My Best Friend, Maybe Page 18

  Now I know how I fit into this crazy Pepper family: I’m the date.

  “Ivan,” Andrea says deeply and with such emotion that I’m jolted into remembering that this is not about me or Sadie or Rose. It’s about Andrea and Ivan. But it feels like my life must be changing more than theirs, like my risk is the greater one.

  Andrea takes a shaky breath, sucking in tears and tightening her grip on Ivan’s hands. They face each other on a bit of earth that juts out over the sea. A woman stands with them to officiate, but she’s not a minister or even a judge or anything. She’s a friend of Ivan’s.

  Where will I have my wedding? I wonder as Andrea lists the promises she’s making to the man in front of her. Will it be in a church or on some beautiful island? Or neither? Will my pastor or a judge be standing in front of me? All of the things that I always thought were predetermined about my future are up for debate.

  And Sadie . . . what kind of wedding will she have? I remember all of her dreams about the kind of mom she would be. I think about her heartbreak over Rose and how real it feels. At every wedding I’ve been to, I’ve wondered about my own someday in the future. I turn to look at my friend-date. Does she imagine this day for herself? Who does she see waiting for her at the end of the aisle? Or walking down the aisle toward her?

  No matter what it looks like, I want to be there that day.

  Ω

  After the ceremony, we march in a short parade to the same cliffy restaurant where this roller coaster started.

  Back then, only three days ago, the world was black and white and I was simply choosing black. Now, sunset, the sky explodes beyond the restaurant in a flurry of color and even though it’s beautiful, it’s complicated. I can’t figure out if what I’ve agreed to do for Sadie is good or bad, right or wrong. The crowd stands at the edge of the restaurant while the sun paints all the colors across the sky. They watch with the same kind of hushed enthusiasm I saw last night. But today I don’t watch the sun. I stare at the backs of their heads. I see Sam. I see Sadie, a smaller version of Edie, who is standing next to her. I see Rose a few people down the row. I take a deep breath and tell myself I’m ready.

  When the last edge of the sun disappears, the island claps and cheers, and the band behind me begins to play soft elevator music.

  Food is spread out around the tables on the perimeter of the restaurant and a bar is set up kitty-corner in the back. Sam catches my eye and smiles.

  I try not to let my heart speed up.

  I scan for my date. She’s talking to Charlie and Mary Anne, and Rose is right behind them, definitely within earshot. I take a deep breath: here we go.

  I walk over and put my palm on her elbow. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask.

  She smiles at me. It’s the inside-joke smile and it feels so good to know what she’s thinking, to know that we’re on the same side, that I almost cry.

  “Sure,” she says. “Maybe a mojito?”

  I don’t know what that is, but I walk up to the bar like I’ve ordered drinks a million times before and I ask for two of them. I’m a lesbian tonight, one who is old enough to order drinks. The mojitos are green and served in triangular glasses with stringy leaves streaking through them and a pile of black sugar settling at the bottom. Delicious.

  I cross the patio to Sadie and let my fingers rest on her lower back when I hand her her drink. I make sure to catch Rose’s eye and smile. Rose chews her cheek.

  The music swells into an actual song and we form a ring around Andrea and Ivan as they dance to “At Last.” I’m flanked by Sadie in a bright-yellow dress with a poofy skirt and Rose in a simple black dress that hugs all of her intimidating curves.

  I imagine the two of them dancing, Rose dipping Sadie the way Ivan dips Andrea. It’s easy to picture. Me dipping Sadie, not so easy.

  I fake-whisper in Sadie’s ear, “You look great.”

  I try not to sound nervous.

  Is this even how gay women talk to each other?

  She looks up at me, inside-joke-smiling again. She clinks her green glass against mine and we both take another sip. I leave my hand on her shoulder and try to enjoy feeling Rose’s eyes drilling into the top of my head.

  Sadie squeezes my hand and my heart bounces.

  Rose is clearly buying this. Why do I feel so jittery?

