Page 20

Chapter 20

Emilie

Me

no to that caption

Zack

come on it’s so good

she’s got a thing about pepe (cacio e pepe)

no to the dick joke via social media caption

how about this

i've got a pepe for your cacio

that’s just another dick joke

fine, I'll be good

and by good i mean boring

excited for your dinner?

with my sister and all her friends?

not really

call me after?

sure

also want a pic of the outfit

you’re awfully needy today

every day, baby

I shake my head and put my phone in my bag. It’s alarming how easy it is to fall into things like that with Zack—calling him after something just to dish on what happened, as an example.

Tonight, he’s traveling for an away game. I’m bummed I’m home this weekend and not watching the Cosmos play. It’s not like I’ve ever been to an away game, but Zack has turned into my go-to when it comes to plans.

Part of me wonders if Zack has any regular hookups where he’s going. I have no business wondering about such a thing but I can’t help it. When I was looking at our selfies after the cooking class the other night, someone named “Kass blonde lawyer” sent him three texts while I was looking.

This is a bad look—for me, not for him. He’s done exactly what we planned, and then some. Besides Cassie waiting for him in the parking lot after his first home game, there hasn’t been anything—or anyone—else.

I wasn’t trying to snoop or be sneaky, it just sort of happened. He didn’t flinch like he had something to hide when I wanted to look at the photos.

Emilie, stop. He’s not yours, not really. He’s given you more than enough .

Before I saw the texts, I thought he was finally going to kiss me. It feels like we’ve been dancing around it for weeks. I still can’t get over what he said about the first time he would kiss me, how it wouldn’t be in front of a fuck friend.

Fuck, why did Colt have to be at the bar that night?

At this point, I'm agonizing over what it would be like, his mouth on mine, our lips finally touching. Would he put his hands in my hair? Or would he lightly touch my face? Maybe he’d bite my lip?

I walk into the restaurant, the buzz bringing me back to tonight: apps and drinks to celebrate Eliza. In lieu of a traditional bachelorette party, she elected to foot the bill at one of the most exclusive spots in New York.

The only ask was for everyone, besides the bride, to wear black. I’ve got a pair of vintage Chanel trousers and a black sleeveless V-neck vest, with three buttons and little pinstripes. With only a bra underneath, my curves are on display and I feel fantastic. Enough so that I'm excited to get a picture to send Zack. Our affinity for clothes and fashion is an unexpected bonding experience.

“Thank you for coming,” Eliza says, hugging me tighter than she’s done in years. It catches me off guard.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it.” I smile at her and her friends at the table. I’ve only met a few of them in passing, and with my mother declining, there’s no one I really know.

Eliza smiles at me as she sits back down, and she’s stunning in a white halter dress. It’s basic and beautifully plain to show off her natural features.

“Is there something on me?” she asks. I must’ve been staring too long.

“No! I love the dress. Looks great on you.”

With the compliment, her eyebrows go back to their normal position as her back hits the chair behind her. She’s nervous, which doesn’t make much sense, considering these are supposed to be her closest friends. Maybe it’s the wedding in general—the whole thing has to be stressful.

“Everyone, this is my sister, Emilie.” Eliza introduces me as I take the only open seat.

Like moths to a flame, the attention shifts, and almost everyone’s eyes are on me.

"You lucky bitch. I can’t believe you’re friends with Willow and dating Zack Andersen. We are not worthy,” the platinum blonde woman next to me says while lifting her glass of wine into the air. The rest of the table laughs.

My skin itches, but in a place you can’t scratch. I take a long drink of the water in front of me.

“Tell me, is Willow really as nice as she seems, or what’s the deal?” Platinum asks as the entire table leans in.

“She’s not going to dish on her boss slash friend.” A brunette, with some of the longest hair I've seen and not been grossed out by, hits Platinum’s shoulder and pairs it with an eye roll.

Platinum takes a big breath. “Fine. I've heard Zack’s dick is massive . Tell me it’s true.”

I let out a horrific cough sound, truly caught off guard by this person, and reach back for my water.

Our server comes at the perfect time looking for my drink order. Platinum sits back in her chair, giving me space, but I’m truly not sure it will ever be enough—unless it’s on the other side of the room.

If there’s one thing I respect, it’s a girl’s girl—someone who likes to build up women. There’s enough going on in the world that we don’t need to compete with one another, unprovoked.

Miss Platinum Blonde does not seem like a girl’s girl. Also, who asks a stranger a question like that? Hard pass .

Eliza leans over to say something to her, and it doesn’t seem like Platinum likes it too much when she responds with, “I’m kidding. Chill out.”

I introduce myself to the other women at the table, and no one else asks about Zack’s penis, so I feel like that’s a win.

