Meant to be mine, p.14
Meant to Be Mine, page 14
Once Gloria has thoroughly reviewed all of his opinions on the mass transit system, she places her hand on my knee, beckoning me closer.
“I like your fella,” she says. “But those tattoos? Hmmm…”
I didn’t realize there would be a performance review at dinner. Theo tugs his sleeves down to cover his wrists.
“But he’s smart! Polite! Handsome! And he ate two servings of my soup because he knows what’s good for him.”
“It was delicious,” Theo says.
I’m relieved Gloria adores him. Just because someone is fated to be a match doesn’t mean the extended family will approve—look at her infamous cousin Roger and his wife. Doris still gets trash-talked decades later.
“Are you two lovebirds staying over tonight?” Mom asks from the other end of the table, where she, Rae, and Max have been deep in debating the merits of a wedding DJ versus a band.
“Here?” I ask.
“Oh, I…” Theo turns to me out of deference.
The word catches me off guard. “Lovebirds.” I’ve been in love before, and that’s how I know I’m not quite there with Theo yet. I’m close, for sure. The more I get to know him deep down inside, insecurities and all, the more I enjoy what I see. He’s all wild swagger on the outside, tender and sensitive on the inside. I like that we’re a power couple brimming with creativity, me in fashion and him in music. But as charming and alluring and fascinating as he is day to day, I still have doubts about our long-term potential. Can our relationship go deep enough? Do we want the same kind of life? I want to wait to use that word with him until I’m 1,000 percent confident in my feelings. They’re still developing. Just because we’re fated to fall in love doesn’t mean it’ll happen overnight. I trust it will happen eventually.
“I think we’ll head back to Brooklyn after dinner,” I say.
“You know there’s always room for you here,” Mom says.
“Maybe next time,” Theo offers.
Next time. I like that.
There’s a sweet and moist honey cake for dessert, and then we help clean the kitchen. Rae, Max, Theo, and I take the train back to the city. I like having him in tow with my family, and it’s all too easy to imagine us taking this same route between Westchester and Brooklyn for holidays, birthdays, and weekends to come. I’m sleepy from the martini and the wine and the honey cake, and I curl up in the seat, resting against Theo. Rae naps, too, and Max reads. Theo puts on his headphones, and I can faintly hear the hum of his music. I don’t mind it.
But as the train hurtles toward Grand Central, a song starts up with a distinctive opening melody I’d recognize anywhere. Suddenly, I’m wide-awake. It’s my song with Jonah. We listened to it over and over that fall he moved from his Morningside Heights apartment into a new place downtown, the one he wanted me to move into with him. I resisted and said no. I told him I wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t brave enough to tell him I wouldn’t ever be ready.
The sound of the chorus transports me back to the day I helped him move. I remember standing over an open box of toiletries and towels while he came up behind me in the bathroom, studying our reflection in the long mirror that hung over the back of the door. He kissed a trail down the back of my neck and wrapped his hands around my middle. He said, “It’s not too late for you to change your mind and move in.” His voice was heavy with longing.
The memory is sharp enough that it hurts. I have to concentrate on pushing away the lump in my throat, just like I pushed away Jonah. I interlace my fingers with Theo’s, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand. The sensation of skin against skin grounds me in the present moment again.
When we switch from the train to the subway, I ask Theo, “You’ll come home with me, won’t you?” even though I think I know the answer.
“Yeah, of course.”
I like that there’s no question about whether he’ll stay the night.
In the bedroom, he unzips my dress and slides it off my body. I crawl under the covers, rolling toward him so my bare chest is flush against his side.
“Tonight was really nice.” His voice is soft as he strokes my hair.
“I’m glad you liked it. It made me really happy to see you getting along with my family.”
Even as I appreciate how sweet and comfortable this moment is, my mind is still thick with memories, thanks to that song. It’s like Jonah’s ghost lingers in the air. As I nestle my head onto Theo’s chest, the questions that started to nag me at dinner come flooding back. Am I overthinking what love feels like? Am I afraid that fate is pulling me toward a relationship I wouldn’t have chosen with my own free will? Did I make a mistake by leaving behind a man I once loved?
