Say the Word (12 page)

“Yeah.” I swallowed roughly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, it’s just—” He broke off and took a deep breath that shifted my whole body. “I really like Jamie.”

“He likes you too.”

“Will he get better?” His question —
the
question, the one people were always terrified to ask and I was even more terrified to answer — hung in the air between us.

I was silent for a long time, trying to breathe normally.

“I don’t know,” I whispered eventually. “I hope so. We take it one day at a time.”

Sebastian’s arms hugged me tighter. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Keep visiting. Keep talking football and messing around with him. Keep treating him like he’s a normal seventeen-year-old boy, who’s not dyi—” My voice cracked on the word. “Who’s not sick,” I amended. I felt my eyes fill with unshed tears, and Sebastian leaned in to kiss my forehead gently.

“Keep being
you
,” I whispered.

“I think I can do that,” he whispered back.

Pushing aside all the worries that I’d screw it up or move too fast, I turned in his arms, followed my instincts, and brushed a light kiss across his lips. He kissed me back gently, as though I might shatter right there in his arms if he were to apply too much pressure.

And for a moment — for one blissful, perfect, sun-dappled moment in the arms of a boy I barely
knew — I didn’t feel so alone.

Simon and Fae were smashed.

Then again, after watching them down seven rounds of lemon drop martinis, I couldn’t say I was surprised.

“Where in the name of Kristin Chenoweth are all the goddamn cabs?” Simon yelled, shaking his right fist at the heavens.

“In the theater district?” Fae proposed, which set them both off in an uproarious fit of laughter.

“It’s two in the morning,” I pointed out.

“So?” Simon said, turning incredulous eyes on me. “This is the city that, I remind you, never sleeps. Except apparently at two in the morning on Fridays in August. Not a freaking cabbie to be found for miles.”

“We could always walk to Fae’s,” I suggested. It was only a
fifteen-minute walk to the Meatpacking District from here — twenty at the most.

“I’ll ruin my Manolos,” Fae muttered forlornly.

“We’re so not walking. Plus, I thought we’d agreed — sleepover at my loft,” Simon whined.

I rolled my eyes. Simon
always
wanted to go to his loft. Not that I could blame him — it was located at the heart of SoHo, and between his own larger-than-life personality and the equally large presence of his two artistic roommates, the loft was a veritable hot spot every night of the week. Music throbbed at all hours and random strangers that had been collected by one of the loft’s three residents were always filtering in and out. And, in a stroke of good fortune for Fae and me, Simon’s roommates were extreme eye-candy.

Shane was a model — gorgeous, easy-going, and interesting in spite of his intellectual shortcomings. He slept almost exclusively with other models, and most weekday mornings saw a near-constant parade of women sneaking out of his room for their walks-of-shame.

Nate was an oil painter — brooding and darkly handsome, with a quiet edginess and a troubled aura that seemed to follow him around. He always smelled faintly like acetone and every article of clothing he owned was splattered with paint, but that only enhanced his appeal, judging by the harem of hippie-chic female art connoisseurs who trailed in his wake from his studio to the loft and back again.

Unfortunately, while both attractive in their own rights,
they were also completely undateable — in part because they lived with one of our best friends so any potential breakups would be messy, but mostly because since adopting Simon into our fearsome twosome, Fae and I had become fixtures at the loft and thus born witness to so many farts, belches, and sleazy one-night-stand-aftermaths that whatever initial attraction we’d felt had quickly died.

Now, we were standing on a street corner in the Village, outside the small hole-in-the-wall jazz lounge Simon had dragged us to after work. With fabric-draped walls and a dark, modern speakeasy atmosphere, the trendy little gem was always packed on Friday nights, with every velvet booth and candle-lit high top filled. It was a popular venue for those who wanted to escape the pounding electronica that poured from the speakers of the dance clubs, or those who aimed to avoid spending $25 for a cocktail in the more exclusive bars of Manhattan.

“Oh, shut up, you princesses. If we walk half a block west we’ll have better luck,” I said, gesturing toward the cross street where 10
th
bisected Hudson. Grumbling unhappily, they followed along after me.

It had been an interesting night, to say the least.

