Liar's Guide to True Love (16 page)

We decide to head up to the bar to get more drinks, since this place doesn’t seem to have the table service staffing worked out too well yet. On the way there, I spot Nick, but before I can approach him to say hello, I see the woman he is with. Some
attractive
woman, who is positively tête-à-tête with him.

“Oh my God, Kate, Nick is here with someone else. I don’t want him to see us.”

Thankfully the bar is relatively new and still draws a weeknight crowd. We duck behind some just-out-of-college twenty-somethings who look like it is their mission to drink until they puke.

“That’s not just anyone else, darling. That’s Nicole.” Kate peers over a blonde drinking an apple martini. “They do look rather cozy.”

“What?!” I really can’t believe it. I totally misread him. “They broke up. Are you sure?”

Kate gives me one of her you’re-not-really-this-naïve-are-you looks. “They were together for five or six years. You of all people know how that grey area can be with an ex.”

I really am getting a headache now, and I don’t think it was the alcohol. “Come on, let’s get out of here before he sees us.”

Once outside, we start walking toward Kate’s apartment where I’ll get a cab home. “Do you think they are back together?”

“Hard to say. She had her hand on his elbow for a second. Maybe she is trying to get back together. I don’t think it was easy for him to walk away from that relationship. I’m sorry,” she adds when she sees how crestfallen I look. “Maybe it was just bad timing for you two.”

We say good-bye and I head home, annoyed with myself that I am even feeling this way. Nick and I went on what, two dates, and I am upset that he is possibly dating other people? Okay, well, the fact that he was with his ex of
five
(maybe
six
) years is significant. I’ve known him for what—a couple of weeks—they had a relationship that spanned such a long time that a year give or take doesn’t even make a difference. If she wants him back, they have a history that I can’t compete with. It doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful, and much as I hate to admit it, looks like the kind of woman I could be friends with.

That night, I do something I never thought I would do. Something I mocked others for when they confessed to doing it. That night when I get home, I get on Facebook. Sure, I have a profile just like everyone else. But I did next to nothing with mine except accept whatever friend requests I got, in the hopes they would lead to some wedding business. Nick had friended me during one of those late-night chats, and I had accepted after setting my privacy settings so that he wouldn’t be able to see any of the wedding references that others posted. He doesn’t have much on his profile either, in fact he is pretty new to Facebook, so there aren’t very many pictures or anything. Tonight I peruse his friend list, the paltry fifty-seven people on it.

I find her in an instant. Of course out of fifty-seven friends, his ex, possibly current, girlfriend is one of them. I click on her profile, while hoping that what Facebook says is true—that no one will ever see that you’ve viewed their profile. She doesn’t have much information viewable by a non-friend. But I see plenty. I see that she’s run the New York marathon, but then I already knew she is slender and fit. Did Nick help her train? I see that she’s a fan of
The Onion.
Okay, she has a sense of humor. Worst of all, I see the photos that others have tagged of her. There are plenty, her and her girlfriends, all smiles and laughter. And there are plenty of her and Nick, I guess when they were together. Apparently two years ago they went on vacation with another couple—to Maui—“a dream trip” the poster had captioned. Nick is in surfer shorts and she is in a bikini—nothing trashy, a really cute bikini actually, that I would totally wear if I had her body.

There they are at a wedding of all things, a bridesmaid and a groomsman, happy couple posing with the happy couple. How perfect the Bride must have thought that was, they could sit at the head table together and no one would feel left out. There’s another shot from that same wedding, where she and Nick are at the cake pretending to cut it. Their goofy expressions clearly show they were in on the joke, but all the same, it’s too much for me and I shut the laptop.

I call Kevin back. I mean, why not, right? He answers on the first ring, and to my surprise, he doesn’t invite me over like I expected him to. He asks me out to dinner, to that cute brasserie a few blocks from my apartment. He has asked me
out
to dinner, and is willing to leave the Upper West Side and come to me? “How about Friday night? Or do you have a rehearsal?” he asks. He’s asking for a prime date night
and
remembers about my job?

“How about tomorrow night?” I counter.

Kevin comes by my apartment so that we can walk over to dinner together. He always liked to arrive at a place together whenever it was remotely convenient to meet first. He and Emma exchange pleasantries while I finish putting on my jewelry—a chunky agate necklace goes well with a simple silver mini-dress. Emma does a nice job of hiding her shock from Kevin, and gives me a look behind his back. I know I’ll owe her an explanation later about how it is that Kevin is back in our lives again. And yes, I do mean
our.
When he and I were together, Emma treated him like the brother she never had, even asking him for boy advice before she and Robert got married. Kevin used to call her “kid” and she let him. It almost broke her heart as much as it did mine when we broke up.

