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“Are you crying, T?” Cap questions.
“Fucking right, I’m crying,” Thatch answers through a sniffle. “Shit like that makes me emotional. I feel like I’m watching The Notebook, but only it’s not The Notebook. It’s Milo’s fluffing life.”
“It’s going to be okay, dude.” I reach out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he still has more to say.
“Goddammit, Noah.” He sighs and rubs at his eyes some more. “You should be with Allie, for fuck’s sake. You two belong together. You fluffing belong together!”
And here I thought I was the emotional one.
I want to laugh, but I figure it’s probably better if I let the big giant process his feelings.
So, for the rest of the ride to my place, I find myself comforting Thatch while Cap watches on with a slightly confused look in his eyes.
Thankfully, though, when the cabbie pulls in front of my building, Cap climbs into the back seat to sit with Fiona Feelings so she doesn’t have to process her emotions all by herself.
I tell them goodnight and toss the driver more than enough money to cover not only his full night of driving a bunch of drunken fools around, but also a generous tip.
“Thank you,” the cabbie says.
“It’s the least I can do,” I say. “Mind getting these two home safely?”
“You have my word.”
When they pull away from my building, I offer up a silent prayer that after the cabbie drops off Cap, he doesn’t have to pull over to console Thatch.
And just before I step inside my building, I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and type out a text that I need to send.
Me: I heard you got the job at Beacon. I’m proud of you, kid. You deserve it. You deserve everything you want and more.
And I don’t send it because I want a response from her. I send it because, even though she refuses to talk to me, I want her to know I’m genuinely happy for her.
Maybe
Sadie, being the kick-ass, laid-back gal she is, insisted we start her bachelorette party at Applebee’s in Times Square.
While I loathe Times Square, I love me some apps from Applebee’s, so I can excuse the tourist madness and focus on the priorities—potato skins, mozzarella sticks, chicken wings…I’m talking all the greasy goodness.
The wedding countdown is officially on, and in just under six days, Sadie will walk down the aisle and commit herself to my brother for the rest of her life.
I’m both excited and petrified for her.
Ha. Okay, I’m just excited, but I can pretend to be horrified at the expense of my annoying big bro.
“If I could have everyone’s attention.” Jessica, Sadie’s best friend and maid of honor, stands up from her seat, taps a fork against her wineglass and raises it toward the bride. “As we get this night started, I want to propose a toast to our girl, Sadie. Otherwise known as the soon-to-be Mrs. Willis.”
All ten bridesmaids—including me—along with Lena, raise our drinks into the air.
“I can still remember that fateful night when Evan spotted the woman who would someday be his wife,” she continues. “After a night of bar-hopping, we ended up in Chelsea, at some random dude’s apartment with a group of people we’d just met not even two hours before.”
“Not our smartest moment.” Sadie cringes and Jessica grins.
“Yeah, but instead of ending up on the eleven o’clock news, you met your future husband.”
“Thank God.” The bride’s face turns up in a smile.
“And,” her maid of honor continues, “while you spent the night wooing Evan Willis with your fiery red hair and drunken charm, I spent the night hoping his sexy-as-hell best friend would go home with me.”
Evan’s best friend? Oh God. Please don’t say Milo. Please don’t say you slept with Milo.
“You tried to take Milo home that night?” Sadie bursts into laughter, and it takes me a Hulk-sized effort to keep a straight face.
“You bet your ass, I did.” Jessica shrugs and my chest tightens. “Well, tried and failed, but I tried nonetheless.”
My shoulders sag, and a breath of air I didn’t realize I was holding releases from my lungs.
Why in the hell am I so relieved by that?
And why do I get the sense that I no longer like Jessica now?
Lena offers a gentle, reassuring squeeze of my thigh beneath the table.
“Anyway,” the chick rambles the fuck on. “I just wanted to say that I love you dearly. I am so damn happy for you. And I can’t wait to see the look on Evan’s face when you walk down that aisle Saturday. Happy bachelorette party! Cheers, Sadie!”
Everyone clinks their glasses, and I find myself thirstier than I thought.
In four quick gulps, I down the rest of my wine, and I instruct the passing-by waiter to bring another one at his earliest convenience.
