“‘Sup, E.” Adonis clasps hands with Eitan. “This your girlfriend?”
“No,” I say, quick and aggressive. Adrenaline is coursing through me, threatening the steadiness of my voice. “I’m one of Pen’s bridesmaids.”
“Oh, word.” He reaches out a hand. It’s dusted with hair and a faded tattoo of a marigold. I might be drooling. “I’m Andres.”
I shake it, unable to look into his eyes. “Ruby.”
He steps forward while our hands are clasped. “I’m a groomsman.”
A high-pitched, frilly laugh bubbles out of me. “Same.”
Our hands are still shaking hypnotically. Sensually. The vision of our future starts slow and then overwhelms me, like a sunburn. He will be a famous portrait photographer who owns a loft in Brooklyn. We will play footsie beneath the table on a rooftop in LES, eating oysters while our kids learn French at language immersion camp in the Poconos.
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Andres says through a grin.
Someone elbows me. I reluctantly pull my hand away.
“Is Casey here?” Eitan asks from somewhere far away.
“Nah.” Andres shakes his head. “We broke up.” I don’t know Casey, but I am sending my condolences through the aether.
“Sorry to hear that, man.”
Yeah, me too.Supersorry.
Andres shrugs. “Wasn’t meant to be.” He kneels down on the blanket, tattooed hands doing some damage on the snack pool.
Possibility fizzes in my bloodstream. A thought pokes its head up: weare meant to be.It’s?—
Someone waves a big hairy hand in front of my face. “Anyone home?” Eitan asks.
I glare at him. He nudges his chin toward the blanket, directing me to move further from Andres so that he can sit. I movecloserto Andres, forcing Eitan to take the blanket corner I had been sitting on.
Andres opens a cooler. “Beer?” He holds out a Pacifico to me.
The hypnosis of meeting Adonis-named-Andres wears off and gritty reality waits in its wake: I have to excel at this social gathering as a first step to worming my way back into this circle.
“Do you have” —I clear my throat— “sparkling water?”
He roots around in the cooler. “Yeah, there should be some…”
“I’ll take one too,” Eitan adds. I’m grateful not to be the only one skipping alcohol.
Andres lays down on his side, balancing on an elbow, showing off a rippling set of obliques. He says something to Eitan that I have trouble following, given the amount of skin on display.
“Hey.” Pen squeezes my side, kneeling on the grass so that she can talk to me. “Thanks again, for doing this.” Her eyes are soft, and she looks young again, like the girl I met in Lakeview Writers Group. “It’s so much work, but it feels better with you by my side.”
“I’m really happy to be a part of it,” I say, for once not needing to force anything. It’s just the truth.
Pen walks two fingers up and down my arm. “Do you think you can convince Aunt Lou to go for the dance-floor ceiling?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I tilt my head. “But it’s okay if she vetoes it, right?”
“I think it will make the wedding really special.” Pen pouts. “I mean, imagine the photos.”
Right, the photos. All that seems to matter about this day.
After the wedding has goneperfectly, I’d totally owe you one.This is about what Pen wants, I remind myself. It’s her day.
