Page 75 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

THE TRUTH OF TERRIBLE TASTE

Emerson

As we leave the park, Nolan asks if I want to take the afternoon off.

The idea sounds brilliant. “I do.”

“No shop talk,” he commands.

I mime zipping my lips.

We walk around Chelsea, then catch a subway uptown, and stop at The Met before turning around and deciding art isn’t our speed.

Instead, we wander through Central Park, stopping at Bethesda Terrace and staring at the New York skyline. “Did you ever think about putting New York on your road trip?” Nolan asks.

I shake my head. “Callie never liked New York. She loved all things vintage and retro. She wanted to see the places you’d visit on a great American bucket-list road trip. But I like New York. It suits me.”

“Because to really succeed here requires a ton of preparation and life hacks, and you’re amazing at that?”

I laugh. “Because New York is kind of a jerk, and I can be one too.”

His eyebrow arches with doubt. “I’m not really sure you are.”

I growl at him and narrow my eyes. “Don’t you dare say I’m nice.”

“You’re kind of nice sometimes, Emerson.”

I pretend I’m going to jump him, wrapping my arms around his neck in a faux headlock. He laughs then drops a kiss onto my nose. So, it’s like that. We kiss in public now. My stomach does a loop-de-loop. Boyfriend-y indeed.

But I don’t want to label this just yet. It’s too risky, too new. I don’t even know how we can pull it off, or whether we should.

I’d rather linger in this glowy state for a little longer.

“But seriously. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why my relationships haven’t worked out,” I muse as I let go of him. “If I speak my mind too much.”

He tosses his head back, cackling. “Em, your relationships didn’t work out because you’ve had terrible taste in men. Would you like me to go through and present the evidence?”

“By all means. This should be a real character assassination,” I say, but in my head, thoughts are racing. Do I have terrible taste? Is that a thing?

“First, there was Topher. He brought his friends on a date with you. His fraternity brothers,” Nolan says, and I groan at the horrible memory.

I defend myself. “And I didn’t go out with him again.”

Nolan clears his throat. “You saw him one more time.”

Ugh. Busted. “I believed in second chances,” I grumble, looking out at the lake.

“And then there was super-boring useless-fact guy. The one who tried to scare you off roller coasters.”

“We already agreed about that one,” I say, faking a huff, but something nags at me—the start of an answer to the terrible taste question.

“And then there was that dude. What was his name? Paul? Larry? Bob? And it turned out he was just kind of creepy. He would show up on your doorstep unannounced.”

I shudder at the memory and concede, “Fine. Fine. You’re right. I have terrible taste.”

Nolan strokes his chin, gives me an intense stare through those glasses. “Now, tell me, why do you think you have such terrible taste in men?” he asks in a German accent, affecting an old-school therapist vibe.

The uncomfortable idea starts to color itself in. A reason, perhaps, or the beginning of one that I don’t quite like.

So, I deflect. “I suppose it all goes back to my childhood,” I say, as if I’m on a shrink’s couch.

Then, I answer him with a piece of the truth.

“But it doesn’t make sense. My parents have a good marriage.

They’re still together. Callie had a couple good relationships.

I’ve had good examples. I don’t really know why I’m drawn to men who are wrong for me. Men I don’t see a future with.”

But the sketch becomes clearer, the lines drawn in. Is it because I’ve carried a torch for this guy all along?

Or . . .

Wait.

Is there some other reason? Something deeper, something that I’ve pushed down even further?

My chest constricts. My airways tighten, and for several seconds, the world spins, like I’m suffocating.

No matter what, no matter why, this romance with Nolan won’t end the way I want. I’ll lose someone I love again.

I try to shake away the thoughts, to stuff them down again. I throw the spotlight away from me and onto him. “What about your taste? Inés was bad news,” I say.

“As we discussed earlier today.”

“So, you’re the same. You have terrible taste too!”

“Present company excluded,” he says with a soft smile and a poignant gaze that settles my anxious mind a little.

Especially because he says it so easily, then sighs as he watches boaters skim across the lake.

“I think with Inés it seemed like we had so much in common. I guess that’s why you shouldn’t mix business and pleasure,” he says, turning to me, those hazel eyes serious.

“But then, that’s not why it didn’t work out with her. ”

“You loved her. It hurt when you learned she abused that trust.”

“I did. I felt pretty stupid,” he admits. “Maybe that’s the other reason I didn’t tell you about the money. I didn’t want to remind myself of that bad choice.”

I rub his shoulder, squeezing it. “Do you think that’s why you haven’t been serious with anyone since then?”

“I’ve dated here and there,” he protests, but it’s feeble.

“You’re a serial monogamist, but you never go that far. As far as with Inés,” I point out.

“Who wants to get hurt again?” he asks, offhand.

Maybe we’re both afraid—for different reasons, but valid ones. “No one wants to get hurt. But that shouldn’t stop you from trying,” I say.

