Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hudson

  It’s been twenty-four hours since Scarlett and I had sex in my office, and I can no longer ignore that I’ve come down with a case of something pretty serious.

  Even still, I put on my big boy pants and get my ass to work. I never take time off. I don’t even know how someone would go about doing that. I did have Lucy postpone my 9:00 a.m. meeting though. I’m lying flat on the couch in my office, and she’s at my desk, typing my symptoms into WebMD for me.

  I have her really worried. I once had the flu and food poisoning at the same time and I worked straight through, no complaints. I just barked orders at people through my closed office door and holed myself up in my bathroom whenever it was required. I was probably more productive actually because no one could come in and bother me.

  What I have now is worse. Bad enough that I’m laid up on the couch, not working—which must mean I’m on my death bed.

  Lucy has taken necessary precautions. She’s wearing yellow oversized cleaning gloves she found under the sink in my bathroom, a face mask she dug out of the bottom of her purse, and sunglasses.

  “When was the onset of symptoms? Within the last twenty-four hours?”

  I think on it. “No. It’s been gradual.”

  She hisses like that’s not what she was hoping to hear. “And you said your stomach is hurting?”

  “Yeah, and my head is a little fuzzy. It’s hard for me to concentrate. General malaise, issues with sleeping—”

  “Slow down. General mala-what-now?”

  I say it all again, slower, spelling things out when I need to.

  I never realized how slow Lucy types. Every keyboard click comes with a ten-second delay. She must be falling asleep between each one.

  “Right. Looks like you have GERD,” she says definitively.

  “Great.”

  I’m not even upset about the could-be diagnosis. GERD is an ailment millions of people have, right? It’s curable. And if not, I’ll dedicate my life to finding a cure.

  “Now hang on. Sorry, was reading the wrong thing.” She pushes her sunglasses on top of her head and looks around my computer at me. “Have you gone swimming in fresh water lately? You might have one of those slithery parasite things, the ones that crawl up your—”

  I wince. “No. I haven’t.”

  She shrugs. “Just trying to be thorough.”

  I throw my arm over my eyes and heave a deep, worry-filled sigh. This is worse than I imagined.

  “Let’s go back to the start. There has to be something we’re missing. Maybe I need to have my pancreas removed.”

  There’s a hum on her end, and then I hear the telltale sound of latex squelching as Lucy yanks off her gloves. To her, the worry has subsided, but I’m in the exact opposite camp. WebMD couldn’t diagnose me; this must be extremely serious indeed.

  “You ever consider maybe these symptoms aren’t related to an illness?”

  I furrow my brows and slide my arm up enough on my forehead that I can look over at her. I’m confused by her question.

  Lucy pushes away from my desk and stands up. She pulls her mask down as she continues, “It could be emotional pain.”

  I bark out a laugh and sit up. “I don’t endure emotional pain. I inflict it. Big difference.”

  She comes to stand in front of me, looking down with a cheeky expression.

  “Just…thinking over your symptoms, it really only points to one thing.”

  “What?” I ask, suddenly on the edge of my seat. Did she find the answer and I missed it? Was it GERD after all?

  She points her finger out at me. “You, Mr. Big Shot…are feeling. Maybe for the very first time.”

  I rub my chest. “Not possible. Go back to your post. Let’s keep searching. I did drink water straight from the tap the other day—could that have given me that weird parasite thing?”

  She barks out a laugh. It’s obvious she pities me. I hate this—her thinking she knows better than I do. I’m the one living in this body, having to endure this torture. It’s one thing to acknowledge my enduring crush on Scarlett, but to go beyond that, to contemplate—

  I can’t go there.

  Lucy’s about to leave my office. She’s whistling a peppy little tune, having completely moved on from my troublesome woes. She’s that confident she’s right about what I have.

  “What’s it supposed to feel like?” I call out just before she takes her first step out the door.

  She looks back and smiles, happy for me. “Like the best and worst thing you’ve ever endured. Butterflies one second, shittin’ bricks the next.”

  Great.

  I’m fucked.

  My morning with Lucy has only made matters worse. Acknowledging the elephant in the room has now made it so I no longer know how to act around Scarlett. I feel like I’m a bumbling buffoon.

  I see her in the break room just after lunch.

  “Hey. Hi. Coffee?”

  She already has a mug in her hand. She furrows her brows, smiling. “Yup. Got some right here.”

  “Cool. Yeah. Love the stuff.”

  I turn away and cringe. Love the stuff? It’s like I’ve never conversed in the English language before.

  “Same. Yup.” She laughs and looks at me funny. “Word on the street is you’re sick.”

  I force a cough for some reason. Then I clear my throat. “Yeah, it’s…a developing condition.” I sound like a local newscaster with a breaking story.

  This earns me a frown. “You okay? Do you have a fever?” She’s about to step forward and press the back of her hand to my forehead, but I freak out and step back. She takes the hint. “Right, well, if you need anything, let me know.”

  The next day, I’m walking down the hall from the conference room, and Scarlett is walking toward me in the other direction. I break out in a sweat. I blow out air. I stop walking, just plain freeze, and then she notices me, so I narrow my eyes down on an arbitrary spot on the paper I’m holding, acting as if it’s really important for me to review it right this moment.

  When she gets closer, I look up.

  “Scarlett, hey.”

  She was walking with Bethany, talking about something, probably work-related and important. She nods to let Bethany know she’ll catch her in a bit, then she stops and turns to me expectantly.

