29
Two weeks later, I sit on one side of a tiny green table at a coffee shop in Charleston. My iced latte remains filled to the brim, condensation pooling in the morning sun. The chai across from me is half empty, held by manicured hands digging into its sides—tiny half-moons denting the plastic.
Though Valerie agreed to meet me when I called two days ago, she didn’t technically agree to speak, which might be why she hasn’t even offered a greeting. She just sat down, took her drink, and glared at me while I worked up the courage to say what we both know I’m here for.
When I open my mouth—almost like she doesn’t want me to get the jump on her—she speaks first.
“You reached out to me before Anders? Why?”
The mention of Anders steals some of the moisture from my throat. I haven’t responded to a single message or call, and they dwindled until he finally stopped trying.
“I hurt you the most,” I answer, trying to sound like my heart doesn’t feel bruised. “So I wanted to see you, to say that I’m sorry—and to let you rip into me, because you deserve the outlet.”
She narrows her eyes. “Is this reverse psychology? You want me to feel bad for you so I don’t tear you a new one?”
I shake my head. “I want you to do whatever you want. Whatever will make you feel better.”
She tilts her cup back and forth. “And if spilling this all over your head would help?”
I push my coffee toward her. “This one’s full—use it instead.”
Valerie slams her cup down. “I don’t get you.
You do something horrible, but you look like I just killed your childhood pet.
You could have stayed the hell away from me, knowing how pissed I am, but instead, you’re sitting here, willing to let me humiliate you?
Anders hired you to ruin my wedding, yet you tried to shoulder all the blame and make it seem like you manipulated him into it? ”
At my wide eyes, she gives me a look.
“Did you really think Anders would let that slide? He told us the truth. All of it. Start to finish. I don’t get you, Lucy. Are you a good person or a bad one?”
“I don’t know.” I look down at my lap. “I’m just a person.”
She rolls her eyes, downs the rest of her chai, and glares at me. “If you think just because you’re sorry I’m going to forgive you, you’re embarrassingly mistaken.”
“I’m not sorry because I think you’ll forgive me. I’m sorry because I misunderstood, and I did a horrible thing to you.”
She looks me up and down. “So you don’t care if I forgive you?”
“I’d like you to. But I understand if you can’t.”
Her bottom lip trembles. She bites down on it before snatching my coffee out of my hands.
“I thought we were friends,” she says. “I knew you were Anders’s girlfriend”—she uses air quotes—“and that came first. But you made me feel like you were a safe space. That was a lie.”
“I lied a lot,” I admit. “But if you needed me—if you still need me—I’m here for you. That part was never a lie.”
She looks away, sips from my drink, but her hand is shakier than she probably wants it to appear.
“I really like you, Valerie. I like that you don’t care if you’re being snobby, because you’re still kind.
I like how you defend your family and yourself.
I think you’re brave, and funny, and a little careless with your words in the way only a self-proclaimed nepo baby can be.
I like that no matter if you’re in a good mood or a bad one, you own it fully. I like so much about you.”
She pulls back like I’ve insulted her. “What the hell is this?”
“A confession,” I say. “A real one. Maybe a few months—or a few years—down the line, you’re bored and think of me. I can still be a friend. If you need it.” I shake my head. “Not need. You don’t. You stand on your own. But if you want.”
She traces circles on the table with her curved nail, eyeing me, inspecting my face like she’s trying to peek into my brain and decode my thoughts. Figure out if I mean it. Figure out if she even cares if I do.
“You came all the way to Charleston for this?”
“No,” I admit. “This was part of it. But I’ve got other things to see to as well. Still, this was one of the most important.”
“You had me—all of us—fooled,” Valerie says. “It’s hard to tell if this is real, because you’ve already proven to be a good actress.”
“I wish I could prove it to you in a way you’d believe,” I tell her.
She shuts her eyes, tilts her head in a stretch, and then opens them again.
“John isn’t who you or Anders thought he was.
” She looks down, swirls my latte, looks up at me.
“And Anders finally admitted that,” she adds.
“He came over after everything, said he was wrong about trying to intervene. I know he projected all his own stuff onto John because he didn’t want me to get hurt again.
But he gets it now. He sees that we love each other deeply. ”
My chest tightens. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
“I know he’s not what anyone saw for me,” she says.
“And yeah, John made that mistake with the money. But it wasn’t anything like what Nick did.
Everyone screws up. John just does it while meaning well.
And that counts for something. He’s naive, but it just makes me want to protect him more.
And I’m emotionally all over the place, and he is always patient with his care.
