“Why wouldn’t I?”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I’ll have to see about funds, I’m not sure I can swing it right now.”
“Marina, you’d be covered.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Then she gasps. “Oh my god, if it’s in New York, then obviously Jane is coming right?”
Oh right. Jane.
“Well, I suppose, I haven’t talked to her yet but…”
“Of course she’s coming. New York is like a few hours by train from Boston. Oh my god, this will be so cool. Are you sure you can cover me?”
“Yeah, the publishers said I could take someone. Don’t worry, they’re paying, not me.”
“Oh this is so exciting. I’ll have to get a new dress. I’ll get to see Jane. I have to invite Naomi too, make it a total girl’s trip.”
“Naomi?” I repeat. Not that I have anything against my stepsister or Naomi, but this has suddenly morphed into something else entirely. I had wanted to invite Marina to New York. Just Marina. Show her off as my date. Maybe…get a hotel room together.
But obviously I’m being a fucking loon right now because that’s not on her radar whatsoever. It’s gone from a potential romantic weekend away to a bloody girl’s trip.
“Laz?”
“Huh?”
“It’s okay if Naomi comes, right? I mean I know I just invited her and all and it’s cool if you say no. I know for sure you wouldn’t have to pay for her. It’s just with what happened with Robert and now they’re going through a divorce, I think it would be good for her.”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. She can come. The more the merrier.”
Marina practically squeals. “Okay, great! Yay! I’ll give her a text and let her know. Do you want to invite Jane yourself or should I?”
“Go ahead. It’s your girl’s weekend right now,” I say flatly, wondering if she’ll pick up on my tone.
She doesn’t. The one time she’s not overly intuitive. “Okay I’ll do that. And Laz…?”
“What?”
“I’m so proud of you.”
I swallow hard, a strange warmth radiating through my chest as her words sink in. She’s the only person I’ve had in my whole entire life that has told me they’re proud of me. I’m not sure I’ve realized it until just now.
“Thanks,” I whisper, my voice coming out choked. I clear my throat and say, “Go tell Jane and Naomi the good news. I’ll text you the details later.”
“I will. Bye, Laz.”
I hang up and stare at my phone for a few moments, just letting every bloody thing overwhelm me. Usually I run from anything like this, anything deep and complicated. I run by way of my pen. Writing is an outlet, a way to process, a venue for my feelings to live so I don’t have to face them myself.
But today, it feels too new, too unique. This isn’t something I’m used to, this sliver of rejection that’s working its way through my skin. I’m sure Marina meant nothing by it and there’s absolutely no way that she could have known my plans, my wants. It’s not like I came out and said, “Hey, I was thinking you could come to New York for a romantic weekend, we could share a room. I want you so fucking bad.”
Perhaps I should have said that but it’s too late now. This is happening and maybe it’s for the best. I’ll get to see Jane this way, which is nice since I only saw her briefly two years ago when she came here for Christmas. And I’ll have a whole entourage with me while I navigate the publishing world, so I don’t have to do it alone.
But who needs an entourage of people when I only need one.
The weekend comes in a flash and before I know it, I’m picking up Marina from her house to drive us to the airport.
I haven’t laid eyes on her in two weeks now and the sight of her walking towards me steals the breath from my lungs, causes my blood to turn to mercury.
She’s a fucking angel.
It doesn’t hurt that she’s wearing a long white sleeveless top over jeans, her blonde hair billowing out behind her and shining in the sun.
I immediately get out of the car to help her with her luggage, a carry-on hardcase that’s been adorned with a bunch of Honey Bees & Palm Trees stickers.
“I like it, is this a new logo?” I ask, peering at it as I put it in the trunk. It’s better I’m staring at the suitcase than her because then I’ll act like a dead idiot and that’s the last thing she wants before a “girl’s trip.”
“Yeah, I got it made last week. Thought free advertising wouldn’t hurt.” She takes a step toward me, opening her arms, her smile wide and free and open. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, Laz, where’s my hug?”
Jesus, it’s already awkward. Normally I would give her a hug without thinking but now I’m so hyper aware of everything I’m doing around her.
She’s still your Marina, still your friend, no matter what you’re feeling.
I step into her, wrapping my arms around her while hers go tight around me. I close my eyes for a second, breathe her in, feel every nerve in my body spring to life. The longer I hold onto her, the harder I’m going to get.
“You look bee-tiful,” I say lamely, trying to make it all a joke because if it becomes a joke, then I don’t have to be afraid.
She laughs, that gorgeous sound, and smacks my arm.
God, is this flirting? Is this just us?
When the fuck did I start worrying about everything?
This isn’t me.
“You better keep all those bee puns to yourself this weekend,” she says, heading to the passenger door which I quickly open for her. “It’s all about you now. Are you nervous?”
“Yes,” I tell her, going around to my door and getting behind the wheel. I twist in my seat to face her, my arms resting on the wheel. “I’m nervous.”
But she doesn’t need to know that the book launch and party are the least of my concerns right now. It’s she that’s making me nervous. Making me wonder what I might do around her. I feel like that ridge we were previously tiptoeing across is coming to a blunt end really soon and we’ll have to decide which way we’re falling.