After work, the two of them had dragged me out and immediately plied me with drinks in hopes of getting the full backstory of my saga with Sebastian.

“Hit me,” Simon had said, his eyes lit with anticipation.

“It’s time,” Fae had chimed in, her patience expired after two days of waiting.

“Fine, fine.” I’d taken a fortifying sip of my martini before launching into the details. Or, to be more specific, the few details I could actually reveal to them. “It’s not all that dramatic, honestly. We were high school sweethearts.”

Simon and Fae nodded simultaneously, like two twin marionettes controlled by the same strings.

“I was dirt poor and he was ridiculously wealthy, and besides the fact that we both lived in Georgia, we had pretty much nothing in common. But somehow it worked,” I told them, a faint smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as memories filtered through my mind. “His father was a U.S. Senator. Now I hear he’s considering a run for the next presidential race on the Republican ticket. I don’t know for sure.”

Simon and Fae both stared at me expectantly, even as my words trailed off.

“What?” I asked.

“That’s it?” Fae complained.

“You’ve barely told us anything!” Simon said. “We want the dirt, woman. The juicy details. So go ahead and spill it.”

“I just told you! We were from completely different backgrounds. It never would’ve lasted.”

“So you ended it,” Fae guessed.

“Yeah,” I said, sipping my drink. “I ended it.”

“Even though you loved him?” Simon asked, skeptical.

Especially because I loved him,
I thought.

“Listen, guys, you’re not getting it. He was Princeton-bound. I was lucky to even go to college. If I hadn’t gotten that academic scholarship to UGA I’d probably be barefoot and pregnant in a trailer somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line right about now, rather than sipping martinis with you fools.”

“But, Lux, baby,” Simon said, shaking his head in incomprehension. “Lots of people make long distance work. You could’ve figured it out, or at the very least
tried
. I don’t understand how you could just give up on someone you say you loved. It’s not like you.” His light blue eyes scanned my face, searching for answers I couldn’t give him. “The girl I know is fearless. She meets challenges head on. She moved to New York City all by herself, walked into
Luster
without an appointment, and walked out with a job that pays more than mine. She haggles with street vendors and, despite her deceptively soft southern accent, can be a force of nature when someone insults her friends.”

“He’s right, you know,” Fae added, her head tilting as she examined me. “You’re not telling us everything.”

“Alright,” I conceded. “Maybe I’m not. But I’ve told you all that I can. Trust me when I say that if I could talk about it, you’d be the first to know. For now, though, can you guys do me a favor? Can you please just be my friends and not push me on this?”

“Are you in trouble?” Fae asked immediately, concern overtaking her features. “Did something illegal happen?”

“Ohmigod!” Simon exclaimed. “Are you in the Witness Protection Program? I bet that’s it. You found out his dad was a mob boss or something, and he was gonna have you whacked so you had to go into hiding!”

“No one says ‘whacked’ anymore, Simon,” Fae chided.

“What about ‘sleeping with the fishes’? Can I use that one?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a Hollywood fabrication,” I added. “And as for your theory… No, I am not in the Witness Protection Program. And no, Sebastian’s father is not a villain — he’s just a politician.”

“Some would argue those are actually one and the same,” Fae noted.

“Damn, I’ve always wanted to know someone who was in hiding. Leading a double life. On the run from her past,” Simon said, his tone dramatic and his eyes distant. Strangely, his comments made Fae’s cheeks flush red and she diverted her gaze abruptly, scrutinizing the cracked imperfections in our tabletop with studious intensity.

Hmmm. Curious.

She was not easily ruffled. Cool, collected, polished — that was Fae. In the nearly three years I’d known her, I’d never once seen
her blush. I wanted to ask about it, but I’d have to wait until later, when we were in private. I wouldn’t put her on the spot.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I told Simon. “Let’s get another round, shall we?”

“Definitely,” he agreed, signaling the waitress over.

“Fae?” I asked. At the sound of her name, her head snapped up and she met my gaze. She’d been lost in her thoughts, and the remnants of ghosts still lingered in her eyes. “You okay?”

“Fine, fine,” she said, shrugging off whatever had sent her spiraling down memory lane. She smiled reassuringly. “Just spaced out for a second. Are we getting another round?”

