Chapter 15
When poker night rolled around again, Merritt knew she had to get out of the house.
“Want to go out to dinner?”
Olivia glanced up from her book in surprise. Merritt realized with a twinge of guilt that she still hadn’t cashed in on their rain check of a night of trashy reality TV.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Pizza?”
“Twist my arm, why don’t you.” Olivia slid in her bookmark and stood up with a sigh. It was still occasionally a surprise to see her this pregnant, the watermelon-sized bump peeking out from under her sweater when she stretched.
The sun was still high in the sky, slicing through the crisp air, as they walked to Last Chair.
“I talked to Mom today,” said Olivia.
“Oh yeah?” Merritt said, as neutrally as possible.
“She said you were throwing me a baby shower.”
Merritt groaned. “God, can anyone in this family keep a secret?”
“I don’t think she knew it was supposed to be a secret,” Olivia said, a little defensively, even though Merritt was positive she’d included that information in the terse text message she’d spent an hour drafting. “But she wanted to let me know she doesn’t think she can come.”
Merritt stopped short on the street. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“There’s a literary festival in Boston that weekend, she’s a featured speaker. It’s a really big deal.” Olivia’s voice was dull.
Merritt took a deep breath, reining in her reaction. She didn’t need to get angry about it in front of Olivia, the actual injured party. “I’ll talk to her” was all she said, and the two of them kept walking.
“Thank you, by the way,” Olivia said, after a beat.
“For what?”
“For planning it.”
A smile crept across Merritt’s face, despite herself. “I guess since it’s not a surprise anymore, you can tell me if there’s anything specific you want me to register for. Freya and Pam were helping me, but apparently baby technology has shifted a lot in the past thirty years.”
“Like a robot nanny?”
“No, like everything has Bluetooth for no reason and is two hundred dollars more expensive than it should be.”
Olivia laughed, pushing open the door to Last Chair.
There were so few sit-down restaurants in town that there was often a long wait for a table at peak hours, but they were early enough to beat the dinner rush and were seated right away.
When their waiter came over, Merritt was chagrined to see it was Simon.
“Simon, hey,” she said, smiling up at him, probably too broadly.
Reel it in. She didn’t want to come off as too friendly with Niko’s roommate in front of Olivia.
“Hey,” he said without looking at her, then greeted Olivia with more warmth. “I’ll get you some waters.”
As soon as he left the table, Olivia raised her eyebrows at Merritt. “What was that about?”
Merritt studied the menu. “Oh. Um. I don’t know.” She paused. “He’s Niko’s housemate.”
“Yeah, I know he’s Niko’s housemate. Did something happen? You guys haven’t been hanging out as much.”
Merritt kept her eyes cast down. She hated having secrets from Olivia, but the truth would only upset her further. Plus, nothing else was going to happen between them, so why did it even matter? She’d tell her in a few months, once everything had settled down and they could laugh about it.
But for now there was nothing funny about the memory of getting kissed within an inch of her life by someone she was trying to convince herself she should absolutely never kiss again. It made her feel kind of sick, actually.
She shook her head. “You were right about everything. We realized it was a bad idea for us to be spending so much time together, that we should take a step back.”
“Because…he has feelings for you?” Olivia prodded.
Luckily, Simon stopped by and plonked two glasses of water in front of them before Merritt could answer.
Merritt shrugged, a little helplessly. “I’m trying to be good, Liv,” she muttered, once Simon was out of earshot.
Olivia didn’t say anything, just eyed her suspiciously. Then her face slackened, her attention shifting over Merritt’s shoulder. Merritt turned her head, and her heart dropped into her stomach.
Seated at the table behind her were Skylar and Niko.
Merritt whipped her head back around before either of them noticed her, slumping in her seat.
“I thought he would be at poker night,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. A flicker of hurt crossed Olivia’s face.
“Is that why you asked me to hang out tonight? To avoid him?”
Merritt said nothing, heat creeping up her neck, her mouth pressed into a line. Olivia let out a weary sigh, then returned to her menu. Merritt did the same, but the words in front of her may as well have been written in Klingon for all she was absorbing them.
Niko was on a date.
Niko was on a date with Skylar, who was likely a much better match for him in every way.
All her guilt and angst about turning him down had, apparently, been unnecessary, since he had already moved on.
And things would probably get serious right away, because why wouldn’t they?
Skylar would move into his house, and then they’d get married, and have three to five adorable children, and live happily ever after, and Merritt would have to witness every step, all alone in her mountaintop house like a witch in a fairy tale, because this town was too goddamn small.
Her face was hot, her pulse throbbing behind her eyes, jealousy burning an acid hole in her stomach lining. She took a deep breath, trying in vain to center herself as Simon returned to take their orders.
Fuck it.
“Could I have a margarita, please?” she asked, ignoring Olivia’s stare.
They ordered for a group much larger than the two of them, indulging Olivia’s pregnancy cravings for fried pickles, loaded tater tots, and burrata.
