“So who are we rooting for?” Robyn asks, looking around the room.
“Neither,” I say. “Sebastian and I are just…” Rivals? Friends? Might have been but will never be?
“He’s seeing someone,” I say, since I honestly don’t know how to explain the complexity of my feelings for the man, or my increasing resentment that he’s pretty flirty for someone who’s hung up on another woman.
On the other hand, am I one to talk? I have feelings for two men, neither of whom are even available.
Except Sir might be.
This, I realize, is what girls’ nights are meant for.
I wait until Keva’s refilled everyone’s drink before bringing the group up to speed on Sir’s single status.
“Well, obviously, you have to meet him,” Keva says.
“You do,” Lily says, surprising me.
“Seriously?” Rachel says to my sister. “That is not what I thought you were going to say.”
Lily shrugs. “I mean, Gracie, if he tells you to go out to his place in Long Island City at 11 p.m. and to bring large garbage bags with you, then yeah, abort mission. But if you’re smart about it and meet him in a bright, public place with plenty of people around, and don’t start the conversation by rattling off your social security number…” She shrugs.
“That’s true,” Robyn chimes in. “It’s really no different than any other dating app in that way.”
“Except she doesn’t know what he looks like,” the ever-skeptical Rachel points out.
“Which is not unlike a blind date,” Keva says.
“I dunno,” Rachel says, picking up one of Keva’s mushroom crostini and nibbling it thoughtfully. “I’m still kind of rooting for the other guy. He sounds hot.”
“But maybe Sir is hot too. She’ll never know unless she meets him,” Keva argues.
“Okay, I’m shutting this down,” I say, making an X motion with my arms. “Neither of them is my guy. Sebastian is unavailable, and even if he weren’t, he’ll lose interest in Bubbles the second he learns we’re not going to move out and let him build his skyscraper. And Sir’s never made the slightest indication that he wants to take our relationship to the next level.”
“Have you ever given him any indication that you might?” Lily asks gently. “I’ve seen how you are around guys, Gracie. You become everybody’s insta best friend, but you don’t realize you give off the vibe that you only want to be friends.”
“That’s not true!” I protest. “Nobody wants a relationship as much as me, you guys know that.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Robyn suggests. “You’ve built it up so much in your head that you’re afraid the reality won’t measure up, so you keep everyone at arm’s length. It’s also probably why you’re so attracted to a guy you’ve never met. It lets you preserve that dream.”
“That’s…”
Of all the women in the room, I know Robyn the least. Which is why it’s all the more jarring that she’s just managed to sum up my entire romantic life in one simple, spot-on assessment.
I’ve been priding myself so long on my high standards…
But what if the reality is much less commendable?
What if I’m simply scared to death of being disappointed?
My dear Lady,
I realize our relationship, if I might call it that, is one that’s free of expectation, so I hope this won’t come across as overstepping, but are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while and wanted to let you know I’m here.
Yours in concern,
Sir
Fifteen
The higher you fly, the harder you fall.
I never quite understood that phrase, but when you live it? You know.
I’ve run the numbers. I’ve done the math. I’ve repeated the process over and over, praying for a different result, and each time, the reality feels colder and more final.
Surely I’m doing something wrong. Missing something.
I call my brother-in-law.
It says everything about Alec’s character that even though things are tense between him and Lily, even though it’s 2 p.m. in the middle of the workday, he agrees to meet me at Starbucks to double-check my accounting.
I try hard not to look at his face while he studies my laptop and instead focus on enjoying my pumpkin spice Frappuccino. I have to budget my expenses pretty carefully, and Starbucks generally doesn’t fit into my day-to-day, or even weekly, expenditures. I reserve fancy beverages like this one for birthday splurges or celebrations. Today is neither, but when Alec offered to pay, I hadn’t been able to resist.
I need something good to come from this day, and if it’s limited to a sweet treat that tastes like fall, I’ll take it.
Alec is the quiet, serious type. He takes his time. Sips his tea. Adjusts his glasses.
Finally, he looks up.
And I know.
I know.
I’ve always known.
I push the drink forward, staring at the streak of condensation left on the wooden table. “Bubbles isn’t going to make it.”
“It could. You’re still technically profitable.” He says it calmly, quietly, and I’m grateful. I don’t want a pep talk any more than I want a lecture. “But the sort of improvement you, Lily, and Caleb were hoping for isn’t there.”
I close my eyes and exhale.
“You should be proud, Gracie,” he says, shutting the laptop. “When you took over after Howie died, I didn’t think the store had a shot in hell of staying open. Your dad was smart and passionate, but he didn’t pivot as soon as he should have to adjust for changing times. You turned it around.”
“I turned it,” I clarify. “Not around. Not enough.”
I set three fingertips against the center of my forehead and close my eyes. “What do I do, Alec?” I ask quietly, looking up into his brown eyes. As a teen, my brother-in-law had been quiet and even a little aloof, though incredibly kind once you got to know him. He grew out of the aloofness, but not the kindness. He’s the type of man you can count on.
He picks up his cup of tea and stares down at it a minute before sighing and reaching for my sugary pumpkin-flavored drink. He takes a sip then studies the drink. “I can’t decide if I like this or not.”
“It grows on you. A little too much,” I say as he slides it back toward me and lifts his own cup once more.
“You do what you want to do, Gracie.”
I make a little face at the vagueness of the answer.
He gives a slight shake of his head. “I’m not talking about what you want for the business. I’m talking what you want for your life.”
The question churns something deep inside me. To deflect, I reach across the table and give his forearm a sisterly poke. “Hey, look at you! Speaking from personal experience, or just been brushing up on your Oprah vibes?”
He smiles, but his eyes are shadowed as he looks down at his drink. “Let’s just say you’re not the only whose life didn’t play out quite like you planned it.”
Instantly, I feel like the worst sister on the planet, and this time my hand on his arm is less playful, more comforting. “I should have asked sooner. How are you?”