Nathan grinned and said, “Are you still testing out your theory?”
“It’s the only song that every white person on the planet will dance to. It comes with instructions!”
“What do you think, Nathan?” Bobbi caught his eyes. “You up for ‘Cha Cha’? Or would you prefer Portishead? Something somber and broody to match your new artisanal asshole vibe.”
Nathan huffed a breath. “So now I’m an asshole?”
“You have been kinda dickish lately, Nate,” Dillon said.
Nathan was stunned. Dillon faltered briefly and then cleared his throat. “You’ve been moody. And impatient. Like that night at the drive-in. Then you completely disappeared for weeks—”
“That wasn’t about you guys,” Nathan interrupted. He was kicking himself for being so careless with their friendship. He just lost Rachel. He couldn’t lose them too. “I’m… I’m sorry I did that. Really.”
“Sure, man,” Dillon said, his face creased with concern. “Apology accepted. But tonight you seem stoned or something. You’re here, but you’re not really here.”
Nathan looked at Bobbi for conformation. She nodded, and embarrassment heated Nathan’s neck. He looked away. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll open a tab—see if we can get a few flights.”
“No. Nope.” Dillon shook his head hard enough to dislodge a blond curl from his deep side part. “You did a major art thing and we’re celebrating. I’m paying.” He waved a hand at the bartender, who picked up another pitcher. “Which means we’re stuck with the cheap beer, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”
“He’s right,” Bobbi said. “You’re about to show your art, with your real name attached. That’s huge!”
Nathan didn’t want congratulations or attention. He wanted things to be the way they were before he’d agreed to do the gala. Before he met Rachel. When he could be a neutral bystander to his friends’ bickering and add an occasional joke to ease the tension. He wanted to go back to being present but not actually seen. “It’s really not a big deal,” Nathan said. He nudged Dillon. “It’s fine, man. I can get the beer.”
“It is a big deal,” Bobbi snapped. “And if he wants to pay, let him pay. Your bank account is not a goddamn superpower.”
“Fine,” he said flatly as he drained the rest of his beer. “I’ll be sure to take advantage.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Dillon slapped Nathan’s back. “See, Bobs? I told you he’d bounce back.”
Nathan looked at Bobbi. “Bounce back from what?”
Bobbi’s chin lifted. “I told him that you probably disappeared because you were seeing someone, and it was serious. And that it might have ended badly.”
Nathan clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached. It was like Bobbi wanted him to fall apart. Then he’d have to admit that she was right about him all along. Nathan loves Rachel. Nathan isn’t fine. He’s a skin sack of grief pretending to have bones.
“I wasn’t seeing anyone,” he said. The lie was grit in his mouth, and he reached for water, only to find his glass empty. Nathan waved over the server, a cute and curvy woman with dark brown skin, and long braids laced with purple highlights. He ordered tequila shots and looked at her name tag. “Deja. Nice ink.” He pointed to the small tattoo on her wrist.
She smiled. “Thanks, it’s from Larry’s on Third.”
Bobbi groaned and chopped her hand through the air between them. “Enough. You’ve made your point, so turn it off.” She looked at Deja. “Ignore him, please. He’s just been dumped and is throwing a very charming tantrum. He’s not safe for female consumption right now.”
Dillon lifted his hand, doing his best to get Deja’s attention. “I’m totally safe. For consuming.” Deja rolled her eyes and walked away.
Nathan sighed. “I was just being friendly.”
“Oh right,” Bobbi said. “I’ve seen that kind of friendly, and it usually ends with me being Dillon’s wingman after you disappear for the rest of the night.”
“Don’t slut shame him,” Dillon said, and slapped Nathan’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you jumping back in it, Nate. I was getting worried.”
Bobbi folded her arms. “I’m still worried.”
“No one needs to worry about me. I am fine. I sent the pieces off this afternoon. It’s over. Done.” He directed the last bit at Bobbi, with a pointed so shut up about Rachel look. She returned his gaze with a stony I’ve never shut up a day in my life glare.
“I’m just glad it’s all over,” Nathan lied. The truth was he would rewind time if he could. He’d go back to that morning at the lake and fight harder. Say all the right things. Something to make her stay. “Rachel’s the one who has to like it, not me.”
“Rachel?” Dillon wrinkled his nose. “Who’s Rachel?”
“Rachel Abbott,” Bobbi said, her eyes glued to Nathan’s face. “The mayor’s wife.”
“Could you not—” Nathan sighed. “Why does everyone call her that?”
“I suck at names,” Dillon said simply.
Deja brought tequila and shot glasses to their table. She looked up, briefly met his eyes, and flipped her braid behind her shoulder in a clear invitation before walking away. He’d forgotten it could be that easy.
“It’s late,” Bobbi said. She sounded tired, like the effort of holding a grudge was finally taking a toll. “The gala’s tomorrow night. You should rest. I’m sure you’ll have to give a speech or something.”
“I’m not going.” Nathan poured a drink. “Like I said, it’s done. I promised art, not a public appearance.” He slammed the shot and welcomed its fiery trail down his throat. If he couldn’t fuck the memory of Rachel away, maybe he could let it drown.
“Why do you always do this?” Bobbi grabbed her purse and slid to the end of the booth. “I’m so stupid for wanting more for you. Why should I when you clearly don’t want it for yourself?”
“You don’t want more for me,” Nathan said, desperate for her to finally get it. She needed to accept that this was all he was, some basic guy in a bar. Not some brilliant artist “squandering his potential.” “You want it for some other guy, with goals and ambition… and I tried, but—”
“Stop. I am sick of you pretending that no one loves you because you’re too afraid to love them back. Well, that’s life. Love, pain, and expectations. Welcome to it.” Bobbi grabbed her purse and spat, “Grow up,” over her shoulder before she marched to the door.
Nathan leaned back against the booth, staring at his empty glass with her words heavy on his mind. His phone vibrated.
Joe: I know you don’t own a tux. I got you. Hit me back in the morning.
He hadn’t spoken to Joe in weeks. He’d figured his brother had finally lost faith in him. But here he was, offering the same olive branch he always did.
“Hey, Nate. Are you okay?” Dillon frowned. “Bobbi didn’t hurt your feelings, did she? You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m okay,” Nathan said. Bobbi was right, he needed to grow up. He needed to appreciate the people who loved him, by doing the one thing they’d ever asked of him: showing up.