It’s a messy love, but it’s both our lives to sloppily go through together.
I don’t need a perfect partner. I just need genuine love. ”
She goes on. “I know he makes mistakes, but when Nick hurt me, it was on purpose. And there’s so much more to John that his mistakes feel like nothing, in the grand scheme of things.”
My years in a lower tax bracket will never let me dismiss a million dollars lost as “nothing,” but it’s not my relationship. It’s not my broken piece to put back together.
“You’re right.”
“I am,” she says. “And you and Anders were wrong.” She cocks her head.
“You’re alike, but different. Anders wants to take care of everyone, but acts like he isn’t trying to.
He wants to be invisible—on the sidelines, watching the people he loves be happy.
You’re similar, but you want to be visible.
You don’t mind getting involved, getting your hands dirty, being seen trying. You’re both pains in the ass.”
I laugh, then slap a hand over my mouth. I’m not sure it’s something I’m allowed to do right now.
Valerie laughs too—then frowns, like she hates that she let it slip.
“Look, you saw my shitty bridesmaids. You know I don’t have too many good friends. And unfortunately, I like you too.”
The present tense makes hope perk up in my bones. I sit up straighter, leaning forward.
“You said you wish you could prove you’re telling the truth. Do you mean that?”
“I do. Yes. Of course.”
“Okay.” She links her fingers together. “I’ve postponed the wedding. Not because I don’t love John—or vice versa—but if everyone around me is nervous, everyone who’s seen me through some dark times, then I want to ease some of the worry. This fall—I’m getting married. For real this time.”
“Okay.”
“Will you help plan it?” she asks, and it’s the last thing I expected. “If you want to prove you’re a good friend, then repair what you broke. Do the opposite of what brought you here. Help me get married. For real.”
“I’ve never planned a wedding before,” I stammer.
“But you’ve planned how to ruin one,” Valerie points out. “So you know the ins and outs. You’ve been trying to wreck weddings every which way—you probably know more than you think.”
I chew my bottom lip, trying to formulate a response—trying to process my workload—when she adds, “Is it Anders? Do you not want to be in Charleston?”
I don’t respond. I haven’t nailed down what my future looks like. I have a general idea, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.
She takes my silence as an admission.
“He’s not even going to be here much. He’s going back to the office in New York for a while—thinks he wants to get away from us, or give us a break from him, not sure.
You’ll barely see him. Honestly, we’ve seen him more with you here.
He usually works, travels—this is the longest he’s let us have him. ”
“That’s not it,” I finally say, a flood of emotions rushing through me. “He’s not the problem. I—I actually have plans that’ll keep me here. In Charleston. But nothing’s for sure yet.”
“What is this, hide and seek?” Valerie asks. “You come here. He goes there. Are you purposely avoiding him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to avoid Anders.”
“But you won’t see him?”
“I’m not sure how.”
“I’m offended you found me more approachable than him,” she says. “But, Lucy, Anders is doing what he always does—putting himself on the sidelines. I don’t think he belongs there. I think you should pull him onstage, because he doesn’t know how to get there himself.”
I open my mouth, then shut it. I agree. I think Anders should be happy out in the open. I don’t want him to feel like he has to pull away—like he isn’t wanted.
But I’m nervous I’m not the one who can make him as happy as he deserves. Every relationship I’ve been in has failed. Even if his family forgives me, who’s to say our relationship can ever be healed? Shouldn’t he be with someone with less baggage?
“Can we revisit this conversation?” I finally ask.
Valerie rolls her eyes. “I’ve barely forgiven you, and you’re already taking advantage.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves a hand. “What are these plans? If you’re not staying for Anders, why the hell would you stay in Charleston?”
“I’m going to buy K9 Friends,” I say. “I think. It’s actually not up for sale.”
“The place Anders adopted Sora?”
My heart stutters at the thought of Anders traveling so much, but between him and Olive, I know Sora is well loved and taken care of.
“Yeah. It needs a lot of repairs, a lot of funding, a new staff member—maybe more. Just an overall facelift. I think it deserves it. It lacks a lot, but not love. It’s loved so much, and I want it to have everything it needs. I want it to be better.”
“So”—Valerie frowns—“you’re going to buy a shelter that’s not for sale.”
“I don’t know if you know this about me,” I say before I can stop myself, “but I’m pretty good at convincing people to do things.”
When Valerie glares at me, I add, “Too soon?”
She frowns for a second, then tilts her head in a laugh. “I hate that I like you.”
“I love that I like you.”
She smiles—and I feel the pieces of our friendship click back into place. When they do, it’s brighter and warmer than it was before.