I tilt Theo’s face toward mine, kissing him deeply. He responds softly at first, then enthusiastically. He rolls on top of me, propping himself up on his elbows. I can feel how hard he is against my hip. In the dark, the brush of his lips against my throat and on the inside of my thigh feel like sparks. His touch clears my worries until all I can comprehend is sheer gratitude for the man right in front of me.
nineteen
Boarded the plane, I text Theo at the crack of dawn on Friday. Streaks of peach and gold sunrise begin to warm up the sky on the first morning of Rae and Max’s bachelor/bachelorette weekend.
Oooh, exciting, he shoots back. I know flirting on airplanes is kind of your thing, but… try not to hit on whoever’s sitting next to you this time, all right?
The aisle is to my left, and across it, there’s Rae, napping on Max’s shoulder; to my right, Bennett is filling in today’s New York Times crossword puzzle at impressive speed, biting his lower lip in concentration. While the rest of us—me; Shireen; Rae’s best friend, Olivia; Max’s cousin Zach; and his coworker Trevor—are groggy and bleary-eyed, most of us clutching large coffees to keep ourselves alive, he’s in a starched button-down, as alert as ever. Thanks to his job, he’s used to this kind of sleep deprivation.
You have *nothing* to worry about, I text Theo.
I figured, he says. Have a safe flight!
I’m not thrilled to be up at this hour, but the coffee has me too wired to even attempt sleep. I pull a magazine from my bag.
Bennett nudges me. “Jewish ravioli, eight letters.”
“Kreplach.”
“Spell that?”
“Isn’t that cheating, asking for help?”
He purses his lips. “We have house rules.”
This is a man who finds time to iron his clothing and apply hair gel before a 6:35 a.m. flight.
“Of course you do.”
“No Google, no dictionary, no thesaurus, no texting people for help,” he rattles off. “But asking a friendly neighbor? Not off-limits.”
“Fine.” I give him the spelling.
I watch him fill in a few more words and scroll by a few other clues that stump him, then return to my magazine. The plane rumbles down the runway, and as it takes off, I reach across the aisle to worm my hand into Rae’s. Her eyes flutter open enough for her to survey the action outside the plane window and squeeze my grip, like always.
“Here we go!” she says.
“One step closer to your wedding,” I point out.
She looks fondly over at Max, who’s sleeping with his jaw hanging open. “I can’t believe it. And you’re sure you’re okay that Theo’s not coming?”
“It’s really fine. Anyway, nobody’s bringing partners. Zach’s husband is at home, so is Olivia’s.” Kiara and Bennett are on the DL, but even so, there’s no way she could come this close to the election.
“Yeah, but still. You miss him?”
I roll my eyes. “He slept over last night. I kissed him goodbye literally two hours ago. Honestly, it’s way too soon for him to join us for a trip like this. He and I haven’t even been on vacation together yet.”
“One step at a time,” Rae says. “That’s the right idea.”
Bennett clears his throat loudly. I turn to him. “Yes?”
He shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together, eyes aglow with amusement.
“You seem like you have something to say,” Rae prods.
He sighs. “Rae, coming from you, this is absurd advice.”
She looks around, bewildered. “From me? Why?”
“Didn’t you basically kidnap Max and force him to go camping with you, sharing a one-person tent, like, a week into dating? Three days after you met, you told him you wanted to spend your entire life together. And now you’re advising Edie to take things slowly.”
Bennett doesn’t even know about the prophecy, and he still picked up on how infatuated they were right away.
Rae blushes. “Hey, when you know, you know, okay?”
* * *
After landing in Miami, we meet Alana and Noah’s flight from Chicago at the airport, then head to the Fontainebleau Hotel. We have a block of five rooms along the same hallway on the ninth floor: Rae and Max are shacking up, I’m rooming with Shireen, Bennett and Noah are together, and then there are the less seamless pairings. Olivia, who’s five months pregnant now and looks dead exhausted from the flight alone, is paired up with Alana, who’s eyeing the mini fridge. Confident Zach and shy Trevor split the final room. “Don’t worry, I barely snore,” Zach promises him.