  “All guests are now invited to join the bride and groom,” the band guy says. They start to play a Stevie Wonder song.

  We watch Ivan’s nephew jump up and down on the dance floor before some of the adults begin to join in. Am I supposed to ask Sadie to dance? How would we even dance together?

  Rose walks toward the bar. Sadie breathes a sigh of relief and takes a step away from me. “This is exhausting,” she whispers. “But thanks.”

  I’m wishing, even though I’m sure it’s not how lesbian couples dance, that we could dance like us, like we did in middle school, twirling each other around and around the dance floor, goofily acting out the lyrics, singing too loudly. Then, to my surprise, Sadie puts down her drink, grabs my hand, and spins me at arm’s length. We lose ourselves in song after song of twirling goofy silliness. And in this moment I know what to do. I’m being myself. It’s so . . . fun.

  After the fourth song the band descends into a slow melody and Sadie and I smile at each other, each catching our breaths. “Being your date is easier than I thought,” I whisper. “It’s kind of the same thing as—”

  Suddenly there’s a sharp elbow in my rib cage. “Shh!” Sadie says.

  I follow her eyes to the edge of the dance floor, through the pairs of swaying couples, to where Rose is approaching. “Shh!” Sadie says again. I wasn’t even talking. I shrink about six inches.

  Rose is standing in front of us, her eyelashes black and curving perfectly as she lowers her eyes right on Sadie. “Will you please dance with me?” she asks.

  Sadie looks at her sparkly pink toenails. “Well, I . . .”

  I can feel her eyes shift to my own black heels. We’re close enough again that we can talk without words. I can feel what she’s thinking. Say no, Coley. Say you’re going to dance with me. Say Rose can’t interrupt our date like that.

  Part of me wants to freeze, to refuse. It’s not that I don’t want to dance with Sadie. I’m not sure what it is.

  Instead, I put my fingers on Sadie’s pointy elbow and lead her back onto the dance floor.

  “Maybe later,” she calls in a snotty voice over her shoulder.

  I see Rose’s face fall.

  When I stop walking, Sadie presses herself against me, her hand pushed into the skin on my shoulder, her cheek close to my neck, her other hand squeezing my palm insistently. I keep her braced against me, my arm against her lower back, even as inside me my personality shakes and retches.

  Not at the touch, though. At what?

  “Thank you,” Sadie whispers. “Thank you so much for saving me, Coley.”

  I smile because those words should feel good, and they kind of do, but everything else feels so bad. We turn and Rose comes into focus on the edge of the dance floor. She stands there alone, the toes of her flat shoes lined up with the edge of the wood paneling as if the floor is a pool and she’s trying to decide whether to jump in.

  Rose deserves this.

  But as I think that, Edie’s face comes into focus behind Rose’s. She’s not watching us. She’s sitting at a table laughing with Sadie’s aunt and uncle. Smiling the welcoming smile that everyone but me gets to enjoy these days.

  And it hits me: I don’t know if Rose deserves the punishment I’m doling out.

  What happened between Sadie and Rose doesn’t have anything to do with me. And what does have to do with me is what happened between Sadie and me. Somehow we managed to tangle all of those problems together.

  But can I ever have Sadie back if I don’t come between her and Rose?

  The song ends and Sadie’s face is twisted into a ball of stress and exhaustion. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she announces.

>   As soon as she’s out of my sight, Sam is at my side. “Can I collect that dance now?”

  He leans so close to me his lips almost touch my ear. His words slip smooth into my head before I remember that there are a million reasons I should say no. Sadie, Rose. Mark.

  “Thinking again?” He laughs.

  His eyes are on mine, like they’re hugging me from the inside out. Being Sadie’s date doesn’t mean I can’t dance with anyone else, right?

  I want to dance with him.

  I nod at Sam and then I’m in his arms. His hand is firm on the small of my back, his chest pressing into mine. My head fits just over his shoulder, so I can feel the heat coming off his cheek, the electrons popping between us. My heart hammers so hard I’m sure he can feel it through his own skin.