As soon as Merritt took the first deep, long sip of her drink, it was like a shot of helium to her chest, the weight she’d been carrying for weeks finally lifting.
By the time their appetizers arrived, the tension between her and Olivia had eased, too, and they were cackling over Olivia’s dramatic reading of a two-hundred-comment fight one of their cousins was having with their aunt on Facebook.
As it usually did, Merritt’s margarita hit her like she’d drunk three, but that didn’t stop her from ordering another one, like she’d never heard of too much of a good thing.
It wasn’t until fifteen minutes after their pizza arrived, when she was staring at herself in the single-person bathroom mirror, that Merritt realized she was completely wasted.
She tried to focus on her reflection, even as the lines separating her body from the room behind her blurred and shifted, the moody red-and-purple lighting casting disfiguring shadows over her face.
How did I get here? she wondered, and she meant this bathroom, this town, this situation, this life.
She filled her hands with cold water, then splashed it onto her flushed face, which did a little to bring her back down to earth. With a swipe under her eyes to fix her running mascara, she pulled the door open—only to come face-to-face with Niko, waiting in the dark corridor.
For a split second, she thought he’d come down there to talk to her, but when she saw his deer-in-the-headlights expression, she chastised herself for even letting the thought cross her mind.
“Sorry,” she mumbled reflexively, though she wasn’t sure why.
Niko’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be,” he said, and she had a feeling he didn’t know why, either.
Even though the bathroom was free, he made no move to go in. He just looked at her.
They stood there for a long, loaded beat, just over arm’s distance apart. She felt every inch of space between them acutely.
“So,” Merritt said, working as hard as she could to keep her diction clear. “You’re on a date.”
His frown deepened. “I’m on a date.”
“How long has that been going on?”
Niko shifted his weight. “It’s, um. Our first one.”
“Congratulations.” That one definitely came out slurred. “I’m glad to see you moving on so quickly.”
As soon as it was out of her mouth, she cringed.
Oh, right, she thought dimly, in the part of her brain that wasn’t fully pickled in tequila, this is why I don’t fucking drink anymore.
It had been years since she’d felt this out of control, and she’d deluded herself into believing that just because she hadn’t, it meant she couldn’t.
Niko’s face was troubled, and Merritt was reminded in a gut-churning flash of the way he’d looked at her as he’d held his hand out, asking her to dance.
“Are you?” he asked, his tone deep and grave, sending a shiver through her. “Glad?”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then slowly shook her head.
She took a step toward him, and he didn’t back away, just kept his eyes fixed on her face. It felt like she was stalking her prey, and he was frozen, helpless, in fight-or-flight. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she must be imagining it, but it almost felt like she could hear his, too.
“I hate it, actually,” she murmured, gazing up at him through her eyelashes, her voice a syrupy taunt. “Are you having fun?”
Niko was silent, his face even more pained than before. Footsteps sounded from the stairs above them, and she backed off, her stomach dropping to her toes along with her gaze, unsure who she dreaded seeing more—Skylar or Olivia. Luckily, it was neither of them.
“Sorry, are you waiting?” the woman asked, looking confused about whatever she’d walked into.
Merritt glanced at Niko. “Uh, no, go ahead,” he said, and it occurred to her that the uncomfortable look on his face might have as much to do with his bladder as the situation.
When the woman went into the bathroom, though, he turned his attention fully back to her.
“Well?” Merritt prodded. “Is she everything you thought she’d be?”
Niko’s mouth twisted, his eyes stormy. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?” She moved forward again, regaining the ground she’d surrendered and more, just a breath away from him now.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and looked helplessly away, then back to her. “That I wish I was here with you.”
That was all she needed.
She was on him so quickly it surprised even her, arms wrapped around his neck, her mouth opening to him practically the moment their lips touched.
He let out a pained exhale, almost a groan, the taste of beer on his tongue, his rough hands on her hips pulling her into him for a brief, hard, hot moment—but the next thing she knew, he’d released her and backed away, cold air and humiliation rushing to replace the heat.
“What are you doing?” he asked, breathing hard, his gaze flashing with anger.
“What?” Merritt asked, breathless and dazed. He stepped closer again, his voice low and intense.
“I’m on a date with someone else.” He shook his head in frustration. “Figure out what you want, Merritt. If you’re so worried about hurting me, then cut this shit out. Either you want to give this a try or you don’t. I’m not interested in fucking around.”
With that, he brushed past her up the stairs back to the restaurant. She leaned against the wall, uncomfortably drunk and stewing in self-inflicted humiliation—two familiar sensations that often went hand in hand.
Self-compassion could come tomorrow. Maybe the day after, once the hangover had cleared. Tonight, there was only space for shame, filling her lungs with thick sludge, leaving her struggling to breathe.
There was the distant sound of a toilet flushing, and Merritt composed herself as much as possible before the woman in the bathroom exited, not wanting to invite any more attention.
As soon as she did, though, Merritt’s stomach let out an unpleasant gurgle, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, rushing back into the bathroom just in time to empty her entire dinner into the toilet.