We drop our bags at the hotel and go to Moreno’s Cuba for lunch, the first stop on the itinerary Bennett and I crafted with Rae and Max’s approval. Today will be go-go-go adventures, per Rae’s preference, and tomorrow will be dedicated to lounging by the pool, reading novels as the hotel’s cabana boys bring over a steady stream of piña coladas, per Max’s wishes. (I love my sister, but Max really needs to teach her that vacations are supposed to be relaxing.)
At lunch, we order a round of mimosas and chow down on plantains, ropa vieja, and flan. Alana regales the table with stories from the first time Rae met Max’s family over winter break during their freshman year. It was a comedy of errors: he had never invited a girl home before, so he scrambled up to his bedroom early to swap out his rocket ship–print sheets with a more neutral navy blue. Rae found the offending sheets crumpled up under his bed and made fun of him, anyway. Over breakfast, she cheerily complimented his mom on her “super cute shot glasses,” only to be told they were egg cups. (It was eight in the morning.) Max’s grandpa, slightly senile, hit on her. Dressed in only a towel after her shower, my sister got the layout of the house confused and accidentally walked straight into his parents’ room while they watched TV in bed.
“And yet, you all invited me back, anyway,” Rae points out, sounding pleased.
Afterward, we meet up with our guide for the bike tour we booked. Trevor, Max’s coworker from the lab, is gangly and reserved, so quiet I almost forget he’s here with us. But he lights up at the bikes.
“I ride everywhere in New York. Rain, snow, doesn’t matter.”
“I wouldn’t count on snow here,” the tour guide says, winking at our group.
Max’s high school friend Noah gallantly offers to adjust Alana’s bike seat to the correct height.
“Oh, I got it, I spin, like, twice a week,” she says.
Noah deflates a little at this. “Right, of course you do.” He strains with the effort it takes not to check her out again.
I’ve heard stories from Max about how Noah used to be this chubby, awkward kid, but his confidence apparently blossomed in college, when he joined AEPi and was introduced to passions like protein powder, flirting with pretty girls, and pretending to know all the lyrics to Drake songs. Now twenty-nine, he’s the kind of guy who wears fleece vests to bottomless brunch. He seems smitten with Alana. Whenever she’s within earshot, he puffs up his chest and talks loudly about how many pounds he can bench-press.
We bike through Wynwood, an artsy neighborhood with an industrial edge that reminds me of Williamsburg. The trip concludes at Wynwood Walls, an outdoor graffiti museum featuring dozens of colorful murals. The walls are bright, playful, and vibrant, but I don’t know if most people are here for the art alone—us included, truthfully.
We take endless iterations of group photos, mostly under the watchful direction of Alana, who has somewhat of a talent for Instagram. (Biscotti, her Scottish terrier, has a solid fifteen thousand followers.) Rae poses with her bridesmaids, Max wraps his arms around his groomsmen, the bride and groom kiss in front of a graffiti wall full of hearts, and so on. Before we leave, Noah works up the courage to ask Alana to take a selfie with him.
“Gotta love puppy love,” Rae whispers.
“God, I love watching dudes with crushes,” Shireen says. “They’re so vulnerable.”
Zach sidles up to join us in gawking. “Who wants to make things interesting? I’ll bet you fifty bucks he makes a move on her before this weekend’s over, and she stops talking to him before the wedding.”
Never one to back down from a dare, Rae ups the ante. “A hundred bucks and I’ll hold you to it.”
“Well, let’s hope they make it down the aisle without killing each other,” I say.
We can’t spend too long in Wynwood, because we have reservations for a cruise around Biscayne Bay. This was high on Rae’s list of preferred adventures, since Olivia’s bachelorette weekend two years ago also involved renting a yacht (and a male stripper, but Max had to draw the line somewhere). Bennett initially balked at the prospect of splurging on a yacht, but Rae explained, “No, no, no, just, like, a very small, chill yacht.” So, that’s what we found—big enough to accommodate our group of ten, a crew, a bar, a pile of pool noodles and floats, and nothing more.
