We spent the rest of the meal reminiscing about my career and the worst and best meals I’d eaten. By the time we’d finished our coffee and dessert, a delicious apple-brown-butter mousse, oddly enough, I’d come to terms with it all.
“Don’t fret about it anymore.” I helped him with his coat, and we walked outside into the evening to wait for our cars. “I’m fine with it. Really.”
“I wish I were.”
My throat swelled with unaccustomed emotion. “Why, Edward”—I fluttered my lashes at him to dispel the tightness in my chest—“I didn’t know you cared.”
“If not, then I’ve been remiss in letting you know.” A car slid to a stop in front. “That’s mine,” Edward said and stood for a moment, then pulled me close in a hard hug. “Don’t be a stranger, son.” He climbed inside the car and it pulled away before I had a chance to answer.
Unaccustomed tears burned in my eyes, and I blinked hard to clear my vision. I’d always been a stranger, perhaps even to myself, because my first instinct now wasn’t to call Press and bitch to him about the unfairness of my firing. It was crazy, but I wanted to talk to Torre, and a hot flash of disappointment lodged in my chest when the call went straight to voice mail. And again, five minutes later. My texts weren’t delivering either. Well, fuck it. Obviously, he’d gone off the grid and wasn’t interested in being found. I hit Speed Dial.
“Frisco? What’s up? You don’t usually call this late.”
“Am I disturbing you lovebirds? Did I catch youen flagrante?”
“You’re such a jerk. We’re catching up on some television, if you must know.”
“Already a boring couple and you’re not even married yet. Feel like some company?” The thought of going home to my empty apartment, as beautiful as it was, held little appeal right now. I wanted a drink, the effects of the champagne already fading.
“What’s wrong?” Press asked quickly. He’d always been more attuned to my moods than anyone else.
“Nothing,” I snapped, annoyed he could read me so easily. “Can’t a best friend stop by? Maybe I can talk you into a threesome. Spice up your life.”
“You’re such an idiot. Of course you can.”
“I’ll be over in less than fifteen.”
On the car ride there, I tried Torre twice more before giving up for good, and stared out the window as we drove uptown. I felt worse for Edward than myself. While I’d loved my job, it wasn’t what I’d dreamed of doing when I was a child, and working in Mike’s restaurant had solidified my discontent. Maybe it was why I’d always been so harsh. I’d imagined cooking the meals myself and doing them better than the chefs.
Or, the devil whispered,you were jealous they were living the life they wanted and you’re not. Maybe you were a little harder on them than they deserved.
Uncomfortable with that truth floating around in my head, I muttered to myself, “Shut the hell up,” and ignored the devil’s laughter in my head.
Bright lights glowed behind the curtains of Nate and Presley’s brownstone, and I took the steps two at a time. I didn’t need to ring the bell, as Press had opened the door as soon as I exited the car.
“You weren’t kidding about how close you were.”
“I gave you just enough time to put your clothes back on.” I kissed his cheek and strode inside. “Where’s your other half?” I tossed my jacket over the banister. It truly was a lovely house, and I’d never seen Presley happier, so I could love Nate for being good to my best friend.
“Upstairs.” Presley’s direct stare unnerved me. “He thought maybe you’d want some private time to talk with just me.”
Nate’s stock had definitely risen in my eyes, but I didn’t answer Presley.
“Come into the living room and have a drink.”
I made myself at home on the love seat while Presley made me a Negroni. On the wide mantel above the fireplace I spotted several pictures of Nate and Press, including one from their cute-as-a-button engagement in the middle of Times Square. My throat closed up at the picture of Presley’s parents, Press, and me at our last Christmas together, the year prior to their deaths. Presley had gone away to college, but I’d stayed in the city. I knew I tried his mother’s patience by stumbling in at all hours of the night after parties or hookups, but she never complained and would sit up with her book and cup of tea, waiting for me to come home.
Like a real mother.
The room swam before my eyes, and I needed to blink to clear my vision.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“Since when does something have to be going on for me to visit?” I sipped my drink, and Presley took a seat opposite me with his glass of wine.
“Hmm…let’s see. Because you normally pop into the store with food for us, raving about some restaurant you’ve been to that you want me to try. This is the second time in recent memory you’ve come specifically to talk. So what gives?”
I finished swallowing the mouthful of my drink. “I’ve been fired.”