I nodded in confirmation, but my mind was racing.

So Fae had some secrets — didn’t we all? Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t pushed me to reveal my past with Sebastian, whereas Simon would’ve gladly reenacted the Spanish Inquisition in order to get answers from me.

I’d been lucky, I knew that. Not everyone had friends who’d accept them in spite of their flaws, secrets, and shortcomings. I tried to hold onto that feeling now, as I listened to the two of them rambling drunkenly as we walked toward the busier intersection in the early hours of the morning.

“Bingo!” Fae exclaimed, pointing across the street at an oncoming cabbie. After her brief reverie earlier she’d proceeded to get hammered, sucking down martinis faster than the bartender could pour them. Simon had happily matched her pace, so I’d stopped after three rounds, figuring it was probably best if at least one of us was coherent enough to see straight.

Putting two fingers in my mouth, I whistled to signal the cab, and immediately broke into a smile when he slowed to a stop near the curb. Even after years in the city, the thrill of doing that had never worn off. I grabbed hold of Fae and Simon’s hands, checked for oncoming traffic, and led them across the street to where the cabbie was waiting for us.

“Spotted!” Simon said, slipping effortlessly into a falsetto. “F and L getting into a cab in the Village after a night of debauchery.”

“Okay, Gossip Girl, just get in the cab,” I said, laughing.

Within seconds, we were on our way to SoHo, with me crammed into the middle seat between Fae and Simon. Not even five minutes into the ride, both of their heads dropped onto my shoulders as they nodded off. Trying not to jostle them too much, I slipped my phone from my pocket and snapped a quick picture of the three of us. I laughed when I glanced at the image: me, smiling wide; Simon, his face slackened in a drunken stupor; and Fae, her lips parted and a puddle of drool forming in the corner of her mouth.

I chuckled under my breath as I uploaded the picture to my social media pages, with the caption:

If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch.

They’d both shriek in horror when they saw it online tomorrow morning, but at the moment I didn’t care. I’d learned some hard lessons in my life, but perhaps the most important one was that you have to cherish the insignificant moments you have with your most significant people. To hold onto the times when you’re happy. To smile often, and laugh loudly. To enjoy the ones you love, and hold them close to your heart while you still have them.

I closed my eyes and smiled as the cab wound through the bustling streets of SoHo, still vibrant with life even in the wee hours of the morning. Things weren’t perfect — they’d never be perfect — but in this moment, life was good.

“Ughhh.”

The noises coming from Fae’s mouth were eerily similar to the sounds made by zombies on
The Walking Dead
, a sure sign she was hungover. Perched on one of the kitchen island barstools, I sipped my coffee and watched as she cracked one bleary eye open.

“Morning sunshine,” I called.

“Unggh.”

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Mmhh.”

I’d take that as a
yes
. I hopped down from the stool, bypassed Nate — who was frying an egg shirtless and, let me tell you, his abs were nothing to shake a stick at — and fetched a mug from one of the overhead cupboards. After pouring a cup for Fae, I navigated slowly across the loft to where she was sprawled on one half of the red sectional.

The loft had a modern-industrial feel, with exposed brick walls and a ceiling crossed by painted ducts and beams. Yet, despite the minimalist architecture, the space was bursting with color. None of the furniture matched, and several of Nate’s vibrant, 10x10 foot canvases leaned against each wall. The windows were huge, looking down at a street full of similar refurbished industrial warehouses, most of which housed artists and eccentrics. The amount of natural light that poured in from the large windows was incredible — a vast change from the one small pane my own apartment boasted — but always left the uninsulated loft chilly. Fae and I kept spare sweaters tucked away in Simon’s closet
, though, in a pinch, we’d both been known to steal a sweatshirt from Shane or Nate. 

Thankfully, each of the boys had their own room, so whenever Fae and I crashed here we made good use of their large sectional. When I approached, Fae perked up and immediately reached for her steaming cup.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked, after she’d taken her first sip and once again joined the world of the living.

“Nothing much,” I said with a shrug. “
Cyber-stalking the ex-love of my life for a few hours. After that, my schedule’s pretty free.”

Fae snorted with laughter, sending a line of coffee dribbling down her chin.