Chapter Eighteen #2
I frown. I want to say something, crack a joke about all the extra weight she’s carrying, but her expression shifts, and I don’t want to add to her stress, so for once, I keep my mouth shut.
“There’s a reason I asked you to come over a little early. I wanted to talk to you about something, but I didn’t want to do it over the phone. Or in front of anyone else.”
“Okay,” I say, stretching out the word.
She looks nervous. The way she fidgets makes me wonder if I’m about to hear some bombshell news.
Like she’s pregnant and that’s why they’ve decided to get married so goddamn young.
Instinct makes me look at her stomach. No.
That can’t be it. Jules would’ve told me before now.
Of course she would’ve. But she places her hand on her stomach, and I think about all the things we haven’t told each other lately, and I’m back to panicking.
After a deep breath, she reaches for her necklace. For the archer pendant she still wears and begins tracing it with her thumb. “First, thank you. For coming. For being here. I know it was expensive, and you had to take off work.”
“You asked me to come, so I came. Besides, getting engaged is kind of a big deal.” She nods, and I lick my lips. “Everything okay?”
“I wanted to ask you something.” I hold my breath and wait. “Will you be my maid of honor?”
My breath rushes out in a sigh of relief. Thank fucking God she’s not pregnant.
“Jules,” I say through a chuckle. But she still looks nervous, and I realize that even though this is nowhere near as dramatic as I made it to be in my head, she’s still waiting for a response. “I’d love to be your maid of honor.”
Her face lights up like the Fourth of July. “Really?”
I laugh. “Did you think I’d say no?”
“I wasn’t sure,” she admits sheepishly. “I know you don’t really like Brian, and you live so far away. Sometimes I think we’ve…I thought…I don’t know.”
Okay, that’s fair. She doesn’t have to clarify it for me to know what she’s trying to say.
We’ve grown apart over the past couple of years.
Phone calls are fewer, updates are even less, and we’ve just been dancing around the fact that something in our relationship has changed.
So, yeah, I guess maybe she would be nervous to ask.
“I’d do anything for you, Jules,” I tell her sincerely. “Including wearing an itchy dress and holding your bouquet.” Including flying thirty-seven hundred miles for a party in a mansion celebrating my best friend being in love with someone else.
Her arms slide over my shoulders, and I feel her face press against the side of my neck.
I hold her close, circling her waist and sink into her.
I try to ignore that we still fit like pieces of the same puzzle.
That her perfume still stirs up desire. That the warmth of her skin feels like a security blanket.
When she starts to pull away, I loosen my hold and watch as she wipes at her eyes. “Maid of honor, huh?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.
“Well,” she starts and continues to fix her makeup, “my co–maid of honor. I asked Chloe, too.”
“Even better,” I say, glad I don’t have to do this on my own. “She can take care of the boring stuff, and I can plan the bachelorette party.”
“Strippers?”
“Of both genders,” I confirm.
“Where my bitches at?” someone yells from outside the garden.
“Speaking of Chloe,” Jules says fondly.
We share a look and begin to giggle. If Tuxedo was mad about me violating the flowers, he must be livid at Chloe’s shouted profanities.
Jules links her arm through mine and leads us back to the garden entrance. “Come on. The party’s about to start, and I’m finally united with my two best friends.”
The whole evening ends up being exactly how I anticipated: a lot of stuffy people trying to one-up each other in a not-so-subtle game of bragging.
Jules’s parents are here, which is nice, considering this is very clearly a party for Brian’s “people,” and where he looks totally in his element, Jules most assuredly does not.
I’ll give Brian credit, however much it pains me, because he doesn’t leave Jules’s side, stepping in to take the brunt of most of the wedding questions.
And Jules plays her part perfectly. Her smile, although tired and obviously forced, never leaves her lips, and she nods along while receiving unsolicited advice about the wedding, purchasing a home, and kids.
I try not to think about Jules and Brian having kids.
