Authors: Alyssa Goodnight
Austentatious (26 page)
“Aw, Nic. It never occurred to me that you didn’t know. Then again, maybe I’m off my game—I’m still reeling from the news that The Plan is waving the white flag. I’m planning a victory parade. With baton twirlers and marching bands.”
I could see the tears edging my lashes, but Gabe managed to lure a smile out of me without one falling.
“I thought about resurrecting it, but it didn’t take.”
“Thank God.” The sentiment came punctuated with a sympathetic smile.
Our food showed up rather conveniently at that moment, and we each concentrated on keeping our mouths full for a very long time.
I’d expected to feel a sense of relief to have my life back on my own terms, but ironically, I was constantly cranky and on edge, overwhelmed by the feeling that everything was just “off.”
I’d set the calendar back on the counter on Wednesday morning, the front page curiously current with the day’s date. I can only assume that the displayed quote, “ ‘Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.’
Northanger Abbey,
” was largely what compelled me to agree to go to dinner with Laura and Leslie. Only a bit of quick thinking saved me from untold awkwardness—I invited Beck to tag along. As far as I knew, the Ls were unaware of Sean’s sudden disappearance, but it was bound to come out over dinner, and I was relieved to have a little backup. Beck agreed to swing by early to get the whole story.
Northanger Abbey,
” was largely what compelled me to agree to go to dinner with Laura and Leslie. Only a bit of quick thinking saved me from untold awkwardness—I invited Beck to tag along. As far as I knew, the Ls were unaware of Sean’s sudden disappearance, but it was bound to come out over dinner, and I was relieved to have a little backup. Beck agreed to swing by early to get the whole story.
Hunkering down at the kitchen table, we dove right in.
“Wow. So he just left? And you just let him?” Beck was obviously as crushed as I by the fairy tale gone awry.
“We hit a snag,” I reminded her. “It was all I could handle when he was a phone call away. A continent is out of my league.”
Leaning toward me, eyes wide, she whispered, “What does Fairy Jane have to say?”
“Plenty. And none of it helpful.”
Her eyes grew impossibly wider, but glancing at the clock, realizing we were already running late, I pulled the journal and the key out of hiding and hustled her out the door as she queried, “Why do you still own maroon bridesmaid pumps?”
In the pale glow of twilight, under the spotlight of streetlamps, Beck turned the key. And judging from the sparkle in her eyes, she was thoroughly enchanted. Making
one
of us. I indulged her as long as I dared, but eventually we had to step away from the magic and into the restaurant. And mum was most definitely the word.
one
of us. I indulged her as long as I dared, but eventually we had to step away from the magic and into the restaurant. And mum was most definitely the word.
Leslie took Beck’s appearance in stride, promptly putting out feelers as to the nature of our relationship. I could tell she was optimistic that our “friendship” would mutate into something more to her liking eventually.
Shortly after dispatching that topic, Leslie’s trademark “touch of crass” invaded the dimly lit elegance of our little corner of Chinatown, hitting on the subject I’d most been dreading. “I haven’t heard the roar of a motorcycle on a booty call recently. Trouble in paradise?” Beck’s eyes flitted toward me in silent shock, and I smiled blandly, hoping to convey that as chats with Leslie went this was relatively tame.
“Paradise lost,” I confirmed matter-of-factly. “Well, technically I suppose not
lost,
just out of range.”
lost,
just out of range.”
Laura gaped at me, and Beck’s eyes were sad. Rather than look at them, I let my eyes blur, watching the candlelight flicker and wink. For a single exquisite moment, even Leslie was stunned speechless.
She quickly recovered.
“Is it possible you’ve decided to transfer your name to another team’s roster?” Across the table, Leslie’s eyes were twinkling with mischief.
“For God’s sake, Les! Give the lesbian press-gang tactics a rest, will you?” Laura turned back to me oozing supportiveness, clearly waiting for the story.
“That
can’t
be your actual team name,” I insisted, tongue firmly in cheek. No reaction.
can’t
be your actual team name,” I insisted, tongue firmly in cheek. No reaction.