I can’t wait to tell Zack that one.

Once we all have a drink, Platinum stands up to make a toast.

“Here’s to the bride!” she cheers as she clinks silverware on her glass. “Eliza is one of my closest friends, and I’m so excited to spend some time celebrating her and Mitch. The next chapter is going to be a fun one. Also, she’s going to be so gorgeous on the beach in just a few weeks.”

Aw, this is nice. Maybe she’s not all bad? In the spirit of being a girl’s girl, giving everyone a chance, I turn over a blank page in my mind. I can certainly give her a chance.

"Here’s to Eliza and Mitch and their happily ever after!” Everyone offers a small “woo” or clinks their glass before taking a drink.

“Emilie, don’t be afraid to bring some extra single Cosmos to the beach. You seem like you have good taste in men.” She winks at me, pointing at Eliza as half the table pretends she didn’t just say that.

I take back everything I said. No chance.

A teeny tiny pit opens in my chest—jealousy which has no right to take up space like this. Zack isn’t mine; not really.

I drink half of my Aperol Spritz then and there.

The rest of the night is low-key, as in we order Eliza too many cocktails and the table too much food .

I’m currently eating a bacon-wrapped date stuffed with goat cheese, when someone says we should open gifts.

Eliza opens some gorgeous, and some not-so-much, lingerie, along with your standard bride items like a silk robe embroidered with her name and a sun hat for lounging on the beach.

When my gift is the only one left, I pull a gold envelope from my purse and hand it to Eliza, her cheeks pink from too many drinks.

Now if my sister wasn’t marrying a fairly serious ex-boyfriend, maybe I could’ve gone the lingerie route. One of my favorite types of gifts to give are experiences, which is what I've done for tonight.

“You’re kidding! How did you pull this off?!” Eliza shrieks while reading the paper tucked inside the envelope. I smile at the excitement dripping from her voice.

I pulled some strings and was able to get in contact with the Chef from her favorite restaurant. Technically, Keegan was the one with strings, but she pulled them on my behalf.

“It’s a gift certificate for one of my favorite Chef’s, from my favorite restaurant in the city, to come and cook dinner for Mitch and me. But it’s at our house!”

The table lets out a collective “aww” and I know I did a good job.

“Emilie, thank you. Very thoughtful.” She puts the note back in the envelope and into another gift bag.

My sister and I haven’t been close in a long time, but my chest warms at her reaction. No matter what happens, she is getting married. I don’t want to do something I regret later.

“Emilie, is Zack coming to the wedding for real?” Platinum asks, her words high pitched and too loud, as she takes the empty seat next to me.

“He’s coming with me to the wedding, yes.” I drink the rest of my spritz, no intentions of ordering another.

“He’s so hot. How did you do that? Land a man like that?” she asks.

What the fuck? I nervously laugh, looking at my freshly manicured nails, deciding what to say next.

“I don’t know if you think this behavior is funny, or acceptable, but it’s not. My free tip for the evening is don’t ask strangers about their boyfriend’s dick size or insinuate they’re not attractive enough for their partner. It’s not a good look.”

With each word, she sits further back in her chair. I feel like she’s about to launch into some defensive rant about how “that’s not what she meant” or whatever bullshit she’s used to leaning on for getting away with comments like this.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” she says.

“That’s enough,” I cut her off, pointing a finger . “Thank you for apologizing. Now, excuse me.” I stand and walk to the bathroom, more annoyed than anything.

When I swing the door open, I see Eliza standing at the sink—it’s just her and me.

“Some of your friends are really on one tonight.” A nervous chuckle escapes as I check my reflection in the mirror. “Sorry, it’s not for you to worry about. All is well.”

“I haven’t talked to some of them in months. Tonight’s a little weird, being back together.” Eliza washes her hands, her eyes down. “Honestly, I think you’re the reason some of them came tonight. They’ve been asking me about Zack, and Willow, and even Tripp. I don’t think they really care about this.” She gestures to herself before showing me her engagement ring—a two carat princess cut diamond on a platinum band.

My heart drops. This is a feeling I know all too well and no matter how much time passes, it still stings. Realizing people don’t want you, or view you as a steppingstone, is truly the fucking worst. The irony is that them not wanting you is mostly a reflection of themselves, and not of you, but it never feels like that when you’re on the receiving end .

“You know you don’t have to keep them around, right? Like, you can make new friends,” I insist.

Her sigh is frustrated. “I’m not like you, Emilie,” she tells me, and it’s not the first time. But this time, it feels like it might be a compliment.

She offers me a sad smile, one where only a single corner of her mouth barely pulls up.

Eliza walks out before I have a chance to say anything else.