Big Mistake Page 12

  “Probably,” he says evenly, pointing his beer bottle at me. “But now that you know, what now?”

  “I have no fucking idea. I can’t do anything. My dad gave me a big lecture about letting down the whole family — mine and hers—and told me not to toy with her. Her parents won’t let me see her. She won’t talk to me. Probably she wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire. I fucked up so bad.”

  “Well, you have to do something,” he says. “Either accept that Beck is gone or do something about it.”

  The first option makes me a little sick to my stomach, and I shake my head again. “No Beck isn’t an option, dude. It’s just not.”

  “Why?”

  I hesitate. I haven’t said it to anyone. I haven’t said it out loud, not even to myself. “I’m in love with her,” I finally say. “I’ve been in love with her for a long time. All those casual girlfriends? Those were camouflage, even to myself.”

  He whistles softly. “Okay, so that’s heavy.”

  “Yeah, heavier still from in here, bro.”

  “So, aside from the part where she’s not speaking to you, what’s the obstacle?”

  “Well, you know. Everything. I was an asshole, and she hates me. My dad warned me off. Her dad warned me off.”

  “It’s not really up to them, is it?” He shrugs. “Seems to me it’s up to Beck.”

  “Then we’re back to I’m an asshole and she hates me.”

  “You could stop by there some time—you know, when her parents aren’t there. Make her listen to you.”

  “Like I could make Beck do anything.” I feel a smile fighting its way out of my misery. “She’s stubborn as hell. And anyway, her dad is practically always home. Painting or whatever.”

  “Work?”

  “I don’t want to unless I can’t think of anything else. She takes her job really seriously, and I don’t want to show up and have a fight with her, or get thrown out, or upset her.”

  “You could figure out somewhere else she’s gonna be and ambush her.”

  “This is starting to sound less like telling her how I feel, and more like stalking.”

  “You say tomato,” he says.

  I laugh, and it’s the first time I’ve laughed in weeks. “Great plan,” I say. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have me pop up at some party or whatever and wreck her good time.”

  “Do you want to talk to her or not?” he asks.

  I get serious. “More than anything.”

  “Hang tight.” He grabs his phone, swipes and types for a minute.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m asking Brianna.”

  “Then it won’t be a surprise.”

  “Do I look like an amateur to you? I’m asking how Beck’s doing first. Casual.”

  His phone dings and he types some more, talking out loud as he does. “Are you … making sure she … gets out of the house?”

  “I should have thought of that.”

  “Yeah, right.” His phone dings again, and he taps some more. “Like Brianna would tell you anything. You think she hasn’t gotten the memo that you’re persona non grata?”

  “Oh, right.” I wonder what Bri thinks, but I guess I already know: She probably thinks I’m a douche. And she’s pretty much right.

  Levi’s phone dings again. He reads the message, then smiles. “They’re having dinner at Manetti’s tomorrow after work.” The phone dings again. “Beck said she had something to celebrate but didn’t say what it was.”

  “If it’s another guy, I’m gonna cut his arms off and beat him to death with them.”

  “No, you’re not,” he says. “Because for one, that’s not why a girl invites her best friend to a fancy dinner, so that’s not what’s going on. And for two, if that is what’s going on, you have to accept that you screwed up and these are the consequences.”

  “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Well, it’s something to think about. Maybe you aren’t meant to be together.”

  I just look at him. “How can you even say that?”

  “I don’t know—I mean, I know relationships are supposed to be work, but are they supposed to be this hard?” Levi leans forward, looking at me earnestly. “You’re fucking miserable.”

  “Yeah, but I did that to myself,” I say. “That’s not the nature of our relationship; it’s just because I screwed up.”

  “Then you have to fix it. If she’s what you want, you have to make it happen. If not, you have to figure out how to get by without her—”

  “Not an option.”

  “—or figure out how to be friends again.”

  “I don’t know if we can,” I say. “And, you know what? I don’t want to. I want more than that, and I should have figured it out sooner, sure, but here we are. I’ve figured it out now. I just wish I hadn’t been so stupid for so long.”

  “You’ve been real invested in not being in love with her, dude. For a long time.”

  “I just—I felt like I had to take care of her,” I say. “She was so sick, and everyone is so careful of her, and I just wanted to look out for her.”

  “I don’t think you need to look out for her anymore.” Levi opens the pizza box and comes out with two slices, handing one to me. “She’s not a sick kid anymore. Maybe she’s tired of being looked after.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like that impulse is going to go away.” I take a bite, chew. Swallow. “What am I supposed to do with that—that need to make sure she always feels safe and loved?”

  There’s a long moment of silence. I look over, and Levi’s sitting there looking at me like I’m the dumbest person alive. Which I probably am, but I don’t know what’s brought the feeling on just now.

  “What?” I ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Dude,” he says. “You want to make her feel safe and loved? And that means you can’t be with her?”

  “Yeah,” I say impatiently. “That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.”

  “What the fuck do you think a boyfriend is for?”