We all have bathing suits on under our clothes, but I also have the pièce de resistance stashed in my tote bag: ten birthday party hats, the pointy kind with an elastic strap to fit under your chin, customized with a cartoon drawing of Rae and Max, their wedding date, and their hashtag: #MaxsRaeOfSunshine. Rae squeals as I pull them out of my bag.
“I’m only wearing this because I love you,” Shireen sighs, positioning the hat at a jaunty angle like a beret.
“If anyone can make this hat look cute, it’s you,” Rae says.
Olivia holds two hats, pointy tops facing out, over her newly voluptuous breasts. “Do these make my bump look smaller?” she asks, mock seriously.
The captain of the boat reminds us of some key rules—like alerting the crew if a drunk person falls overboard so nobody gets hurt and nobody gets sued—and then we’re off. The boat cuts through the sapphire-blue waters of Biscayne Bay, and sunlight dances across the rippling ocean waves. Bennett, who looks less like a future presidential candidate and more like a wildly overgrown six-year-old in his party hat, is handing out fruity rum punches from the bar. Noah hooks up his phone to the boat’s speaker system so he can play DJ, expertly lining up one 2000s Top 40 hit after the next. By the time the rum hits our bloodstreams, we’re gleefully scream-singing every lyric. Alana makes her way to the bow of the boat to take photos, and after a moment of watching her, Noah follows. I can’t hear his opening line over the boat’s engine and the dulcet tones of Max and Bennett doing their best Kelly Clarkson impression, but Alana tosses her head back in laughter.
Zach and Olivia are sprawled out on the tanning nets, sunbathing and commiserating about how too many of their friends are moving to the suburbs.
“My husband wants us to move to Long Island or Jersey,” Zach says, making a grim face. “I keep telling him I’m not ready to live in a place without drag brunch, dollar slices, mutant subway rats, and the smell of trash.”
“Right? My baby doesn’t need a nursery and a playroom,” Olivia says, more like she’s trying to convince herself than anyone else.
“City kids are more interesting, anyway.” Zach rotates for a better tan.
I can’t relate at all to this conversation. I keep moving. Despite what I told Rae earlier, I do miss Theo. Downing rum punches and belting out Pussycat Dolls songs in party hats would be even more fun if he were here.
Bloop, I wish you could be here in the sunshine with me, I text him.
I lean against the railing of the boat and take a selfie that reveals more of my bikini than strictly necessary, and send that along for good measure.
He has band practice this afternoon, so I can’t reasonably expect him to respond right away. But still, I feel bummed when my phone doesn’t immediately light up with a reply.
Bennett comes up beside me and leans his elbows back on the railing, taking in the party stretched out across the boat. His white linen shirt hangs open, unbuttoned to reveal a smattering of dark chest hair. The usual tension in his posture is gone. I don’t even see his phone cradled in his hand. Is Bennett… relaxed? What a world. He holds out his rum punch and clinks it to mine.
“We did good.” He nods at Rae and Max canoodling on a pool float tethered to the back of the yacht.
I take in my blissed-out sister, our happy little group of vacationers, and the Florida sunshine.
“I see why you’re so great at your job—you get shit done.”
He pulls off his hat and examines it. “I could say the same about you. These are… Chanel? From the fall collection?”
“The cruise collection, obviously.”
“Chic.”
I hear someone calling my name and I whip around for the source of the noise. Like Bennett, it turns out Shireen is ready to blow off steam, too. She barrels toward us with an armful of pool noodles and presses a purple one into my hand.
“Let’s jump in!”
She pushes one at Bennett and then tosses two more overboard to Rae and Max. I pull off my hat and ditch my phone. The screen is still blank, which momentarily disappoints me. But then, my best friend pulls me into the water, toward my sister and my soon-to-be brother-in-law. The shock of ocean water is refreshing. When I bob above the water, I hear Fergie winding up to the chorus of a Black Eyed Peas song. Rae is sprawled out on the pool float. I lunge for her ankle and pull her in with me, sun-drenched and cackling with laughter. Happy.
