“Bean, you call me in the middle of feeding to tell me that you’re possibly—but don’t know for sure—in love with the little sister of your best friend from third grade and that she’s engaged to be married to somebody else. I mean . . . I have no words. When did this start? When did you figure this out?”
“It started years ago, but it’s never been anything real, you know?”
“Only real enough for you to freak out when you hear she’s engaged?”
My eyes screwed shut.
“How can you not be sure you’re in love with her? Do you guys keep in touch?”
“No. No. We haven’t spoken since . . . in a while. Since I came home last time . . . and even then, it was quick hi and bye—awkward because I was leaving a restaurant with a date, and she was getting there to meet hers.”
“And now?”
“And now . . . she’s engaged to some prick.”
Sophie laughed again. “And you’re Prince Charming.”
“I don’t know what to do. I’m going to her engagement party, and I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re going to her engagement party?” she said. “Are you crazy? What do you think she’ll say?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping she’ll take her ring off and throw it in the guy’s face.”
“Ollie . . .”
I groaned. My sister only called me that when she was about to cajole me and say something I didn’t want to hear.
“Maybe you should let her go. Maybe she wasn’t the one.”
“She was! She is!” I said, pacing my room.
“If you feel that way, why didn’t you try anything sooner?” she asked with a sigh.
“Do you remember what it was like when Dad left?”
“Dad didn’t leave. They got a divorce. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever. Do you remember when that happened? What he would say? How he felt like he was unaccomplished and couldn’t provide Mom with anything?”
“Oh my God. You actually listened to the crock of shit Dad fed us when he was probably drunk?”
“Of course I did! I was a kid! He was my dad! And all my friends were so . . . I don’t know. I just had this vision of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be successful so that my wife didn’t have to work unless she wanted to.”
“So you planned out this entire 1950’s reality for you and your future wife without taking into account that life actually moves on with or without you?” she said after a long pause.
I let out a harsh breath. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I spewed, kicking the wall beside my closet.
“Well, that’s my cue,” she said when Sander started crying. “Good luck tonight. And Bean?”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes we let the first ones get away, but it teaches us to cherish the second ones that much more.”
I mumbled a yeah, thanks, and promised her I’d visit tomorrow. I couldn’t deal with the idea of letting Elle get away. Was it so bad that I wanted to keep her? I finally stuck with what I was already wearing and left my house. Instead of taking my car, I walked to Vic’s. I needed to think about what I was going to do once I got there. Thinking didn’t help. If anything, the rustling wind in my ear confused my thoughts that much more. When I finally got there, I didn’t know what to do. Normally I went in through the back door, but today I wasn’t here as Victor’s friend, I was here as Estelle’s . . . something . . . so I used the front.
Thomas, Victor’s dad, wore a shocked expression on his face when he opened the door for me.
“I don’t think you’ve ever used this door,” he said with a frown.
“I figured I should, since it’s been a while.”
“You’re still our boy, no matter how old you get or how many lives you save, Doctor.” He laughed the same laugh Victor had, with his shoulders quaking and his perfect, straight teeth shining.
“So, big day,” I said.
“Big day . . .” he agreed, looking around. There were only a handful of people there, but I figured this was only the beginning. “Vic is in the game room with Mia’s brother, and Estelle is in the kitchen. Her fiancé is . . . around.”
I had no intention of meeting him, but as soon as the words left his mouth, the fiancé from the photo appeared in front of us. I sized him up quickly. He was definitely older than me, skinnier than me, a bit shorter than me, but he had a smile that demanded attention. I knew that smile, because I saw it on my own face when I looked in the mirror. So evidently, Elle had a type. If he hadn’t given her the ring on her finger, I would have smiled, too.
“Wyatt! This right here is Oliver, one of Victor’s oldest friends,” Thomas said, swiveling around and signaling at me.
Wyatt looked at me with the most serious brown eyes. At first, he frowned, then, as if something dawned on him, he smiled. “Of course. Oliver! I’ve heard a lot about you. Good to finally put a face to the name,” he said, offering me his hand, which I took and squeezed a little tighter than I normally would have.
“Interesting. I just heard about you today, and I guess on that note, I must say you’re a lucky bastard,” I replied, earning a raised eyebrow from him. I should have probably toned down the mirth in my voice, especially being that Elle’s dad was standing right there, but the filter over my mouth was nonexistent.
“You know what they say about the early bird,” he said, and with a wink, walked away. I wanted to clobber him.
“What does she see in that guy?” I muttered under my breath, low enough that I thought Thomas couldn’t hear me, but his healthy chuckle rang out. He clapped a hand on my back and walked me toward the game room.
For what seemed like an eternity, I watched Robert and Victor play some stupid video game where they shot up everything that walked by. Such pointless garbage.
“I’m going to grab a beer. Want something?” I said, getting up.
“You sure you don’t want to play?” Vic asked, even though he knew I would only play Madden. When I didn’t respond, he shouted for me to bring him a beer.
I walked to the kitchen and greeted the people I knew. Mia, who was having an argument on the phone, managed to roll her eyes and signal at me in a way I understood was code for can you believe this shit? I saw her mom and Elle’s, hugged them quickly, and talked to them about Berkeley. I spotted Wyatt through the window. He was outside on his cell phone, smoking a cigarette. I paused. Elle was marrying a smoker?
Every hint I caught from this life of hers seemed the opposite of what I would have guessed it would be. I pictured her painting, making her beautiful sculptures, eating those granola things she liked to eat, and drinking lattes. I didn’t picture her with . . . this guy. Maybe there was nothing wrong with him. Maybe I was just looking for an excuse to hate him, but I didn’t like the way he’d greeted me as if he knew me. Like he’d heard every stupid mistake I’d made when it came to Elle, and he’d righted all my wrongs.
When I rounded the corner to the kitchen, I finally saw her and paused at the doorway. She was definitely one of those women who got better with time—like a good scotch. She was wearing an ivory dress that reached her knees, and it hugged her body like a glove. Her shoes were gold with spikes on the heel. Her hair was down her back in natural waves, but the front was cut shorter, and every time she bent over, she had to blow it out of her eyes. I waited for her to stand upright before I barged in, because when it came to us, that’s what we did. We didn’t knock, and we didn’t ask for permission. We just invaded.
“Hey,” I said to her back. She gasped and stiffened, taking a moment before turning around to look at me.
For what seemed like an eternity, she just stared at me, eyes wide, clearly questioning what the hell I was doing there.
“Hi,” she said finally, her voice a croak before she cleared it.
“I heard you’re . . .” I couldn’t even say the words. My eyes fell on her finger. The ring was glaring at me. Yelling.
“Yeah,” she said.
Our eyes met again. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t congratulate her on something I wasn’t happy about.
“Are you happy?” I asked, inching closer to her. She took a step back, hitting the counter behind her with a gasp.