“Are you all right?” Melinda asks as we follow a hostess to our table.
“I think so.”
Marshal
"No, no..." Sami's words trail away as she shakes her head.
It’s been a little over three months since the incident at the bar and seeing the hurt in Sami’s expression and the tears on her cheeks, I know I made the wrong choice that night. I won’t do the same tonight.
The bourbon burns as I take a long sip.
The alcohol doesn't dull her pain, but it helps calm my rage at myself and her no-good asshole ex.
Ex as in she left her engagement ring on the kitchen counter of her condo before coming here.
Even half-wasted, Sami is adorable. I love the way her long, wavy hair becomes curly in the summer's heat. She hates it. She always has, but I can't stop myself from reaching out and tweaking a long chestnut curl, just to watch it bounce.
"Stop it!" she says, pulling away and laying her head against my sofa.
Her eyes half close and the glass of wine in her hand tips one way and then the other.
"Sami, let me take that," I offer as I reach for the wine.
Her grip on the long stem tightens.
"No. I'm going to drink this wine. I'm going to drink all" —her arms fly open wide as I capture the glass once more. This time I seize the glass as the liquid sloshes and just before my light brown leather sofa has a nice red stain— "the wine you have." Her plump lips purse and change to a pout when she realizes the glass is gone. "Fine, take the glass, only because I know you're going to refill it for me. Aren't you, Marshal? You wouldn't let me stay sober, not after..."
Her words trail away as more tears fall from the corners of her green eyes.
"He's not worth it." It's the same thing I've told her fifty times since she got to my apartment. "He's not worth the wine or the headache you're going to have in the morning. He's a slime. A douche. An asshole. And coming from one asshole, I know assholes. I never knew what you saw in him anyway."
Her arms cross over her tits, not in anger but in the way she does to protect herself, shield herself from everyone else.
Placing my glass and her wine on the end table, I tug on one of her hands and shine my cockiest grin. "Besides, wouldn't you rather be here with me than with him?"
I've grabbed her left hand.
I hadn't meant to.
It was just the closest.
We both look down at her empty ring finger. Just a few hours ago she’d been wearing a giant diamond engagement ring.
Sami pulls her hand back and her words slur. "We were supposed to be married."
No longer sad, she springs up from the couch.
In only a moment, she changes from jilted fiancée to the Sami I've known most of my life, the one who wouldn't let some asshole walk all over her, and the one who's been my best friend for the last twenty-three years. Finally pulling herself out of her wine-induced funk, she staggers before catching herself by holding the back of a chair. Standing tall, she says, "In three weeks." She holds up three fingers, narrows her eyes as she concentrates on them and then repeats, "Three.”
“Sami.” I lift my hand, palm up, toward her.
She shakes her head and opens her eyes wide. "Holy shit," she continues, "do you have any idea how much money my parents are spending on this wedding? Have spent? As in money they probably can't get back? Shit. My mom. Oh my God, my mom has been working so hard. She’s going to have a coronary. And my dad, holy shit, Marshal, he may never recover."
I stand ready to catch her if she wobbles again.
With her green eyes glistening, Sami stares up at me, silently demanding an answer.
"I don't know how much they've spent. But I know they won’t be as upset as you think.”
Her green eyes narrow.
“Sami, they hate his guts."
"No, they don't," she answers defensively. "They love him. Everybody" —she elongates the word— "loves Jack. Jack and Sami. Sami and Jack. The perfect couple."
"Jack isn’t perfect. He’s far from it. Don’t forget, he’s the asshole who fucked some other woman in your bed."
“It was her.”
“Her who?”
“Ellen.” Sami’s nose scrunches. “She’s that intern at their practice—the one you met at The Rooftop bar. Jack told me he was assigned to watch over her work. Apparently, watching over means screwing her from above.”
I shake my head. "Listen to me. Your dad would have voted Jackson off the island a long time ago."
A smile comes to my lips just thinking of her dad’s obsession with reality television and zombies.
If there were a reality zombie show, he'd be set for life—or the apocalypse. If the apocalypse happens, after his years of watching Survivor and The Walking Dead, among hundreds of others, I'll definitely want him on my team. I already have him programmed in my phone, for phone-a-friend, just in case.
According to Paul, you should always be prepared.
Who knows? One day I may find myself on the set of some game show that asks obscure questions related to reality television, English grammar, and zombies. If that happens, I’m prepared.
Sami takes a deep breath. "No, he wouldn't. Dad was thrilled that I was marrying Jack. And well, no one knows about that Ellen thing—no one but you and of course Jack and her." She nods her head. "Yep, that's everyone. Hell, they were so into it, I doubt they even know I was there."
I run my hands over her arms, up and down. "You should have grabbed a lamp and conked them both upside the head."
A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "That's why I love you. Violence is always your first thought."
I shrug. "I’d say it’s yours. Usually screwing is my first thought. But...well, that was already happening."
She playfully hits my shoulder. "Thanks for the reminder."
"Ouch. See. Be violent with Jack, not with me."
As I wrap my arms around my best friend, she falls against my chest. The scent of strawberries tickles my nose, and I take a deeper breath. For just a second, Sami seems to relax and melt against me. Our friendship has seen it all. We know each other's deepest, darkest secrets and we're still here—through childhood, our teens, college, and now.
Always.
The one thing we haven't done, not ever, is move beyond friendship. It is our most important agreement, one we made when we were young. We also agreed that friends and family were off-limits. I crossed that line once but learned my lesson. As for the line between me and Sami, we’ve stayed true.
Keeping that line in place was easy when we were running around the neighborhood or swimming in the lake. Back then it was as if we were brother and sister, but sometimes lately the thought crosses my mind. After all, that agreement was between two kids. Sami is definitely no longer a kid and neither am I. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be with Sami, with her, making love with her.
But I can’t do it. I won’t.
No matter how beautiful she has become, or fun, or happy, or sad, we are friends first and always. We can't jeopardize that. However, if we did cross that line, I'm sure I could help her forget that asshole Jack.