It’s going to be a change either way.
“You’re going to be fine,” she says, reach out and putting her hand on my shoulder. I can feel the heat of her palm through my T-shirt. It trips the memory of us after our date, when she grabbed my face, a desperate grip, and kissed me like she’d been starving for me her whole life. My heart starts to skip at the thought and I’m living it all over.
I lick my lips. “Promise?”
“Promise,” she says, her eyes focusing on my lips for a moment before she blinks. Meets my eyes. Smiles. “Now let’s get going, we don’t want to miss our flight.”
Naomi left for New York yesterday to have some early girl time with Jane, so it’s just the two of us on the flight. It’s funny how you can know someone for a long time, sit beside them on countless drives, but when you get on a plane with them, it’s like entering new territory.
I tell her this just as the plane leaves the gate and starts taxing down the long runways of LAX.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she says. “Our relationship just entered a new level. Like, you didn’t know I need a window seat.”
Naturally, when I found out I gave her the window seat, though now I’m squished between her and this heavyset guy with big elbows.
“And,” she goes on, “I didn’t realize you needed so much legroom.” She glances down at my legs which are almost askew trying to fit under the seat in front of me.
“These seats aren’t built for anyone over six feet tall,” I tell her. I side-eye the guy next to me. Or anyone over three hundred pounds. Hell, I barely fit myself and I consider myself to be in tip top shape.
“And that you’re a nervous flier,” she goes on.
“What makes you think I’m a nervous flier?” I ask.
She lifts her hand and points subtly at my headphones. “You have headphones at the ready, I saw you take an Ativan earlier, and you?
??ve been tapping your fingers incessantly so far and you’re not even listening to music yet.”
“I’m a musician. That should cover all of that.”
I won’t dare mention that I actually am afraid of flying and I actually consulted the 8 Ball before the flight, asking if the plane was going to crash. It said MEH, which wasn’t very comforting.
“Right,” she says, leaning in close to me so our faces are inches apart. It would be so easy, so fucking easy, to lean in closer and kiss her. Inappropriate, for sure, but easy. “I’ll be watching you.”
“I wouldn’t mind that one bit,” I murmur to her, my eyes never leaving hers.
Don’t you fucking see? Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?
And then something comes across her eyes, a spark of enlightenment. But she doesn’t balk from it. She doesn’t move. Her eyes remain locked with mine. I’m wondering if my heart might just leap out from my chest. Land in her lap. At least then she’d see.
Then Mr. Elbow Elbowson jabs me in my ribs.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
And of course the moment is ruined.
As many moments have been so far.
If I was a betting man I’d wager that the gods have something against the two of us being together.
Jane is completely smashed.
She’s got her arm hooked around Naomi’s and is holding her champagne glass high in the air, as if she’s making an announcement or a toast, but she’s not saying anything. She’s just holding it. Her arm must be getting tired.
My book launch party is in full swing, heading towards winding down. After Marina and I arrived at JFK, we took a cab to the Dream Hotel in midtown where the publishers are putting me up, just around the corner (in Manhattan terms) from their office. I thought they’d put me in something stuffy or corporate but I guess they thought a hipster Instagram poet deserves a hipster hotel.
Marina already got herself a room there once she learned where I was staying and I completely buggered it all up by not asking her to share the room with me. I didn’t even have to phrase it in a complicated way, I could have just said “hey, to save money why not just stay with me in my room. I have two beds.” Even though I have a king, but we could have sorted that out after she committed herself.
And, naturally, Jane and Naomi also decided to stay in the hotel too. I guess it’s a good thing that Marina isn’t sharing a room with them because I have a feeling if I try and steal her away later, they’ll put a stop to it. I’ve never really been sure if Naomi likes me or not, she’s so bloody prickly. And Jane, well I love her but she’s warned me many a time about “never laying a finger on Marina.”
But as far as I can tell, Jane doesn’t suspect a thing between us. Not that there is anything to suspect, though I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate our fake dating thing that eventually led to real making out that might eventually lead to…
I try not to get carried away with that thought. I’ve bucked against it all night, tried desperately to stay in the moment instead of the what ifs.
It’s been a hell of a night too, one I won’t soon forget. First I went to the publisher’s office, alone, and met with Abigail and the rest of the team. I have to admit, it was extremely fulfilling to be lead around those offices on the Avenue of Americas, seeing all the books of all the authors I admire on shelves, feel the energy of the rooms.
After that (and after signing about a hundred ARC paperbacks they’ll give away as promotion), I headed back to the hotel for dinner with Marina, Jane and Naomi. Then we headed over to this art gallery for the launch.
It’s all so surreal still. I’ve met some bloggers and readers as well as journalists and other people in the publishing industry, plus most of the team behind the book. People are constantly coming up to me, wanting a selfie, wanting to shake my hand, wanting to meet the man behind the words.
And yet the most surreal part of the night is that Marina has been with me every step of the way, always by my side. I’m not sure if she’s noticed it or not but every time I introduced her I did so as “This is Marina,” and I would put my hand at the small of her back. I didn’t mention her being my friend.