Instead, I watch the entire show from the safety of the corner of the main room and hover near the Marrows.
Somewhere between her second and third glass of wine, Mrs. Marrow confirms my suspicions that this is a Prescott affair, and the only reason Chloe and I were invited was because Jules, in a moment of bravery, insisted.
Something she apparently never does when it comes to the Prescotts.
After this, I hope it becomes more of a habit.
About two hours into the party, the sun sets, and I slip out to the back deck where it’s a little quieter. There are only so many times I can answer questions about being a part-time bartender and part-time marketing manager and pretend not to notice the looks of disdain that follow.
I head away from the doors and lean against the railing to look out into the garden. Even though the house is a bit excessive, I have to admit, the lighted pathway that trails through the hedges and flowers is a rather beautiful sight.
“Hey, fellow maid of honor.” Chloe bumps my shoulder as if to say, “Found you,” and hands me a beer. “Having fun?”
“Oh, totally. I love answering questions about myself and then getting to hear about all the ways I still have time to course correct.”
“Ah, yes. That’s a good one.” She holds out her bottle, and I tap it with mine. “I’m also enjoying the ‘And how do you know Julia’ questions. Like a Black girl can’t have a white best friend.”
I groan because as bad as I have it, I can’t even imagine what Chloe has to put up with.
“I guess we both scored pity invites because we’ve known her since grade school.”
“Obligatory bridesmaids.”
“Excuse you. Maids of honor,” I correct.
“Oh, yes, we are above regular bridesmaids, how silly of me.” She taps her bottle to mine again.
A few fireflies flash within the garden.
I watch their soft blinking glow and think back to summer sleepovers, when the three of us would stay up late trying to catch as many as we could.
We would whisper wishes and release them all at once with the hope that they’d carry our dreams into the sky and scatter them among the stars.
“Does it bother you?” I ask. “That she asked me, too? To be her maid of honor?”
Chloe mirrors my position, her forearms pressed against the railing. “Why would it bother me? You’re her best friend.”
I shake my head. It might’ve been true once, but now it just feels wrong to call myself that. Not when we’ve put purposeful distance between us. Not when Chloe’s been the one to stick around and pick up the pieces. “No, you’re her best friend. Jules and I are…”
“Are what?” she asks softly.
And that’s the question. One I don’t have an answer for anymore. “Something else.”
She wants to say something. I don’t have to see her to know that she’s holding back. I can feel it. Chloe and I may not be as close as she and Jules are, but I’ve been friends with her long enough to know when she’s about to call me out on my bullshit.
But Chloe stands right as I hear familiar footsteps along the patio. I turn to see Jules rushing toward us wearing an almost pained expression and a set of very low heels. Another act of rebellion.
“You good?” Chloe asks once she reaches us.
“Can you two do me a favor?”
Chloe stands at attention. “Ready for orders.”
Jules leans in and discreetly points to an older woman slowly making her way outside to sit in one of the oversized patio chairs. “That’s Brian’s great-aunt Margaret. She’s…”
“A bitch?” I say before Jules can find the word she wants to use. It makes her crack the smallest of smiles.
“Not a fan of mine,” she says instead. “Can you please make sure she doesn’t sneak up and corner me?”
Chloe takes a sip of her drink, then says, “Abso-fucking-lutely,” at the same time that I say, “I’m not sure she’s quick enough to do any kind of sneaking.”
Jules laughs, but it’s clear she’s still very nervous about having to interact with Aunt Margaret. It makes me wonder how horrible she must be.
“Where’s Brian?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen him in a while and wondering why he gets to disappear while Jules still flutters around, attempting to appease the masses.
“I told him to go spend time with his friends. Which…” She peers over the railing and off to the side.
I follow her line of sight to a whitewashed group of men surrounding a firepit. A firepit. In the middle of August. When I go to say as much, Jules is already giving me a pleading look. A sense of dread settles in my stomach. I know what she’s going to ask before she even asks it.
