a buffer—made me want to jump out of the moving car.
“Tell them they can come, too,” I blurted out. “The more the merrier!”
It’s honestly a good thing Maren brought so much wine.
“Maybe I needed those years to figure myself out first,” I say now, spinning the stem of the glass she’s just poured for me. “I was kind of a loser back then.”
“Don’t insult me,” she says, pouting her bottom lip. “That loser was my best friend.”
I laugh mid-sip, but Maren doesn’t join in.
“I’m serious,” she says, handing me a paper towel so I can wipe the wine from my chin.
“You let his approval carry so much weight back then. But what he did was a him problem. I hate the thought of him showing up after all these years and making you feel all insecure again.” She nudges my shoulder.
“Especially when I’m not down the street to remind you how perfect you are. ”
“I know you’re worried, Mar,” I say, feeling a familiar pang in my chest. I miss my best friend already and am dreading tomorrow, when she’ll get on a plane and our interactions will once again be limited to WhatsApp and FaceTime.
Maren is the kind of friend best experienced in person.
“All I can say is that things are different now. I joke about myself, but I’m not that insecure teenager anymore. I know my worth.”
This seems to satisfy Maren for now. She arranges the contents of my Trader Joe’s haul into an Instagram-worthy charcuterie board while I transfer the stuffed mushrooms and cocktail meatballs I’d prepped earlier from the fridge to the oven and set up a drink station.
By the time the buzzer sounds again an hour later, we’ve killed the first bottle of wine and polished off half of the brie.
I open the door to David and Henry, who come bearing cookies and even more wine. (I really love my friends.) We all exchange greetings and hugs—Maren squealing with excitement—and then gather around the appetizers.
After turning my back for approximately four seconds to uncork the next bottle, I find the three of them with their heads together, whispering.
I’d sent David a slightly briefer debrief over text after my call with Maren.
He’d replied with a barrage of emojis and seven follow-up questions, to which I’d replied with a plea to act normal tonight and the praying hands emoji. I clear my throat.
“Sorry,” David says. “We have no chill. But can you blame me for wanting just, like, three more details?”
I sigh and check the time on my phone. “We probably have a few more minutes until they get here. What do you want to know?”
David and Maren exchange a conspiratorial glance. Even Henry, who usually tolerates but doesn’t share our gossipy nature, looks curious.
“Was it as hot as you thought it would be?” David asks with a mischievous smirk.
I feel a blush creep up my neck—I’ve always been a little prudish at heart—but I soldier on. “Way hotter.”
Even this is an understatement. Sex with Sebastian was …
different. Not polite and efficient like the sex I had with my college boyfriend, or sloppy and slightly awkward like hooking up with a guy from Hinge or a mutual friend setup.
I’d long accepted that I was probably one of those women for whom sex is fine but not earth-shattering.
Maybe I was more likely to be “turned on” by a good conversation than by anything physical, so what?
No shame in that. I listened attentively to Maren’s tales of serial orgasms across the continents with the bemused curiosity of someone who isn’t even enlightened enough to be jealous.
But Sebastian debunked all of that in one evening. Many times over.
Tonight, I’ll have to school myself from gawking at his elegant fingers, the bow of his lips, the rumble of his voice. From sweating with the knowledge of how swiftly any one of those things is capable of becoming my undoing.
“What about after—was it awkward at all?” Henry wants to know.
“Honestly? It wasn’t,” I say. “I kept waiting for the awkwardness to come, but we just talked for a long time after, and then we fell asleep. Everything felt really … comfortable, I guess.”
“Did you cuddle?” Maren turns to David and Henry. “She’s a huge cuddler. And a cover stealer. I know from years of sleepover experience.”
I toss a cracker at her.
“There was cuddling,” I concede. “It was very nice.”
Maren smiles at that. Then the buzzer sounds.
“Sorry,” I say, moving toward the door. “I’m not taking any further questions at this time.”
Maren and David groan. Henry quiets them by topping off their wineglasses. At least they’re easily distracted.
“Let’s party!” Andre proclaims the second I open the door, hoisting a case of Michelob Ultra in the air. Hana and Theo follow, shooting me apologetic glances. I thank them for the olive oil and flowers they’ve brought and direct all three of them toward the kitchen.
And then there’s just Sebastian in the doorway, wearing a white polo shirt that emphasizes his tan so much it’s borderline ridiculous, along with a pair of navy shorts that make me wonder if knees are in fact a very sexy body part that I’ve been overlooking.
He’s holding a big paper bag and looking at me in a way that makes me want to pretend there’s a gas leak and send everyone home.
“Hi,” he says as he steps inside, towering over me. An image flashes of the last time he crossed this threshold, with rain-soaked clothes and hungry eyes. I need another glass of wine, stat.
“Hi.” I look up at him. “Long time, no see.”
I want to pull him down to me by the curls at the nape of his neck, but I’m not sure that’s an appropriate greeting, especially in front of an audience. To give my hands something else to do I take the bag from him, then lead him into the kitchen.
I deposit the bag on an empty sliver of counter next to the fridge and peer inside. It’s a box of pastries from the best bakery in Brantley Beach and an unmarked bag of coffee beans.
I feel a hand on the small of my back, strong but gentle. “For tomorrow morning,” Sebastian says against my ear. A shiver runs down the length of my body, because I know he means the food but now I’m thinking of his hands.
I whirl to face him, pressing my back against the counter. “Assuming you’ll stay over, huh?” I don’t allow myself to flatten my palms along the planes of his chest. I deserve a trophy for my self-restraint. “That’s quite presumptuous of you.”
“I never said you had to share,” he says, shifting his hand from my lower back to my hip. He leans closer, invading my space. “I do love those chocolate croissants, though. A guy can hope.”
With no small amount of effort, I peel away from his gaze, expecting to catch at least a few gawkers. But everyone has moved to the living room. Someone has set a beer can in the middle of the coffee table, and Andre and Maren are busy surrounding it with playing cards.
“We’re playing Kings,” David calls, waving us over.
I force myself to pull away from Sebastian and join the rest of my guests.
“What’s the upper age limit on these drinking games?” I joke as I take a seat on the couch next to Maren. Sebastian sits on a chair diagonal from me, which is probably for the best if I have any hope of concentrating on this game.
“Normally I’d say twenty-two,” Hana replies, cracking open a beer. “But on nights my parents are babysitting? The limit does not exist.” I knew I liked her.