Naomi yawns and looks around her. “I hate to be a party pooper but this party is starting to poop.”
“That was mad eloquent,” I tell her raising my champagne glass and finishing the rest.
Jane finally lowers her arm. “Naomi is right,” she grumbles. “I’ve been trying to get another drink for fucking ever.”
“That’s what you were doing?” I ask.
“There’s a cool bar by the hotel,” Marina says, staring down at her phone and using Yelp as she always does to find the best of everything. “Right next door.” She looks to me and the effect is extra devastating. I’m not sure if it’s the amount of alcohol I’ve had or what but her lips are extra pouty and smooth, her lipstick having worn off long ago and leaving a faint pink stain behind.
It makes me think about other parts of her, wet and pink.
I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to move past it and failing. This isn’t the best place to get a raging hard-on.
“Laz?” Jane says and I tear my eyes away from Marina over to her. “Is it rude if we go?”
I let out a sigh of relief and shake my head. “I don’t think so. Most people are leaving now and everyone else left behind seems pretty goosed.”
“Goosed,” Marina says with a snort. “I swear, you always have a new name for getting drunk.”
“I have many names for it,” I tell her. “Because that’s what we Brits do best. Speaking of, you need another refill.”
I’m about to reach over and grab her glass but Jane snatches it from her first. “I’ve got this,” she says and then grabs Marina and pulls her along with her.
Now it’s just me and Naomi. Oh, and Brent, a graphic designer at the publishing house who hasn’t said a word the entire time we’ve been here, just standing beside us and staring at Naomi.
Here comes the small talk.
“So what do you think of the cover?” I ask Naomi, holding up a copy of my book and waving it at her. All of us have a copy to take home and even though it’s an advanced review copy and not the final printed version (which I am told will have embossed font), it felt amazing to hold it in my hands for the first time.
But Naomi isn’t looking at the cover. She staring at me, totally unimpressed. Which is her go-to expression, I know.
“What are you doing, Laz?”
“What?” I glance at Brent, hoping to glean some information off him as to what I’m doing but he’s still staring at her with quiet intensity.
“Don’t play dumb,” she says and points her copy of the book at me until the corner of the spine is jabbing me in the chest. “You know what you’re doing.”
“I’m enjoying my book launch?”
“You’re playing with her feelings.”
“What?” I exclaim, a little too loud. Some people look over. Luckily not Jane and Marina who are at the bar and chatting to Abigail.
“Don’t play games.”
I show my palm to her in surrender. “Naomi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not playing with anyone’s feelings, nor am I playing any games. Not yet, anyway, I did pack a deck of Cards Against Humanity for later.”
She presses her lips together, eyes narrow. “I know the likes of you.”
I flinch. “You do not,” I say sharply. “You don’t know a bloody thing about me.”
“I’ve seen your type,” she says.
“And I’ve seen yours.”
Her eyes flare up like my words have invoked the bowels of Hell. Maybe they have. Both Brent and I take an instinctive step backward.
“And what’s my type?” she asks, challenging me to slip up.
But I won’t.
“Someone who took a chance on love, who never deserved to get screwed over and who did get screwed over. Proving that sometimes even the best intentions and the pur
est hearts can get fucked over by love.”
She blinks at me and I can tell she wants to say something but doesn’t have the words because I’ve hit the nail on the head.
I go on. Pressing my luck, maybe. “And so now you think all guys are the devil.”
“Not all guys,” she says quickly. “Just guys who play games. I’ve been through all that, pure heart and whatnot, and now I know what to look for.”
“You’re talking about me and Marina, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes.”
“You know we’re just friends, right?”
“No,” she says. “You aren’t. She told me about your dating game.”
“So?”
“So. I told her it was a mistake.”
“Why? We’re both bad at love. Why not fix it?”
“Because she’s not bad at it. She just hasn’t found the right guy yet.”
“And who would the right guy be?”
“Are we talking about the blonde with the big rack?” Brent suddenly says.
We both look at him, look at each other, ignore him.
“The right guy,” Naomi continues, “is someone who knows what he has when he has her. Someone who doesn’t kick her to the curb when things get real.”
“Okay. So what does any of this have to do with me?”
“Because you’re her friend and you’re… taking advantage of her.”
I shake my head, run my hand over my jaw, trying to not lose it on her because she couldn’t be more wrong if she tried. “Why don’t you ask Marina about all of this? I haven’t done a thing.”
She looks over her shoulder at Marina who is now walking over with Jane. She steps closer and pokes the book into my chest again, leaning in close with hard eyes. “Marina is my best friend. She’s yours too. Leave it that way. Please. Because if you fucking hurt her, in anyway, I will cut your dick off.”
“Whoa,” Brent says. “I am out of here.”
“Yeah, whoa,” I say to her. “And what makes you think we’re more than friends?”
She just shakes her head. “I’m not saying anything else. Just open your fucking eyes, will you, Laz?”
“I got you a drink,” Marina says appearing at my side. She holds out a cold beer and I take it from her, trying to smile my gratitude, hoping my hand isn’t shaking. “I figured you were tired of champagne.”