Page 37 of The Best Man


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I return to the scene of the crime and take a seat. Grant’s phone is buried and out of sight, and he and Luke are now talking finances and long-term investment vehicles—like none of that shit show happened.

I survey the hall for Brie. While I hardly know her, the table feels incomplete in her absence. I’d almost say I miss her, but that would be absurd. Besides, I couldn’t even begin to explain why I have these feelings.

It’s easier to ignore them.

So I do.

When Brie comes back, we place our brunch order. The five of us spend the hour that follows talking current events, upcoming trips, and exchanging old memories. When we’re done, we split the tab and go our separate ways—Grant and Brie hailing a cab so they can collect their bags from the hotel and head straight to JFK to catch their flight, and Claire and Luke debating whether or not to hit up an art fair in the East Village or jog off their heavy breakfast in Central Park.

“You doing okay?” Claire prods me in the arm with her elbow. “You got kind of quiet after you checked on Brie … I swear you maybe said all of twenty words over the last hour. Not like you.”

“I’m fine.” I do my best to convince her with my words, but my voice must fail me because she rolls her eyes.

“Liar,” she says. “What’s really going on?”

Without saying a word, Luke excuses himself to a newspaper stand half a block away. As Velcro’d as he is to my sister, he always knows when she needs a moment away from him.

“Does it bother you that Grant’s getting married?” She folds her arms, hips cocked. “Is that what this is about? I know you two had this grand plan to be bachelors for life or whatever, but if—”

“—no.”

“Okay … then what was that about earlier? With the phone and the text message and the freaking air quotes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use air quotes in my life. And your tone with him. Yeesh.” Claire exaggerates a shudder.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She scoffs. “Of course it matters. So tell me. You know I won’t let this go until you do. What was that really about?”

I debate whether to give her a satisfying enough response that’ll send her on her way for now … or to just tell her the truth, which she’s bound to pry out of my sealed lips sooner or later.

“I don’t even know how to say this,” I begin.

Claire lifts a shoulder. “Just say it.”

“Brie …” I swallow a lungful of crisp, late morning air, only it tastes like bus fumes and dying leaves, “is the woman from my dream.”

Claire is quiet for a rare beat. “That Brie?”

“Yes. That Brie. I just … this is so fucked up, Claire. This entire thing. I’ve spent all this time searching for someone I wasn’t even sure existed … and when I find her, she’s engaged to my fucking best friend.” My jaw clenches. I leave out the part about Brie confessing she’s going to end her engagement because, it’s a secret she’s entrusted me with. But I don’t hold back the next part, “And not only that, but he’s been screwing around on her with Serena the entire time they’ve been engaged.”

Not to mention the prenup bullshit—another detail I’m not at liberty to share due to attorney-client privilege.

“He doesn’t love her,” I continue. “And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve her.”

Sliding her hand into the crook of my arm, she leads me to a nearby bench and forces me to take a seat.

“Okay, so the way I see it,” Claire says, “this can only be a good thing.”

“How so?”

“Grant met Brie because she was the one who came upon your accident, called 9-1-1, stayed with you, followed you to the hospital. All that stuff. Right?”

I nod.

“So when you were fading in and out of consciousness in your mangled car, she was probably the last face you saw, the last voice you heard before you passed out completely. Also, you said you met her in a bar the other week, right? And that you’d met before but you didn’t remember meeting her?” Claire’s eyes light and her words spew faster, as if she’s on the cusp of her own personal eureka moment. “Oh my God. It all makes sense. That’s why she was in your dream!”

Her theory makes sense.

“The actual dream itself meant nothing,” Claire says with convincing insistence. “And Brie just happened to be in it because she was fresh in your subconscious.” Taking a seat beside me, she covers my hand with hers. “Cain … this is a good thing. We’ve figured it out. We’ve cracked the code. You can move on with your life now. Your real life. You can forget all about that stupid dream because now we know it was nothing more than mental gibberish.”

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