  We both sit there for a minute without saying anything, while I deal with the fact that my whole worldview just shifted and settled into a new configuration. Finally, I drain the last of my beer. Levi opens another and hands it to me.

  “I’m pretty stupid,” I say.

  He picks up the remote and turns the game back on. “Amen.”

  Chapter 19

  Rebecca

  Manetti’s is crowded and noisy, but that’s pretty much par for the course. Candles twinkle on all the tables, and the music is classy and muted, so the clink of silverware and glasses carries. Bri and I are at a small table against one wall, drinking wine and sharing a truly fantastic Caprese salad.

  “This is gonna be so amazing,” she says, swiping a little balsamic vinegar off the plate and licking her finger. “Seriously, no one has ever had a more perfect job. Math-Beck meets loves-kids-Beck, plus health care and a 401K? Boom!” She mimes a mic drop and I laugh.

  “It really is perfect. I’m so happy.” I sip my wine and think about it for a moment. “I feel like things really are going to be okay for me. Like … it’s been a hard couple of months, but I feel like everything is headed in the right direction.”

  “Everything?” Bri arches her eyebrows. “Have you heard from Garrett?”

  I set my glass down and glare at her over the table. “No, I have not, and I’ve decided that’s the right direction, too. I’m moving on from him.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I look away, watch the guys working in the open kitchen for a minute. “It’s kind of like I took all that stuff we shared, our whole lives, and put in a box. Now that box is up on the top shelf of my closet, way at the back. I have to move on with my life, Bri. And I’m not willing to settle.”

  “I’m not saying you should settle, but you just threw him out of your life. Maybe—”

/>   I shake my head. “We can’t still be friends, and he doesn’t want to be anything more.”

  “You don’t know that. Have you asked him?”

  I stare at her, horrified. “What on earth are you suggesting? That I call him up and ask him to be my boyfriend?”

  She shrugs. “No, but … he’s pretty wrecked, according to Levi. Maybe there’s more there than you knew.”

  “Well, he knows where to find me,” I say, stabbing the last bit of mozzarella with my fork. “I don’t see him coming around to confess his undying love.”

  “Uh…”

  I look across the table and she’s got an expression on her face I don’t like. It’s the you’re not going to like this expression, and after almost two decades of being friends, I’m pretty familiar with it.

  “Spit it out,” I say.

  “Well, it’s not like you gave him a chance.”

  “How can you say that?” I set my fork down on the plate between us with a clatter and pick my wine back up.

  She picks up her own wine glass and takes a healthy swallow. “I don’t know, because it’s true?”

  “Exactly whose side are you on here?”

  The waiter appears with two giant white plates, setting them down in front of each of us with a flourish. We sort out who needs Parmesan, who needs pepper, and that more wine would be lovely, thanks. He takes our appetizer plate and departs.

  When he’s gone, Bri says, cautiously, “I’m on your side, of course—”

  “It doesn’t seem like it.” I cut a bit of my chicken scallopine with the edge of my fork and put it in my mouth. I suppose it tastes good, but I’m too annoyed to be sure.

  “Well, you need to try to be objective. I’m just saying … you say you’ve wanted him all along and didn’t even know it. How do you know he didn’t feel the same way?”

  “I told you what he said to me the morning after—”

  “I know what he said. I also know you agreed with him so fast it’s a wonder you didn’t break your legs doing all that backpedaling.”

  “I didn’t want—”

  “To be embarrassed, sure.” She takes a bite of her risotto and rolls her eyes in pleasure. “This is amazing. And yeah, I mean, it sucks to be the one who feels more, which I know is how you felt that morning. But you agreed with him before the words were done echoing around the room, which didn’t give him much chance to think twice about it.”

  “Well, what else was I supposed to do?”

  “You could have said ‘I don’t think it’s a mistake,’ for one thing.”

  I just stare at her again.

  “What? I’m serious. Or when he came up with his stupid double date idea, you could have said it was stupid instead of telling him you were already dating someone else.”

  “I’m pretty sure this doesn’t sound like you’re on my side,” I say.

  She points her fork at me. “This isn’t about sides. This is about what might make you happy.”

  ”I am happy. I just told you that.”

  “Have you started dating yet?”

  “Brianna!” I’m shocked. “It’s been, like, ten minutes.”

  “No, it’s been weeks. Why not give it a try, wash that man right out of your hair and all that?”

  “I’m not ready,” I say. “I’m still having some trouble with it.”

  “But you just said you were happy.”

  It’s all I can do not to straight-up growl at her. “I am happy! About everything else, okay? But, fine—not about Garrett.”

  The host seats someone at the table right next to us, and Bri leans forward, lowering her voice. “I’m just saying that things might have gone differently if you were honest with him. They might not have, but then would you be any worse off than you are now?”

  I scowl. “I don’t know. In the moment, it was really important to save face. It was shitty of him to tell me I was a mistake.”

  She nods, and actually reaches across the table to pat my hand. “You’re right, it was. But as soon as he’d said it and you’d agreed, how could he go back on it?”

