Backslide, p.5
Backslide, page 5
I know my best friend. And something is up.
She takes a deep breath as if to steel herself. “There’s one teeny-tiny catch…”
“This is your room,” I hear a male voice say as I whip around to find Ben walking in… with Noah close behind him.
Of course.
Noah looks from Ben to me and then back to Ben, his mouth falling open.
My stomach drops and begins to churn like an ancient washing machine.
With alarm, I turn to Cara as she points her fingers in opposite directions. “There are two rooms,” she says. “Separate rooms. Like totally separate.”
Ben scurries over to stand by her side, either in her defense or out of fear. The two of them eye us like we’re rabid raccoons. They are more powerful together.
The silence in the room is deep as Noah and I absorb this information—and it extends until Cara can’t take it anymore.
“The thing is, I’m so sorry and I know neither of you want to share a suite, but you’re our best friends and we really want you close by us and this is really the only option unless we give Sabrina and Rita one of these rooms—but then it’s a smaller bed and that doesn’t seem like a good solution for a couple. So, I totally understand if you don’t want to do this and, if either of you want to switch with someone who’s in a separate bungalow on the grounds, you totally can. We really understand. And I am so, so sorry!”
She pauses to catch her breath like she has just run a sprint.
I truly cannot believe my best friend would put me in this situation. Knowing how I feel about him. It’s a total nightmare. As much as it can be a nightmare to be in a beautiful suite in wine country—which, to be fair, isn’t that much of a nightmare. And I am about to say all this out loud when Ben puts his arm around his wife, looks from me to Noah, and says pointedly: “Cara did her best. And she’s been really worried about this.”
And that instantly takes me down a notch. Because, of course, I catch his drift. This is Cara’s week. Ben’s week. And here I am already causing them unnecessary stress.
Against my better judgment, I steal a look at Noah. And though he is tense enough to be running his fingers continuously over his hair, I can see him processing this the same way I am. Begrudgingly, I catch his eye. We always had solid silent communication and that has not changed, even after all these years. I know we’re in agreement before he speaks.
“Please don’t worry, Cara,” he says. “We’re grown-ups. We have one hundred percent got this.” He looks at me. “Right, Nell… Eleanor?”
Everything in me wants to turn around and do the whole journey in reverse. Call John back to the estate and have him whisk me in the opposite direction through the rainbow tunnel—perhaps to a pot of gold—and across the bridge to the airport, where I will take off like a rocket, never to return. But this is Cara’s trip. Ben’s trip. And I will not be the one to ruin it. So, instead, I clear my throat, gather my strength, and will the corners of my mouth to curve into a smile.
It may look terrifying, but it’s the best I’ve got.
“Yes. Don’t worry. We are all good. It’s all good. We got this.”
Even using the word we gives me agita. But I grin my way through it so hard that my face starts to hurt. When the happy couple finally leaves the suite, Cara glancing back three hundred times to check to see if I am truly okay, I am relieved to see them go.
The door clicks shut. I let my face fall. And then it’s just him and me.
Noah. Me. Alone. Together.
There’s a moment of silence as we consider each other, resigned.
Then, he opens his mouth to speak and I put up a hand. Like I am a crossing guard and he does not have the right of way. It’s my right hand and, as my shoulder rotates, I involuntarily wince from pain.
I don’t need to know what he’s going to say to know that I don’t want to hear it. No thanks.
“Don’t,” I bark before he makes a sound and, without a glance back, I cross to my room, the Jolly Green Giant rolling close behind.
5 NOAH
TODAY
These days, I never drink heavily. It’s not worth the three-day hangover.
But tonight I’m tempted to skip the glass and stick my head under a wine barrel’s faucet instead, so I can mainline the stuff more quickly. Not because the wine is good—though it is. And not because I’m psyched for my friends and a much-needed vacation—which I was. But because I am desperate to get out of my fucking head.
Oaky. Full-bodied. Notes of cherry and tobacco. I don’t give a shit. I just want to numb out.