“Would you mind going down there and spending some time with him?”
“Seriously?” I turn to Chloe for help, but she takes a long pull of her beer and looks away, wanting no part. “Traitor,” I whisper.
“Hey, I’m not the one who up and moved to London. I know the guy.”
Ouch. That one stings. But she softens her harsh words with a wink and nods toward Jules, who is still giving me puppy eyes, as if to say “Do it for her.”
“He wants to get to know you. Please?”
And fuck it all to hell. The look and the pleading…
I groan, folding like a goddamn lawn chair.
“Fine.” I shoot Chloe a glare. We will definitely come back to her throwing me under the Brian Bus later, and I begrudgingly make my way to the steps leading down to the ground level.
“I’d rather be on Aunt Margaret duty,” I mutter.
“Be nice,” Jules calls out.
“I’m always nice,” I shout back.
“In what universe?” I hear Chloe add.
My steps slow the closer I get to the huddled group of men and murmur a silent plea for the ground to swallow me whole before I reach them. But either no one is listening or I’m their entertainment for the evening because it doesn’t happen.
Brian lights up when he sees me, although I don’t know why. The handful of times we’ve spent together have never once been pleasant. He’s probably drunk. But I smile and stand beside him, doing my best not to flinch when he drapes his arm around my shoulders.
“Guys, this is Alex. One of Julia’s best friends. Alex, these are my future groomsmen. Robert, Eric, Matthew, and Duke.”
“Good to meet you,” one of them says.
“We were just talking about the Eagles,” Brian continues.
“Ah,” I say but inwardly groan. I came over to play nice, but if the conversation continues to be about football, I’m going to have to respectfully bow out.
“She’s a baseball fan,” Brian continues, as if I’m not standing right the fuck next to him. He takes a sip of his watered-down scotch. “Cleveland, right?”
I match his sip with a chug of beer and narrow my eyes. “Cincinnati.”
He shrugs as if they’re the same fucking thing and chews on the end of his cigar.
It pisses me off for two reasons. One, we’ve talked about this every other time we’ve been forced to interact, and two, he knows it’s the Reds because I know for a fact that Jules still wears my old Reds shirt she swiped from me when we were sixteen, and I’ve heard him make a comment about it.
Robert, or maybe it’s Matthew, scrunches his nose. “You’re not a Bengals fan, too, are you?”
“Don’t really get that excited about football.”
Duke scoffs. “You should. It’s more exciting than baseball.”
“Well, Duke,” I say through a forced smile, “agree to disagree.”
I never thought I’d say this, but they actually make me miss Tyler. At least he liked baseball and was fun to be around. Even if he was drafted by the Cardinals.
Brian produces a fresh cigar from his front pocket. “Here you go.” I’m not really one to smoke, but I take it anyway and hold it, wondering if I’m actually going to have to partake. But then Eric steals Brian’s attention.
“Like I was telling you, my uncle has an in with this investment firm in Chicago. I can get you a job there, no problem. Start off as an apprentice and climb the ladder. You’ll be rolling in it in no time.”
Brian takes a puff from his cigar and nods. “How much rolling are we talking?”
Eric leans in close like they’re swapping secrets and smirks. “Let’s just say that Bugatti you’ve always wanted might not just be a dream anymore.”
“Once I finish the apprenticeship,” Brian repeats.
“Which you will because my uncle knows a guy.”
Brian and Eric laugh and tap their glasses together and…wow. It’s like watching some bad rich boy reality show. Only with cologne and smoke circling overhead.
None of the other guys look my way again, so I stand around the periphery and wonder how I can excuse myself when I promised Jules I’d behave.
Brian attempts to bring me back into the circle a few times, but after twenty minutes or so, it’s clear that I’m not adding anything of value to their conversation, so I let him light my cigar and wonder what the hell Jules sees in him.
And why he always calls her Julia and never Jules.