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“No, but I knew she supplied them to several local restaurants,” I explain, shrugging. “We got to talking about it once, when I was picking up a bouquet for my boss. Another ex-boss,” I add with a grimace. “I’m building up quite a collection.”
“That’s pretty valuable, you know,” Charlie muses.
“A collection of terrible ex-bosses?”
He laughs. “No, a network like that. The ability to problem solve on the fly.”
I shrug, not liking the reminder of all my professional failings. “If you figure out how to build a lavish career from it, let me know,” I quip. “Because it hasn’t exactly materialized for me just yet.”
We reach a signpost decorated with silver balloons and streamers. “This way, I’m guessing.” Charlie takes my arm. “Do you ever make it back to Indiana?” he asks, as we head towards the party..
I pause. “Holidays, mainly, you know, family things.”
“Your parents are still living there?”
I nod. “My brother is there, and they like to stay close.” I say, carefully choosing my words. My brother, Jordy, is a couple of years younger than me, but we’re a world apart. He had a tough time growing up, with developmental issues, ADHD, the whole gamut. Things were kind of chaotic in my house, my parents chasing every service and diagnosis around for him, so I was pretty much left to my own devices. He’s settled now in a group place, living independently, and it’s great to see him more stable now. But that doesn’t mean I want to go peeling back the wrapper with Charlie right now.
“This is one of those New York spots for me,” I say, changing the subject.
Charlie tips his head. “A favorite, you mean?”
“More like… You can get numb to New York, right? Some days, it’s just the frustrating place where you live. But whenever I stop here, I can always feel it again. I’m really doing it, you know? Making it in my dream city. Well, trying,” I add wryly.
He smiles. “For me, it’s crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, seeing the whole skyline lit up, you know?”
“That sounds awfully sentimental,” I tease.
He laughs. “I am capable ofsomehuman emotion.”
“Noted.”
We’re past the fountain now, and the Boathouse, with its white columns and iconic mint gabled roof, comes into view.
I stop short. All the guests mingling outside the venue are inoutfits. Oh sure, all weddings are comprised of people in outfits. But where are the delicate florals and nice-but-modest blush-pink dresses? The mid-height beige heels? These are the mainstay choices that say:I am a lovely wedding guest, but not here to draw attention. I understood the assignment.
This time, it seemsIdid not understand the assignment.
I’m surrounded by statement pieces. A lavender suit with a leopard-print shirt and—to be fair—a black tie. Neon pink dress with power-clashing neon orange heels. Every person here looks like the subject of a slightly different photo shoot. And they… Are, it seems. A nearby girl poses with one foot forward, modeling a square, plastic purse. A guy uses a willow tree as a backdrop to show the lightning bolt emblazoned on his tux jacket.
Charlie must see my confusion because he explains, “The bride works at a management company for social media people, so the guest list is heavy on influencers.”
“Oh.” I cross my arms self-consciously, wishing I’d at least gone for a statement necklace. “A heads-up might’ve been nice.”
Charlie looks confused “Why? Your dress is perfect.”
Men.
I frown at him and his bold pocket square, but I say nothing. If I want to be the consummate wedding guest, I should probably shelve the annoyance.
We go to take our seats, Charlie smiling and greeting people as we pass. Clearly, he knows more than just the happy couple, and I get the strongest sense of deja vu, watching him work the crowd the same way he used to back in school. He could be sauntering through the lunchroom, for all the heads swiveling to check him out. Maybe it’s his recent feature in a magazine; maybe it’s the staggering good looks and air of confidence. Either way, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.
Wondering,who TF is this girl?I’m sure.
“What’s our cover story?” I murmur to him, in the hush before the bride makes her grand appearance.
“What do you mean?”
“How did we meet? What’s our deal?” I ask, covering the standard questions any woman here will demand the moment they meet me. “Are we dating? Am I supposed to be your girlfriend with a capital G?”