The arrangement of Leslie’s lips put me in mind of an old-fashioned snap-closure coin purse. Her eyes were snapping too. I optimistically assumed it was with amusement. And judging by her eventual response, she wasn’t holding any sort of grudge.
“Which one of you got squeamish?”
“Neither,” I snapped before collecting myself. “We just weren’t ... geographically compatible.”
“In the bedroom?” This, naturally, came from Leslie.
“Will you get your head out of your vagina for
one
second, Leslie, and let Nic tell the story?” It was not until the words were ringing in the air around us that it dawned on Laura that this might have come out a touch too loud. Our little group was suddenly garnering a
lot
of attention from surrounding tables, and Beck and I could barely hold back the bubbles of laughter. Meanwhile Leslie was highly amused at Laura’s expense.
one
second, Leslie, and let Nic tell the story?” It was not until the words were ringing in the air around us that it dawned on Laura that this might have come out a touch too loud. Our little group was suddenly garnering a
lot
of attention from surrounding tables, and Beck and I could barely hold back the bubbles of laughter. Meanwhile Leslie was highly amused at Laura’s expense.
“And the hits just keep on comin’.” Leslie laughed, not the slightest bit put out that she happened to be the evening’s punching bag. “Bring ’em on!” She lifted her glass of Merlot and toasted us all. Swallowing down a gulp, she trained her eyes on me, waiting.
“He went back to Scotland,” Beck inserted, punctuating her statement with a sip of water.
All eyes swiveled toward me. Whether they were looking for confirmation, a reaction, or a breakdown, I couldn’t say, but I kept my expression carefully neutral.
“Well, that sucks,” Laura grumped.
“You know you could go cavewoman on his ass. Haul him right back here ...” Leslie had dropped her voice and was rearranging her silverware.
“Tempting as that sounds, I don’t think I’m that girl.”
We were all quiet for a moment before Leslie raised her glass. “On to the next one, then! May he be fully compatible—with no bugs. Little computer humor for you.”
I clinked my glass against theirs but felt oddly disloyal. Sean was still too fresh in my mind. But luckily, he was no longer a topic of conversation. Chatter turned to weekend plans—Beck and Gabe were going on a roadtrip in search of finger-lickin’-good Hill Country barbeque, and Laura and Leslie were attending their costume party as Austin Powers and Dr. Evil. I was doing nothing of note.
Dinner proceeded without incident, and for me, without meat. With Laura on my left, pressuring me to eschew (i.e., not chew) beef, chicken, pork, and shrimp in favor of tofu, I struck a compromise and ordered the spicy green beans. It wasn’t until the waiter brought the little silver tray of fortune cookies that the trouble started.
Desperately wanting something other than a green bean, I reached for the first cookie.
I dispensed with the crinkly wrapper and cracked open the smooth, crispy cookie, separating the halves, freeing the fortune. I tugged it out, suddenly craving a random, ambiguous bit of wisdom completely unrelated to Fairy Jane’s little orchestrated fairy tale. No such luck. She’d had her fingers in the cookie jar too.
An optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.
My thoughts flashed with heart-wrenching images of Sean in the moments before I let him go.
Without thinking, without even considering, I dropped my cookie and its shitty fortune onto the green beans and reached for a second cookie. Wrenching that one open even faster, a woman on a mission, my eyes scanned the string of red words.
The heart is wiser than the intellect.
Fairy Jane had struck again.
“Shit!” I tossed that one down too and grabbed a third, scrabbling with the cellophane wrapper.
“Nic?” Beck sounded concerned, but right now, I couldn’t be bothered.
As I was cracking open my third cookie, I noticed Leslie’s arm snaking past the soy sauce and snaring the last one on the tray, her wrist skimming dangerously over the candle flame. I noticed, but didn’t particularly care. Right this second, it was all about the fortune I had in my hand.
Of all forms of caution, caution in love is the most fatal.
Oooh! She was just toying with me now!
I let both fortune and cookie fall from my fingers and eyed Leslie and that last cookie, suddenly obsessed with finding one fortune that didn’t make my stomach roll with nausea. One optimistic fortune that didn’t make me cringe with regret. One whimsical, unrelated fortune that could keep me from spewing curses on the interfering, intangible head of my resident fairy godmother!