  “You decided my sister’s all right?” he says, so quietly I can barely hear it above the music even though his mouth is level with my ear.

  I nod. “She needed me. You know,” I say, almost apologetically. We’ll have the rest of the vacation to hang out after to night.

  He spins me to the right and I’m dizzy and light-headed and floating even though I also know that he must still see me as a little kid. He must be glad I’m sticking up for Sadie like everyone else does. He must want to be my friend.

  But I don’t know why he’s holding me so tight, ignoring the way my heart hammers into his chest, the way my cheeks flush because he’s so close.

  “It’s good you’re here for her then,” he says.

  I nod, my chin almost touching his shoulder. I want to memorize this moment, his hand against my palm, his shirt against my bare arm.

  It’s so . . . honest.

  Then his lips are almost on my ear. “You look so damn hot in that dress,” he whispers.

  My heart jumps to my throat and my stomach tilts and wobbles and I curse Sadie for making it impossible for him to kiss me tonight.

  I have to put a stop to this, this passion, this desire, this thing that is so real. I say, “You know Sadie wants me to—”

  Sam jumps away from me. Sadie is standing right behind him. “Can I cut in?” she asks curtly.

  He looks at me and it’s the three of us figuring out this puzzle and I feel the same way I did before when it was Rose and Sadie and me and only one song. I should dance with Sadie. I should stop the pretending and dance with Sam. Why is everyone looking at me like I know what to do?

  Then Sam shrugs sheepishly and his sister wraps herself back around me. My cells are still charged from being pressed so closely to her brother. My mind and my body are confused.

  “Rose was watching you,” Sadie hisses.

  “Sadie,” I say. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

  She cuts me off. “You can’t like my brother.”

  My jaw snaps shut. Did she really just say that?

  I try, “You mean, tonight—”

  “No!” Sadie says. She squeezes me tighter. She speaks to me through a forced smile. “I mean you can’t like my brother. That’s too strange. And Rose will totally be able to tell.”

  “Don’t worry.” I sigh. “I’m here with you, tonight. I’m your date, Sadie. And besides,” I say with a weird smile, “I have a boyfriend.”

  I win a giggle out of her before I notice her squint over my shoulder and I can tell she’s looking at Rose watching us and my insides feel icky and sticky like left over scrambled eggs.

  “You can’t say that too loudly either,” Sadie whispers. She plants a kiss on my cheek for good measure.

  After a moment or two, Sadie adds, “You should probably break up with Mark anyway.”

  And for a second I think she’s going to stop there. Even though I don’t know if I agree with her or not, I’m happy to hear her say that. Because it seems like she’s actually thinking about me, just me, not the way I fit into her twisted love life.

  But she keeps talking. “Either way, you have to stop flirting with Sam, okay? If that goes on for the rest of the week, Rose will notice.”

  The rest of the week?

  The scrambled eggs inside of me shake and multiply.

  “Sadie,” I say. “I don’t think I can do this all week . . .”

  “Yes, you can,” she says. But she’s distracted. She’s focused on something behind me again. “You have to. Besides, you can’t like my brother anyway.”

  I try to pull back but she presses her palm into my shoulder, asking me to stay this close, so close I can’t see her. “What do you mean?” I say.

  “Sam. You can’t like Sam. I could not handle that,” she says lightly, without even paying attention, like whatever she’s saying is no big deal, like she’s telling me something as simple as don’t smoke cigarettes or don’t wear white pants after Labor Day.

  Then I hear that wavy, snotty voice behind me again. “Well, Colette, aren’t you the miracle worker,” Rose says.

  She sidles up beside us, dancing with Ivan’s nephew on her hip.

  “All I ever wanted from you, Sadie, is this. Just to dance with me, like this, in public.”

  Sadie turns her face away, her cheek now solidly pressed into my neck.

  I face forward, trying to shield myself from the words Rose is saying.