I know it hasn’t been that long since Kevin and I have seen each other, but well, the first time we didn’t exactly spend that much time talking, and then we were out with his
parents.
Tonight we sit across from each other and I really study his face and his words. Last time we were alone, I was so keenly aware of the things about him that were the same as when we were together. Tonight I am more aware of how he is different. His physical presence still feels the same as it did when I saw him the other week, the same as it always has, that undeniable chemistry. But his conversation is different. He seems—hardened somehow. That same bitterness that I detected when he would brag about how much money he was making is still there. Only there seems to be an honesty about it somehow—an honest loneliness and vulnerability that I can tell he is loathe to admit. It’s an honesty that reminds me why he became the love of my life years ago.

Kevin steers the conversation in a direction that makes it easy to remember how good we were together. He asks about my parents, if they ever did take that big anniversary trip (no), and about Emma and Robert. He even asks me about work, how it’s going, if I decided to expand out to do other types of events the way I had once thought. It’s been a while since I discussed my business plans with anyone. I tell him no, that until I can find a partner or assistant who is as reliable as I need them to be, and can balance the cost of expansion, weddings are all this one-woman show can handle. It’s nice to be able to talk about my career as a success and to be truthful about it. I am proud to tell him how busy I always am, since he had been so skeptical of this path when we were still together.

He looks at me with what I can only describe as tenderness. “I’m really happy for you, Cass, that everything is going so well. God knows I didn’t really help any when we were going out. You look really…happy.”

I can’t tell if he means things are going well professionally or personally. Some part of me thinks he means both. He gets a brief, faraway look. “Remember that time you came to Boston, and all we did was go out drinking with my first-year associate buddies?”

I thought I had blocked that weekend from memory, but every detail comes rushing back. The beginning of the end. “Yeah, you guys talked about work the entire time.”

“I was kind of an ass wasn’t I?”

“And there was the girl who wore that red strappy dress.” My curiosity is piqued.

“Were you sleeping with her?”

Kevin doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t fluster for a second. “I knew you knew. God, I was such an ass back then,” he admits again. He covers my hand with his. “I’m sorry, Cass. I really messed things up.”

I am floored. It was not quite the long, hand-in-heart apology that I had spent years wanting to hear. Eventually I had convinced myself that I didn’t care. That our casual sexual encounters since then had replaced the romantic relationship—and friendship—we had had. I had convinced myself so fully that this apology, or rather, acknowledgement of his role in our demise takes me by such surprise, I can’t think of anything meaningful to say. Only, “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” And even at this moment, I still find myself wanting him to be filled with such regret for letting me go.

“Was it that long ago? Sometimes I feel like we were together yesterday.” He is still holding my hand. “But then I miss you, and I realize I could only miss you if it had been a long time.” I swallow hard. Kevin always had a way of disarming me. But before I can even get a thought together, or become uncomfortable, he lets go of my hand and hails a waiter to order another bottle of wine. “Things sure were different a few years ago,” he says, in a normal, not-so-nostalgic tone. “These days I only meet women who want to know how much money I make or whether I can get a table at Masa or Per Se, where I will pick up the check, of course.” He rolls his eyes and says this in a way that is not trying to brag about his earning power again, but rather matter-of-factly. “Gold Diggers and Dinner Whores. Happens to all the guys I work with it seems.”

“I guess that’s one of the many moral hazards you and your colleagues encounter. Defending Big Tobacco, encounters with Dinner Whores…” We chuckle a little and the awkwardness of the moment is gone as quickly as it came.

Kevin deftly changes the topic, asking about mutual friends of ours, and I barely notice that another half bottle of the wine is gone, and I have invited him to my annual Fourth of July party. Of course I don’t actually think he will come, seeing as how he never found a way to get there even while we were dating.

We leave the restaurant, and I am the most relaxed I have been in a while—I’m not running between vendors or client appointments, and I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not. Kevin takes my hand again, and I don’t resist at all when he pulls me into him. “Emma’s at my place, remember,” I say to him. A bit presumptuous, perhaps, but I
know
this man, remember. “Should we grab a cab to yours?”

He looks at me, and furrows his brow a little. “I never could figure you out, Cass.”

“Is that a no?”

“I didn’t say that.” He lets out a wolf whistle—I’ve always loved that he could do that with no fingers—and a cab pulls to a stop beside us.

Early the next morning, I am creeping back to my apartment, hoping that Emma is still asleep and I won’t have to rehash my evening with her. I even take my heels off in the hallway and start to turn my key in the lock sloooowly to be as quiet as possible. Halfway through, Emma unlocks the door from the inside. “Good morning!” she says brightly. She is already showered and dressed, has
Good Morning America
on, and a coffee mug in hand, which I quickly relieve her of.

“Good morning,” I say, brightly back, as if it is common for me to be sneaking into my own apartment to an unslept-in bed. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“I’ve been up for a while. I already went for a little run. God, I love the city before the morning rush of everyone going to work. It’s so peaceful.” She goes to pour herself another cup of coffee and starts to open a magazine. I quickly make my way to the shower. Maybe she won’t ask me about last night and is just waiting for me to bring it up. What could I possibly say? Okay, maybe I’m a bit prudish, and Emma is an
adult
after all, but she is still my little sister, and I am supposed to be helping her see the benefits of her own married monogamous life. I am
not
supposed to be a living example of casual sex with exes in the city that never sleeps.

