“I am a train wreck,” Zach moaned.
“She didn’t bite. She defended you. I knew there was something going on.”
“There is. I’m in love, as we’ve established.” Zach gazed mournfully at his sister. “What do I do?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Zach popped a sugar cube in his tea. “Kill Charles in his sleep and wear his corpse as a cape?”
Imogene grabbed her little brother’s shoulders with both hands. “Tell her the truth, you prat. Tell her that you love her.”
“What… now?”
“No, wait until she’s back with Charles, or gotten famous and started sleeping with groupies.” She swatted his arm. “Yes, now.”
Zach pictured it: Darlene recoiling in horror. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
“Then you see out the rest of your ridiculous contract, pocket the trust, and find a new singer to work with.”
It was Zach’s turn to recoil. “I don’t want to find a new singer to work with.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you stuck your tongue down her throat.” Imogene gestured about airily. “Love is a many-splendored thing, but it’s also a total bastard. It’ll chop your heart out and eat it for breakfast, and you do not want to feel that way every time you play a wedding with the woman you one day want to see walking down the aisle toward you. If it’s not going to happen, better to know now and maintain a shred of your ever-diminishing dignity.”
Christ on a cracker: Imogene was right. He needed to tell Darlene the truth about his feelings. And if she didn’t return them, he’d have to cut ties, losing his bandmate, his girlfriend (albeit fake), and his friend (maybe his best friend?). Why was she being so distant? She still wasn’t returning any of his texts. Maybe he’d embarrassed himself with Rachel Maddow. He did end up getting pretty drunk with her, but only because it was pissing Charles off so much.
Zach slumped in his seat, barely able to get the words out. “What if she thinks I’m not smart enough?”
“She’d be right.” Imogene realized he wasn’t joking. “Oh, Zook, don’t be silly. You’re incredibly bright.”
“Not as bright as Darlene.”
“I’m not as bright as Mina. And she still loves me. Difference can be a turn-on.” Imogene sipped her tea. “My future wife drinks coffee.” She lowered her voice. “And I’m kind of into it.”
Zach gazed out at the street, at all the people walking dogs and pushing strollers, leading normal, happy lives. He’d been one of them, not that long ago. Oblivious and carefree. But now everything felt complicated and high-stakes and horrendously adult. “I’ve never been on this side of it. Never had my heart broken.”
Imogene flicked his earlobe. “Character building. But here’s hoping she feels the same way.”
Zach gathered up his pile of books and got to his feet. “Only one way to find out—”
“Hang on.” Imogene grabbed his sleeve. “We’ve still got to workshop your best man speech.”
Love may have changed Zach’s heart, but it hadn’t changed his personality. He’d completely forgotten he was there to fulfill a responsibility.
“Right,” he said, sitting back down. “I’ve got loads of ideas for jokes, and they’re all absolutely filthy.”
65
Darlene didn’t mean to end up in Charles’s Brooklyn neighborhood. But when choosing somewhere to get a manicure for Imogene and Mina’s wedding, she did go slightly out of her way to visit the place in Cobble Hill where she was a regular when she and Charles were dating. A rainstorm passed while her cuticles were being cut. When she stepped outside, a rainbow arched, and the damp air felt hopeful. She wiped off a bench and returned a call to her father. They dove into a meaty conversation about two good articles they’d both read recently (a profile on Elon Musk; the history of the Black press). But when he asked how music was going, instead of listing off some recent wins as per usual, she found herself a bit tongue-tied. Her father asked if something had happened with Zach.
“No, no,” she replied automatically. Then she paused. She did want to get closer to her dad. And that meant being honest. Opening up. “Actually, yes. We… crossed a line.”
Silence. Darlene winced, waiting for his reply.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying…”
“I guess I am.”
More silence. “Well, I support you no matter what, but I would prefer it if you dated someone… more like me.”
Darlene sat bolt upright. She knew he didn’t mean an academic. “Oh. Well, we’re not actually dating.” Which sounded like they were just hooking up. “We’re not anything. Don’t worry, Dad. I gotta go. Talk to you soon.” She hung up, certain she’d played that all wrong, feeling disappointed, annoyed, and guilty over her father’s response.
To calm herself down, Darlene treated herself to a large decaf iced coffee, and the arts section of the paper. Then she popped into Books Are Magic, the independent bookstore on Smith Street. Browsing the airy, prettily arranged store relaxed her further. Charles had recommended some new titles in his Q and A. She’d just found one, Capitalism vs. Marxism, and was skimming the back cover, when her phone vibrated.
Zach.
So strange the way her feelings had roller-coastered over this boy. A year ago she’d be wary, ready for him to offer an excuse or let her down. Three months ago, his name would elicit the same panicked thrill as a bungee jump. Right now, it was a mix of both. She didn’t know if she could trust his affections, or hers, or if their fake relationship was in any way real. If they were truly compatible, if a relationship would survive their respective families, if she even wanted that. But she couldn’t deny the way her heart picked up when hearing his name and picturing his face. He wasn’t perfect. But he was hers. According to the contract, she reminded herself briskly.
“Hi, Zach.”
“Hey! Hi.” He sounded flustered. “Wasn’t sure if you were going to pick up.”
She pictured him running a hand through his hair, dressed in a soft white button-down in need of an iron. It’d been days since she’d heard his voice. The accent was still cute. “What’s up?”
“Look, I’m sorry about the dinner with Charles.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. I thought Charles was being a little unkind.”
“Yeah, he’s a poncey prick,” Zach muttered. “But I’m sorry if I did anything to make you not reply to any of my texts…?”
“Your texts weren’t about work. They were Monty Python GIFs.” Which truthfully had made her laugh. “Just trying to keep it professional.”
“Right. Professional.”
She couldn’t tell if he thought this was funny or infuriating.
“Can I take you out for dinner?”
“Well, I’ll see you Friday,” she replied, a bit surprised by the request. “You’re still driving us to the Hamptons for your sister’s rehearsal dinner, right?”