“What, are you saying you’re secretly in love with Ellie too?” I joke, then gasp in earnest. “Or Cat? Are you in love with Cat?”
“I find the very notion of both those options extremely nauseating.”
“What? Why? What’s wrong with Cat? Cat’s great.”
I don’t really like Cat, but I’m also well aware that most of my reasons for disliking her have more to do with me than with her.
“Nothing’s wrong with Cat,” Alex says easily. He does everything easily, I’m starting to notice. Every word out of his mouth, every tilt of his head, every puff of his vape pen. It’s as if he doesn’t have a care or worry in the world. His confidence should probably be annoying, but instead, it’s magnetic. Addictive. Infectious. Was it always? I never noticed before. I seem to have lost my immunity.
“There’s just nothing particularlyrightwith her either. She’s… fine,” Alex finishes.
“The notion of being in love with someone who’sfineis nauseating to you? Seriously?”
“What’s it going to be? We staying or are we going?”
In the coming days, weeks, months, I will replay this night and wonder how I allowed things to go so wrong, how I could possibly have let myself veer so far from propriety. I knew better, and what’s worse, IknewI knew better, andyet—this is the moment I will pinpoint as the start of the fall.
His easy, casual use of the wordwewhen heretofore there had never been any semblance of aweto speak of—like we’re partners, allies, just trying to get through this terrible, awful night.
Together.
“We can’t just leave,” I insist, sounding scandalized more because I know I should want to stay than because I actually do. The truth is, the idea of never again having to see Cat in her wedding dress—sucha beautiful bride, but beauty can be grating—is incredibly tempting.
“Sure we can.” He shrugs. “It’s a victimless crime.”
He says it so simply, and my conviction continues to crack.
I hesitate but finally say, “You can. I can’t. I’m a bridesmaid.”
“So what?”
“So… I have duties,” I sputter.
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that tending to Cat’s every whim all night is your definition of a good time.”
All night? Try all week.
“It’s not about having a good time. It’s about being there for a friend.”
“Since when are you and Catfriends?”
I hesitate, too embarrassed to admit I was talking about Ellie, who pushed for me to be in the wedding.
Alex must pick up on my discomfort, because he continues, “She can find someone else to… fluff her train or whatever. There are other bridesmaids. You’ve done enough work. Text Madison and say you had too much to drink, got tired, took an Uber home.”
“What about you?”
“No one’s going to be looking for me. So? What’s stopping us?”
We. Us.
Him. Me.
Together.
Victimless crime.
(Plenty of victims. Ingrid. Ellie. Cat. Myself.Shh, let me have this.)