It’s never fun to hang out around someone you have beef with, but this is more than that. It’s… shit I don’t even want to consider. What’s going on inside my brain right now is some kind of twisted mental time travel. It’s like I’m falling down a black hole into that tempestuous period when I was eighteen, with as little perspective as I had in that actual moment.
It’s like my hindsight has evaporated.
To make matters worse, Ben and Cara are loyal, dedicated. So many of the guests at this gathering will be people they befriended back in the day, people I’ve also known for years. It’s all making the past feel more present.
If it was possible to shake myself and remind myself that I’m an adult, even a functional semi-happy one, I’d slap some sense into my stupid ass. But that’s not a thing.
So… alcohol.
When Nell emerges, I’m into my second glass of some local pinot noir, but it does nothing to quell the strumming that riots through me at the sight of her. After the harrowing discovery that we’re going to be roomies, we managed to avoid each other. In the afternoon, I spent more time than made sense scanning “Cara & Ben’s Un-Wedding Itinerary”—printed and placed at my bedside—as I grasped for a foothold in reality. Mostly, it included detailed attire suggestions and QR codes that linked to songs representing each of the six days’ themes. (Day 1: Arrival! Song: “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses.)
Welcome to the jungle, we take it day by day
If you want it, you’re gonna bleed, but it’s the price you pay
Seemed about right.
This evening, I slipped out first—and I swear I heard Nell cry out in pain through the wall when I crept toward our suite’s main door.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I eavesdropping on this woman? I am a goddamn adult. I need to act like one.
Now, Damien tracks Nell’s movement across the patio with his eyes, raises his brows at me. This is his first time catching a glimpse of her since we arrived.
I turn my back to her. Act like I don’t see. Like I don’t know what he’s suggesting with his look. Like I can’t feel her there, behind me, like a live wire.
He smirks. Like please.
He’s not going to let me pretend I don’t give a shit. Of course not. He’s Damien. He loves me, but he also loves to torture me. My asshole brother from another mother.
I am a collector of people. That’s what my older sister, Henrietta, always says. Only she uses less flattering words like hoarder. She groans every time I mention Damien’s name or tell some admittedly shameful story about another one of my aging high school boys—other than Ben, who she loves.
“You need to spring-clean,” Henny groaned during a recent call. “Make space. Set them free in their natural habitat to roam… to custodial court or a seedy bar at eleven a.m.”
But dissing those guys outright, even the shadiest of them, feels disloyal. Like denying a part of myself. So, I try not to judge. I keep in touch.
They—Damien especially—have been good friends to me in their way. They stuck by me in tough times. Not everyone did.
Nell didn’t, though I can see it was more complicated than that now.
So, I take their calls. I hang out when I’m back in New York. I do them favors, here and there.
“She still looks tight,” Damien says now, assessing Nellie from afar.
And I don’t like the way he’s looking at her.
I’ve never liked the way he looks at her, I let myself admit.
I know what he’s seeing without turning my head. Because, whether I wanted to or not, I memorized everything about her the instant she walked into the party—her jeans that fit her ass like a glove, a satiny tank top that dips low, and a white cable-knit cardigan in case she wants to wrap herself in a protective hug. Classic Nell.
“I guess she looks okay,” I allow. I swig from my glass. ’Cause that’s how you’re supposed to drink wine, right? Chug it in giant gulps? All classy?
“You guess?” He is disbelieving.
I shrug. Roll my eyes. “Of course she looks good, D. Doesn’t make her any more pleasant to be around.”
Damien looks past me again. I watch him catch her eye over my shoulder. Nod and wink in greeting. “I beg to differ,” he says, his gaze still on her. “I think it makes her plenty pleasant.”
I shrug again. Suit yourself.
I am a shrugging machine.
“You think you guys will hook up?” he asks, still distracted by Nell. His eyes remain not on me.
“Hard pass,” I say. And mean it.