  I can feel Sadie’s energy pulling toward Rose, Rose’s pushing back at Sadie. I feel like a rock in the middle of a river, their love and their hate swirling all around while I can’t move. I want to disappear.

  How did Sadie do this to me? After years of not talking to me, after never even giving me a chance to accept her, how did she convince me that I owe her this favor? How did she manage to plant me in the middle of her love life without telling me about it?

  And how could she try to derail mine?

  I feel so gross with her pressed against me. I feel like my entire body is a lie.

  I push her shoulder, trying to put a little space between us.

  Rose is still talking, getting under her skin.

  “I guess you must have found the perfect woman to act like this. I guess you never loved me enough to hold my hand in public.”

  I shove Sadie, not to end the charade but to put a pin in the intensity, to cool it off a little. She won’t let me move.

  Rose lowers her voice even more.

  “She must be really good in bed,” Rose says.

  Now Sadie looks at her. And she winks.

  That’s it. It’s too much.

  I can’t make myself into Perfect Colette for my mom anymore, and I also can’t be Gay Colette or whoever else Sadie wants me to be.

  I yank away from her and dodge between the spinning couples, around the food tables, and up the stairs onto the Santorini sidewalk.

  My heels slip and slide over the marble planks of the main walk, and the restaurants and stairs and cliffs and stars go sailing by me as I sprint my way down the island. I can hear her fabulous heels pounding after me but I know she won’t catch me. I’m faster because I’m the swimmer. I’m the one who stayed.

  I step right out of my shoes and I turn past where the hundreds of stairs lead down to the sea, going farther north than I have before. The cool marble on the soles of my feet, the salty breeze on my cheeks, the island moisture in my hair, the breath rushing in and out of my lungs, all start to feel good, like maybe I can be myself and not worry about right and wrong, or fun and perfect, or Sam and Sadie—if I never stop moving.

  But then, bang.

  The sidewalk dead-ends into a sudden cliff and I slow my steps before my body goes tumbling over it. I stare down at the churning sea below and imagine if I had kept running, fabulous red dress and all. If the end of this road had been the end of mine, what would people have said about me?

  I hear the clang, clang, clang of high heels behind me and I know I’m caught.

  We stare at each other, two bright dresses in the dark of the island. Sadie’s chest expands in her dress as she works to catch her breath.

  Finally she says, “What the hell? What the hell, Colette?”

  “Are
you really asking me that?” I answer.

  “After all this time,” she says. “I wanted you to do one thing for me. Just one thing.”

  “What do you mean, after all this time?” I shout the words into the Santorini air, imagining they hit Sadie’s ears and then poof away. “After all this time when you’ve been ignoring me, you ask me to do you some really screwed-up favor? After all this time of you proving how much better you are, you ask me to sink that far beneath you?”

  “No, you,” she screams back, the force of her words almost sending me over the cliff. “You’re the one who thinks you’re so much better. You’re the one who can’t handle who I am.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance!”

  “I did,” she answers.

  “When?”

  Sadie sighs. She looks at the stars. She doesn’t know what to say. I wish I could get back to my cave without finishing this fight. I wish I could get into the hotel without having to cross her path. I’m trapped.

  “Tonight,” she says finally. “I gave you a chance tonight and you ruined everything. Everything. You know how stupid I look for bringing you here?”

  It’s like she’s punching me in the heart.

  “Why didn’t you get a real date then?”

  “You think I didn’t try? You think I haven’t tried for the past year, the past year, to find a girl who would help me get over Rose, even just a little? To find another girl to hold hands with, to kiss? You think I like looking at Rose’s Facebook page every night, watching it fill up with more and more girlfriends while I’ve only kissed one girl in my life? You think I didn’t want a real date to show her I’m over her? You think I wanted to bring you?”

  “Sadie,” I say quietly.

  “You think you’re so much better than me because you can dump one guy and move right on to the next—to my brother—while I can’t even find a second girl to kiss me.”