When I get out of the shower she is still half reading a magazine and half watching
Good Morning America.
Since I can’t think of any plausible reasons that I would have been out all night aside for my
real
reason, I decide to ignore it all together. “Oh, Mom called,” she says, and my ears start to burn. “She is just
thrilled
that you’re back with Kevin. She always liked him, you know.”

I take her magazine away to make her look at me. “Emma. What. Did. You. Tell.

Her?”

She gets a mischievous look on her face. “Well, I told her you were out with Kevin. And when you didn’t come home, I just assumed—”

“You told
our mother
that I spent the night at Kevin’s?” Okay, I know I’m a grown woman and have been on my own for a while now, but I do not need my mother to think I am anything but a virgin saving myself for marriage. I don’t want to give the poor woman a heart attack
or
have to hear about buying the cow when the milk is free.

“Well, she called early this morning—”

“You told
our mother
that I didn’t come home last night?” I can only imagine what my next conversation with her will be like.

Just before I get really annoyed, Emma smiles. “Relax, Cass. I told her you got in late from your date with Kevin and were still sleeping.”

“You told her I was out with Kevin?”

She widens her eyes in fake innocence. “Oh, was that a secret?” She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s going on with you and him anyway? If you’re back together, what about that Nick guy? You’re seeing
both
of them? Do they know about each other?”

I pour myself more coffee for this line of questioning. “First of all, Kevin and I are not back together. So don’t go around telling everyone we are.” She looks sheepish, though it only lasts a second. “I’m seeing Nick, but he might be back together with his ex, so I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

“Sounds to me like you’re dating both of them. Wait—is there anyone else I don’t know about yet? Like maybe that guy you dated in high school has resurfaced?”

I roll my eyes. “He’s been married for years and has like two or three kids. Besides, you make it sound like dating more than one person is uncommon. I’m hardly at Kate’s level.”

Emma gets a faraway look on her face. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone. Robert and I have been together for so long. I forgot what it’s like.”

“Don’t think you’re missing out, Em. Lots of people would
kill
to have what you and Robert have. Don’t think I wouldn’t rather just be seeing Nick.” I surprise myself when I say that. Is that really true? I try to lighten the mood again to keep her from another bout of tears, and to keep myself from wondering too much about Nick and Nic.

“Although I have to admit, last night Kevin was just soooo…” I lick my lips in exaggerated lewdness.

As expected, Emma is grossed out and throws a pillow at me, covering her ears with her hands. “Ewwww! Do
not,
I repeat do
not
tell me about your sex life! Especially with Kevin, gawd, I
know
him! Ewww!” she shrieks with laughter.

We go out to grab some breakfast at the deli downstairs, and bring it back to my place to eat. She starts to look glum, taking impossibly small nibbles at her bagel, a habit she developed in junior high whenever she was unhappy. I suppose she is thinking that her week of faux-single status is just about over. I would have let her stay another week the way she wanted to, but apparently Robert expressed excitement about not having to travel at all next week for once, and it would have been too difficult of a conversation for her to explain why she was staying with me for so long when he would actually be home.

She hardly says a word as she stirs her coffee and then flips through a bridal magazine too quickly to actually be looking at it. She doesn’t even have the TV on. “You okay, Em?” I ask hesitantly, knowing she has a tendency to shut me out completely when she simply isn’t in the mood to talk.

“Just not looking forward to getting back to reality.”

Her mood doesn’t improve all morning, as I go through my routine of checking on details for tonight’s rehearsal and tomorrow’s wedding. “When do you have to get back home?” I ask her, partly to just break the silence.

“Robert’s flight gets in tonight. He’ll probably be so tired that he’ll go straight to bed and then get up early tomorrow to catch up on the work that happened while he was away. Then he’ll go to the driving range to ‘relax,’ and if I ask him not to, he’ll say that he needs to keep his game sharp for his next meeting with so-and-so.” Her tone is flat and nonchalant, as if this is the drill she goes through all the time, and is not a routine she appreciates.

Finally I say, “Why don’t you help me out with this wedding tomorrow? You can stay another night, then head back after the reception. It’s a morning wedding, so it’s all done by six or so.” I expect her to say okay, but am still surprised at how much she jumps at the chance. She actually
thanks
me. “You have to understand that this is
work
though. You’ll be my assistant for the day, and you’ll have to do some running around and little errands possibly. Whatever needs to be done. Got it?”

“Got it! You won’t be sorry, Cass. I just can’t go back to that empty house today, after such a
fabulous
week. And I’ll really get a chance to see you in action! This will be so great. You won’t be sorry,” she says again.