Now, he’s the one who shrugs. Like more for me. Like he might have a chance with her. Like he might try. I know he wouldn’t dare, which is why I don’t dignify the gesture with a response. And even though I feel like throttling him, I have zero legs to stand on.
I sigh and try to surrender to the surroundings. Ben and Cara have asked us all to gather on the slatted deck outside the estate’s restaurant for this first official event. D and I are hanging toward the edges as daylight begins its retreat. The air smells like fresh ferns, like a forest after a rain. Like something fertile and real.
Like there might be hobbits nearby.
Damien leans back against the wooden railing. Not a care in the world. The dress code was described as casual. And I followed instructions in my favorite denim button-down and army-green slacks. But he’s wearing one of his signature looks—like some kind of Boyz II Men throwback in baggy chinos and a vest. Like maybe he and Travis Kelce share a stylist. I have never understood his taste, but he does him. And women don’t seem to mind. I’ll give him that.
“Dude. This is a trip,” he says, eyeing the crowd. Ben and Cara have not invited family since this is not actually their wedding. I sort of hoped they might as a buffer. I’ve always liked Ben’s parents and sister.
“No way, man,” Ben told me over the phone last week when I asked. “We’re hoping to actually enjoy this trip.”
Instead, they have convened a group of close friends. Some I recognize from other events throughout the years, ones that Nell missed since there was an unspoken rule that only one of us attended (usually based on whether it was more of a Ben or a Cara thing). Ben’s college buddies, his work friends. Some people who I assume belong to Cara in the same capacity. I imagine there’s a parent friend or two—couples they met on the playground or at preschool pickup. But I figure I’ll spend most of this trip chilling with D. We talk occasionally, text off and on, but I don’t get to see him that often since he still lives in New York. So hanging with him sounds just fine.
Or it did. Before he started ogling Nell like a hot fudge sundae with all the toppings—except nuts. Nobody wants nuts.
His eyes bulge suddenly, and I finally can’t help but turn around to follow his gaze. But it’s not Nell he’s looking at now. It’s Lydia. Fucking Lydia. Walking up the steps and onto the deck, her red hair as ablaze as ever, and instantly I know this situation has gone from bad to worse.
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath, whipping back around to face the trees. Maybe if I stand really still, she won’t notice me. I glance around for somewhere to hide—behind a giant redwood or, better yet, back in my room.
Nope. My room is not a safe space either.
Damn. I’m not used to stressing like this. It’s not how I roll.
Damien grins. He lives for this shit. The ultimate drama queen.
If I make it through this trip alive, I will count myself lucky. I rub a hand over my hair, gulp down more wine.
And then Damien is waving and gesturing someone over and I can’t even bring myself to turn and see who it is because it can only be bad news.
“Hey! Whattup guys?” Cara says, landing beside me. And I heave a sigh of relief as I open our circle to include her… and, dammit, Nell too. Relief null and void.
Nell glances up at me, nods curtly. I guess this is her trying for Cara.
I am instantly buzzing from head to toe, as I try to ignore the effect her closeness has on me.
“Not much,” Damien says, waving his hand to reference the surroundings. “Except this place is fucking next level. So dope.”
“It is, right?” Cara agrees. She’s beaming and it’s a little contagious, even to me, mid–stress spiral. She seems so happy, her eyes shining. “I’m so glad this is finally really happening! It feels like we’ve been planning forever—and now we’re really all together!”
Cara throws an arm over Nell’s shoulder and squeezes, and I watch Nell wince, even as she shoots her best friend a pained smile. Her shoulder hurts. And it’s obvious.
Is that why I heard cries from her room earlier?
“We are!” says Nell, toasting the air with her full glass in the other hand. “We are definitely together!”
I can’t tell if she’s doing a poor performance of happy or if I just still know her well enough to see she’s actually peak miserable.
Maybe like recognizes like.
Damien focuses his gaze on her—again. Tips his chin up. I know this look. It’s his Ryan Gosling special. “Hey, Nellie,” he says, his tone smooth and velvety. “It’s been too long.”