  I tilt my head. “Do you think he wanted to?”

  She shrugs again. “I guess we’ll never know.”

  I take another bite of my chicken and chew, trying to think objectively about what Bri’s saying.

  I did hurry to agree that we’d made a mistake. I did keep saying I was fine—to Garrett, and to anyone else that would listen. I did tell him I was already dating someone else.

  And I told him never to contact me again, then—let’s be honest—got kind of mad when he took me at my word.

  Except he didn’t take me at my word.

  “He came over,” I say.

  “When?” Bri looks incredulous. “When were you planning to tell me?”

  “No, I mean he came over that morning—you know, after the double date. My mom told us.” I’m starting to get an inkling of something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I piece my way through it, out loud. “I told him never to talk to me again, but he came over.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And my parents gave him hell,” I say. “My dad basically said don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

  “Well, that’s what you said, too, and he didn’t listen.”

  “Yeah, but … that’s my dad. He’s practically Garrett’s dad. Plus, my dad called Garrett’s dad, and I bet he got an earful there, too.” I put my fork down. “Poor Garrett.”

  Bri lifts her eyebrows at me. “Well, I didn’t expect that.”

  “It’s just … what if you’re right?” There’s a dawning horror inside me. I’ve been so busy thinking about my own feelings, and why I did the things I did, that I didn’t stop to think about what Garrett might be feeling.

  Might being the operative word. Because he might be feeling exactly what he’d told me he felt. But if he was … like Brianna said, would I be any worse off for knowing it? Or would it be better to truly get it out in the open—to ask him how he felt and, scary as it is, to tell him that I didn’t think we made a mistake. I thought we did the exact right thing.

  I shiver a little. This is scary as hell.

  “Bri, do you really think things might have been different if I talked to him about how I was feeling, instead of just shutting him down?”

  “Well,” she says, chewing thoughtfully, “first you had to figure out how you were feeling, so I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. But yeah, when he came over and invited you on that stupid date—you kind of knew, right? I think if you’d said something then, things might be different.”

  “Maybe it’s too late now.”

  “Maybe it isn’t.”

  We stare at each other over the table.

  Finally, she asks, “Are you gonna do something?”

  I take another bite of chicken. “I don’t know.” A moment passes, then another. “Yes. I need some time to think about it, figure out what to say, but maybe this weekend I can go over to his place and—”

  “Beck.”

  “What? I’m trying to make a plan here.” I push my plate away. “If I go after dinner, his parents might be—”

  “I don’t think you need a plan.”

  She cuts her eyes over my right shoulder, and I turn around, a protest dying on my lips as I see him standing at the host station, wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans, seriously underdressed for Manetti’s, and so handsome it makes my heart ache.

  Garrett.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “What is he doing here?”

  “Maybe he finalized his plan faster than you did,” Bri says.

  Garrett sees us, and his face manages to light up and look worried at the same time. I realize I’ve known him so long and well that I can interpret every nuance of his expressions, even when they’re contradictory, and I swallow, thinking about everything we’ve been to each other. How much we’ve lost—or almost lost. How much there still is to lose.

  He makes his way across the room to our table and just stands
there, hands hanging at his sides like he isn’t sure what to do with them.

  I don’t want to be the one to speak first—I’m not even sure what I would say—so I just look at him. I wait.

  Finally, anticlimactically, he says, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I say. Truly, we are brilliant conversationalists.

  “Should I go?” Bri asks. “I mean, I could—”

  “No,” Garrett says. “You can stay right there. Everyone can just stay where they are. I have a couple things to say, and then I’ll leave you to your dinner.”

  My heart is in my throat. “Why are you here?”

  He takes a deep breath and jams his hands in his pockets. “I just have some things I have to tell you.”

  “I’m listening,” I say. My voice is shaky, but I feel strong. I feel like, whatever he says, at least the wondering will be over.

  A woman at the next table clears her throat, and I look around, realizing that all the tables closest to us are watching.

  Great. This isn’t weird at all.

  Garrett seems unaware of the attention. He’s focused on me. His eyes don’t waver from mine.

  “I’ve been going nuts without you. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I don’t do anything but think about you, and how bad I screwed up.”

  I blink at him as my mouth goes dry.

  “You’re not just part of my life, Beck. You’re the center of it. You’re the part that holds the rest of it together. I had no idea how much I needed you until you weren’t there, and now … I’m just lost. I’m lost without you.”

  A woman at a nearby table makes a happy little hum; another giggles a bit.

  Garrett doesn’t seem to notice; he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and continues to stare at me intently. “I don’t know if I’ve just screwed up too much to fix it. I don’t know if you can forgive me for being an idiot.” He laughs, a short, sharp bark. “I don’t even know if you feel the way I do. But I had to tell you. I had to find you and tell you and …” He shrugs. “Now you know.”

  Applause breaks out at the tables around us and I bite my lip, not sure where to begin.

  But then Garrett says, “I just wanted you to know,” and, incredibly, turns to go.