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“Well, that’s the thing,” Luke says. “The game’s only on satellite. We’ll be watching it at O’Riordan’s Sports Bar, which is around the corner from your place, on Lexington. So I thought, if you wanted to stop by later… ”
“Gosh, honey,” I say sweetly. “There’s nothing I can imagine wanting to do more than sit around with you and your depressed guy friend watching sports.”
“We’ll be ordering chicken wings,” Luke says in an effort to tempt me.
“That is so hard to resist… ”
“Come on,” Luke says in a more serious tone. “Chaz loves you, you know that. He wants to say congratulations in person. And seeing you will cheer him up. You know how much he likes teasing you about your weird outfits. Besides, if you don’t show up, I won’t see you all day.”
Except it isn’t my outfit I’m afraid of Chaz teasing me about.
Not that I’m about to mention this, either.
“Luke,” I say. “The whole point of our not living together is so that we can use this time of our engagement to explore who we are as individuals, so that when we come together as a married couple we’ll have a clearer idea of exactly what we want out of—”
“Lizzie,” Luke says. “I know all that. I was there when you made that little speech, remember? Can’t a guy just want to see his girlfriend?”
I sigh, visions of my fun evening of high-fashion photos and bubbles going down the drain. Literally. “I’ll be there around seven.”
The bar is crowded, but thankfully not smoky, since New York City ba
And too much other stuff as well.
“Come on,” Luke says to me, gri
I’ve slid into the booth beside Luke, and am taking off my coat and unwinding my scarf.
Chaz is nursing a beer, his eyes on the game above my head.
“Luke,” I say, blushing, though I don’t know why. “No.”
“Come on,” Luke says. “You know you want to.”
Chaz’s gaze flicks down from the television screen and onto me. “Show me what?”
Luke lifts my left hand to show Chaz my engagement ring. Chaz lets out a long, low whistle, even though of course he’s already seen it. “Nice,” he says.
Luke’s grin is now ear-to-ear.
“Let me get you a drink,” he says to me. “I’ll just run up to the bar, since the waitress takes forever. White wine?”
I nod. “That’d be great… ” I wonder if I need to remind him to get it with a side of ice. I hate warm white wine, and I can never seem to drink it fast enough. It’s tacky, but lately I’ve started asking for my white wine with a glass of ice on the side. It also lasts longer and has less calories that way.
“Be back in a flash,” Luke says before I have a chance to say anything, as I slide to let him out of the booth to go to the bar, then slip back into the seat he’s just vacated.
Oh well. He’ll remember about the ice.
Chaz has lifted his gaze back to the game over my head. I clear my throat.
“Thank you for the roses,” I say quickly, to get it over with, and before Luke gets back. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah,” Chaz says shortly, still not looking at me. “I did.”
“Well.” I see that Luke is still frantically trying to get the bartender’s attention, so I lay a hand—my right—over Chaz’s. “Thank you. It meant a lot to me. You have no idea.”
Chaz looks down at my hand. Then he looks back into my eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”
I pull my hand away, stung—though I’m not sure why.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
Chaz chuckles and reaches for his beer. “Nothing. God, what are you so defensive for? I thought you and Luke were so blissfully happy.”
“We are!” I squeak.
“Well, then”—he tilts his beer at me in a toast—“mazel tov.”
“You don’t seem very depressed,” I can’t keep myself from remarking.
Then I immediately want to kill myself.
He seems almost to choke on the mouthful of beer he just swallowed.
“Depressed?” he echoes when he’s recovered enough to speak. “Who said I’m depressed?”
I look around for a conveniently loaded pistol. Sadly, there doesn’t appear to be one available, so I have no choice but to answer the question.
“Luke,” I mutter shamefacedly. “He thinks you’re depressed because he’s getting married and you’re all alone.”
“Luke would think that,” Chaz says with a smirk.
“So… you’re not depressed?” I ask, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe suicide won’t be necessary, just this once.
Chaz looks me dead in the eye and says, “Why, yes, Lizzie. I’m manically depressed because the girl I’ve finally realized I’ve always been in love with, and who I was begi
It’s the weirdest thing, but my heart seems to do a flip-flop in my chest, and for a second, I can’t breathe, nor can I drop my gaze from his.
Then I realize he’s joking.
And I feel my cheeks begin to burn.
He’s joking. Of course he’s joking. God, I’m such a fool.
“What does it matter to you?” I demand, ignoring his sarcasm. I’m furious at myself—for thinking he meant it when he said he loved me, but even more, for having felt bad that I’d hurt him. He can’t be hurt. I mean, obviously he can. But not by me. Never by me. “You should be relieved you escaped my sights. You don’t even believe in marriage. It’s just a slip of paper, right? That’s what you said, anyway.”
“You got that right.” Chaz has leaned back to watch the game. “You want a happy romantic relationship? Don’t ruin it by getting married.”
I blink at him. I can’t believe he’s serious.
“Since when did you start feeling this way?” I ask. “You never felt like this about marriage when you were with Shari. You two were the picture of co
“Yeah,” Chaz says, still not taking his gaze off the television screen… although I notice he’s set his jaw. “Well, she left me, remember? For a woman. Believe me, I won’t be making that mistake again. Marriage is for suckers.”
“You don’t mean that,” I say, a little shocked at his bitter tone.
“Don’t I?” He smirks at the screen. “I think I know what I’m talking about. My dad’s a divorce lawyer, remember?”
“And yet he’s been married to your mom,” I say, “for like, what, thirty years?”
I can’t believe I’m still upset about the I’ve always been in love with you remark, which, considering all the making out we were doing in the back of that cab on New Year’s, wasn’t really in the best of taste. I’m even more upset about the way my heart had reacted to the information. What had that been about?
And how, even for one second, could I ever actually have believed him?
I know I’m a naïve Midwestern girl. But I really try not to act like one. Most of the time.
“I try to keep that on the down low,” Chaz says. “The happily married parents thing doesn’t really go with my whole persona. You know, newly single philosophy Ph.D. candidate, living alone in an East Village walk-up, hard drinking, hard living, kind of dangerous—”
Now it’s my turn to smirk.
“What?” Chaz drags his gaze from the television screen and eyes me. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”
“Not in that hat,” I say.
“Oh, I’m dangerous,” Chaz assures me. “More dangerous than Luke.”