“It has!” she says, as they exchange kisses hello on the cheek. “It’s good to see you.”
A wave of irrational jealousy crashes over me. On what planet is she sweet to Damien and a fucking demon to me?
He gets a peck and I get a middle finger.
“You look exactly the same,” he’s saying.
“Well,” she smiles, despite herself. “Not exactly.”
“You’re right,” he says, his eyes raking down her body. “You look even better.”
And then she blushes. She actually fucking blushes. All pretty and demure. And I can’t fucking believe what I’m seeing because Nell never fell for Damien’s game back in the day. She was the first one to call bullshit—even to his face. She complained about him to me all the time. And now she’s aglow under his gaze while she avoids mine?
If anyone is going to look down her low-cut top, it should be me!
Since when did the earth become the sky?
And I am nodding along to what Cara is telling all of us about the history of the estate and the incredible biodynamic wineries in the area, listening vaguely to Nell and Damien respond, comparing notes about the places they’ve heard we should visit. But I am absorbing none of it thanks to the rushing in my ears.
On the outside, I might seem calm. But, in my head, there is an ocean in tumult.
“Is that the spa building?” Nell asks. She tries to raise her arm to point and visibly grimaces, grabbing her shoulder in a way that you’d have to be blind to miss.
“Oh no!” Cara says. “Is it your rotator cuff again?”
Nell chances a real glance up at me for the first time since we’ve been standing here and I raise my eyebrows. Shoulder’s not a thing anymore, huh?
“Yeah. I don’t know. It’s no big deal.”
“You need to let Noah look at it,” Damien says.
And Nell half laughs like he’s kidding. Like he’s made a bad joke and she’s playing along.
“No, really,” he says. “You know he works for like the Dodgers and Clippers and shit, right?”
“Right.” She smirks up at me. “What are you? Like the ball boy?”
Damien opens his mouth to answer her, but I put a hand on his forearm to stop him. “If she wants to believe I’m a nothing, let her,” I murmur. What the hell do I care?
There was a time when I believed that, too.
“Yeah,” I nod to Nell. “I’m a ball boy. With the rest of the children and the dogs.”
“Well,” she says. “The dog part tracks.”
I glare at her hatefully and she glares back at me. So much for civility.
“You guys, I’m so sorry I put you in the same suite!” Cara blurts out, her brow furrowed. “If you want to switch, please tell me. It’s not too late!”
Damien’s eyes go wide. He lets out a sharp guffaw. “Wait. No way! The same suite? You two?”
“Yup,” I say. “Us two.”
“Damn,” he says, pointing. “It’s on.”
“Nothing is on,” Nell says. “Ever.”
“We have very separate rooms,” I mumble at the same time. “Thank God.”
Damien takes another look at Nell, scanning her from head to toe like he’s a fucking MRI machine I’m about to smash. He shrugs. “I’ll switch with Noah.”
“Really?” Cara says, hopeful.
“Sure,” he says. “I’ll take his room, no problem. I’d happily share a suite with Nellie. We can catch up on old times. Watch movies on the couch. Eat popcorn. Bond.”
Nell’s eyes widen. Despite the tension between us, she casts a panicked look my way. Thank the Lord. She is still in there somewhere. And she has no interest in alone time with Damien.
“No, thanks,” I say. “I already unpacked.”
And I see Nell exhale just as I hear a female voice behind me purr, “Then let me help. I’ll switch with Nellie. Noah and I have always gotten along. Swimmingly.”
Go fish.
And there is Lydia in all her ginger glory, sucking her teeth from behind bright-red lips. And if I thought Nell’s top was a little low cut, Lydia’s makes it seem church-worthy, dipping down to reveal an expanse of freckled cleavage that commands center stage.
Nell’s expression goes from relieved to pinched in an instant. A shot of something like anger, but maybe even pain akin to when her shoulder spasmed, crosses her face and disappears before it goes stony.