They couldn’t all be like this. There had to be at least one cookie on this table that was meant for me—one cookie to confirm that I hadn’t made a truly terrible mistake. There simply had to be.
“Give me the cookie, Leslie.”
I knew I wasn’t being polite, or even sane, for that matter. But I’d put up with a lot from Leslie, and dammit, it was my turn.
“Give me a reason,” she said with a maniacal smile, clutching the cookie like it was a grenade, and she was about to lose it. Her mind, I mean.
I took a deep breath and then another. In this semirelaxed state of pseudo calm, I figured it couldn’t hurt to come clean. “I just want to read the fortune.”
“What’s wrong with all the other ones?” she asked, gesturing to the cookie carcasses strewn across my plate.
“They’re not mine,” I told her, feeling like an idiot but unwilling to back down. The woman was holding my fortune hostage, and she was pissing me off.
Laura’s eyes were flicking between my face and the discarded little fortunes, and I could tell she was itching to ask why not. Beck was agog and very likely wondering if Fairy Jane had gotten to the cookies before I did.
“Why is that?” The epitome of polite, Leslie was either trying to talk me down off my personal ledge or else she was just desperate for a cookie. I’d say it was fifty-fifty.
“They just aren’t,” I said. “Just give me the cookie. I’ll open it and hand you back the pieces.”
“Why don’t I open the cookie and hand you the fortune?” Rarely one for a compromise, Leslie was clearly digging deep.
“Because it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just hand over a fortune—they’re not transferable.” It occurred to me that I was digging myself a hole.
Leslie stared pointedly at the crumbled pile in front of me.
“Well, then what are you going to do with those?”
Dropping my gaze from its lock with hers, I eyed the votive candle positioned between us, in the center of the table. I’d never been the sort of person who burned things, and even in my current wacko mind-set, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be that person, but desperate times ...
Luckily, Leslie offered to make a deal.
“Tell you what,” she said, holding the still-wrapped cookie between thumb and forefinger, positioning it temptingly at eye level. “I’ll trade you the fortune in this cookie for the other three.” Pointing to the mess on my plate, she added, “I get to keep the cookie.” Her gaze shifted to mine. “Deal?”
I spared a moment to glance around the table, cringing inwardly, before eventually turning back to my plate. The reject fortunes were arrayed on top, barely stained with spicy sauce.
“Fine,” I agreed, gathering the slips. I extended both hands, being careful of the candle. The fortunes were in my left hand, closed inside my fist, and my right hand was open, waiting for Leslie to drop the cookie into my palm.
She let her hands hover over mine, her fingers primed to grab the fortunes at precisely the same moment she relinquished the cookie. The exchange went without a hitch, the cookie dropping cleanly into my palm and the fortunes quickly, greedily gathered into hers.
I felt calmer the instant I had the cookie in my hot little hand. But still riding a desperate streak, I figured it couldn’t hurt to harness the power of positive thinking. Closing my eyes, I inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and imagined the fortune I’d like to see:
Congratulations, your instincts are dead-on.
Admittedly, that would have been the ideal fortune in this situation, but having selfishly seized and strip-searched every last cookie on the table, I was finally getting the fact that these were just random fortunes. It was sheer coincidence that we’d ended up with these particular four—it meant nothing. Except that Fairy Jane had turned me into a superstitious wacko.
And yet ... at this very moment, wacko or not, it meant
everything
.
everything
.
With considerably more intense concentration than a cellophane-wrapped cookie should merit, I ripped into it, while at the edges of my peripheral vision, Laura, Beck, and Leslie perused my rejects. But as I cracked open that last cookie, all eyes were on me, waiting to see how I might react. With my pulse pounding insistently in my ears, I pulled the fortune from its cookie confines and smoothed it open between my thumbs and forefingers.
My eyes scanned the words, tumbling them out of order, and leaving me with a nonsensical jumble. It was possible too that my synapses were sluggish and out of sorts and were refusing translation. Blinking rapidly, I tried again.
Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.
H. L. Menken
H. L. Menken
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