Maybe that’s advice I should follow myself.

As the afternoon spills into evening, I vow to do just that. To let Nolan in. To let go of some of my fear, even though I’m not quite sure which I’m afraid of—that I’ve been falling for my best friend all my adult life, or that I won’t let myself fall.

I don’t know the answer, so I indulge in the physical, hoping it’ll bring me closer to understanding.

Soon, we’re back at the hotel. Twilight falls over the city, and in my room, we strip down to nothing.

Last night, I wanted the intensity, the press of his fingers on my skin, the feel of his teeth on my body.

Right now, I want all of him against me, so I pull Nolan onto the bed and hand him a condom.

Tonight, I let myself revel in the bliss of the moment, in the strange and wonderful sensation of making love with my best friend.

Of feeling him deep inside me.

Of relishing his delirious kisses along my neck, his warm skin pressed to mine, his words in my ear.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers.

Keep me. Keep me.

I don’t want us to stop. I want it all. I want everything.

But I can foresee the future. All I can do is savor the press of him against me, the feel of his pulse thundering in time with mine, and the insistent hum in my heart and my head.

The hum that tells me I might be in love.

That tells me this won’t end well.

In the morning, I get a text from Jo—a sad face, chased with a sadder message. I’m leaving New York and moving to London .

I gasp.

Impossible! I thought she’d be in New York forever!

The day is full of shoots and food and cameras and work, but that evening I march into Gin Joint intent on getting to the bottom of this blasphemy.

Jo is perched on a couch and holding a glass of wine, looking smart in a yellow blouse, her hair blow-dried.

The sharp effect, though, is muted by her frown.

When I reach her, I park my hands on my hips. “I refuse to accept this.”

“Me too.”

“Why are you leaving?”

“My company is relocating. They’re shutting down the New York office. The job I want? The VP promotion? It’s in London now.”

I sink onto the blue velvet chaise and drape an arm around her. “That is not okay. We’re finally in the same city. I don’t want you to go.”

She lays her head on my shoulder, her brown hair spilling onto my chest. “Just handcuff me to New York, please.” Jo sounds as unenthusiastic as I feel.

“Do you want to leave?”

Lifting her face, she shakes her head, her blue eyes brimming with wistfulness. “It sounds like a great opportunity. Most art curators would chomp at the bit for a job in the UK. But London is full of...”

“Bad memories?” I supply, knowing her story well.

“Yes. Too many of those.” She reaches for me and squeezes my hand. “Plus, all my friends are here. I know you don’t live here yet, but I was going to keep you in town. We would all hang out together, all the time. You and Nolan, TJ and Easton. All of us.”

That sounds like the life I desperately want.

“I’m going to miss you.” My voice wobbles as I slump deeper into the couch.

A server swings by and asks if I want something. “Your saddest white, please,” I reply.

He smiles. “I’ve got an uplifting Chardonnay. Will that do?”

With a heavy sigh, I nod. When he brings the drink a few minutes later, I lift my glass in a toast to Jo. “To me, kicking and screaming and not wanting to let you go.”

“To me, kicking and screaming and not wanting to leave,” she says.

As we clink glasses, realization hits me. I’ve only been in New York for a few short weeks, but already it’s where I want to stay. True, I miss Katie and my friends in San Francisco. But I feel at home here. I feel like myself here.

New York seems like the starting over I didn’t know I needed.

“I love this city,” I confess to Jo. “I want to stay. I just hope I can.”

Jo grabs my hand, squeezes. “You and New York seem like a good pair. You’re both so tough.”

“I don’t feel so tough when everything can change on a dime.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” she says.

We drink again, both a little lost with how quickly our lives are changing. Then, she taps her fingers on my leg. “So... what’s going on with you and Nolan?”

Before I’ve even begun to explain, the door of the bar swings open and the guys come in, joining us. An impromptu quintet of friends.

Over the years, the five of us have moved around, but we’ve always found our way back to each other, through college, and after college, through work, and amidst all the ups and downs of adulting.

Now we’re together once more, but not for long. Jo’s taking off. Me, I’m roosting here for perhaps the first time.

As for me and my best guy friend, I have no idea what happens next with us.

If he’s returning to San Francisco, and whether we’re staying or going.

Most of all, whether I’ll let myself feel, truly feel, all the emotions storming inside me, or if the painful prospect of hoping so hard and so futilely for a different future will stop me.

Or maybe, I realize, he’ll stop us before I can.

Because Nolan doesn’t sit next to me, or hold my hand, or kiss me.

I try not to read too much into that. But as we reassure Jo that we’ll stay in touch no matter what, that friendships these days can transcend geography and oceans, I keep thinking about change.

How you can plan.

How you can learn.

How you can watch every how-to video on YouTube, but none of them can prepare you for what it means to lose a sister, to chase a dream, and most of all, to fall in love.

To fall in love and figure out what you’re willing to risk for it.