  Right. I was meant to have something to say to her other than “Scarlett, hey.”

  There’s a little smile on her lips she’s battling to suppress. She likes this.

  “Are you uhh…you going to the wedding next weekend?” I try to make it sound cool, like I’m indifferent about her answer, a high schooler asking about the party after the Friday night football game. Yeah, whatever, I might stop by. Like if I have nothing better to do.

  “My brother’s wedding?” Scarlett asks, sounding like it’s the dumbest question she’s ever heard.

  I blush for the first time in my entire life. I’ll have to nab the security camera footage from this hallway and light it on fire in a trash can to destroy all the evidence.

  “No. Thought I’d skip it,” she adds with playful sarcasm.

  I scratch the back of my neck, unable to fumble for a funny or witty or—let’s not kid ourselves, at this point I’d even take a semi-articulate—response.

  “You’re a bridesmaid?” is the question I land on.

  “One of about twelve.” Her eyes widen with the statement. “There are a lot of us.”

  “The girls that were with you down in Miami?”

  She half-laughs, half-blanches. “Afraid so.”

  “That’s great. Yeah, I’ll be there too,” I say stiffly.

  WRAP IT UP! my brain screams. This is horrible! You’re acting like a robot!

  “With a date?” she asks.

  I stutter a response. “N-no. Wait.” I step back. “Are you bringing a date?”

  She shrugs and glances down the hall, cooler than cool. “I mean, I’m not opposed to the idea.”

  “Right. Yeah, whatever. Same.” Then I do a jerky step forward, nod, and say, “Anyway, bye.”

  I storm straight for my office. Lucy perks up when I pass in front of her desk.

  “How’s it going?” Lucy asks.

  “Terribly.”

  “It’ll get better!” she promises, just before I slam my door, rattling it on its hinges.

  This has reached emergency status. DEFCON 1. I can’t be around Scarlett, not until I feel like I’m on top of things again. I’ve totally lost myself. Yesterday, I paid for a junior associate’s lunch when he realized he forgot his wallet at his desk. Today, I held the elevator for someone. Willingly! A little while ago, a partner from our corporate litigation department called to ask me a question, and I asked how his day was going. If this keeps up, people are going to start liking me.

  I can’t imagine a worse fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Scarlett

  It’s the wedding day. The blissful sounds of birds chirping and bells ringing have been totally drowned out by “Who stole my sticky boob bra? The one I got from Target. I swear to GOD!” and “Hurry up at the makeup chair! You were supposed to be starting hair fifteen minutes ago!”

  I’m getting my eye shadow done when Jordy comes around with an open bottle of champagne.

  “I thought that was for the mimosas” is the last thing I say before she forces me to down a mouthful of it.

  “It’s for whatever we want, ladies. Drink up!”

  If Jordy had it her way, we would be teetering our way down the aisle, tipsy and giggly and sloppy but fun.

  Conrad has six groomsmen, a respectable number, but it’s nothing compared to Hannah’s roster. Not every one of us will walk down the aisle with a groomsman, but I somehow made the cut. I’m surprised I don’t get paired up with Barrett or Wyatt, but I realize later that Hannah finagled it so that all the single people are grouped together on the off chance she can help sparks fly. It’s sweet of her, but I’ve been paired with Hugh, Conrad’s good friend from undergrad. We’ve met a handful of times over the years and I always thought he was really nice, but he’s not really my type. He’s a nerdy gamer (just like Conrad), which I could totally be into, don’t get me wrong. Someone who enjoys fantasy novels? Sure! I like them well enough, but not on Hugh’s level. And then there’s the anime and board games. Not the generic ones, mind you. He only plays indie board games, created and produced in small batches. When we’re taking pictures, he tugs up his pant leg to reveal his Lord of the Rings socks.

  “Killer,” I tell him.

  “Right? Like who doesn’t want Gandalf on their ankle?”

  “Gollum too,” I say, my eyebrows shooting up. “I mean, the likeness is eerie.”

  He chuckles and adjusts his bowtie. It’s black, though he wishes Conrad had gone with the R2-D2 pattern Hugh found on a Star Wars website. My mom would have had an aneurysm.

  “Later, a few of us have these Chewbacca outfits we rented. We’re going to run out in them during the reception.”

  “Oh god.” I laugh. “Conrad is going to love that.”

  “Could everyone look here please?” the photographer asks, putting the kibosh on our conversation.

  We smile and pose, and afterward, Hugh sort of lingers near me as if hoping to get a conversation going again. Then Gabriella walks over and notices Hugh’s socks and freaks out—“Oh my god! Those are amazing!”—and I promptly slink away to give them the chance to get to know each other better. I don’t see Hugh again until it’s ceremony time.

  Hannah’s family and my parents have spared no expense for this wedding. We’ve basically taken over the Langham. The ceremony is outside on the terrace overlooking the Chicago River, a ballsy move considering how cold it can be in early March, but that’s nothing money can’t fix. Cashmere throws have been draped across the back of every chair, not that they’ll be needed thanks to the space heaters end-capping every row. If anything, guests will be sweating.

  Later, the reception will take place inside the largest of the Langham’s ballrooms. I poked my head in earlier to see how it was coming along. My mother was standing in the center of the room in a cute coordinating sweatsuit with her hair pinned up in rollers, ordering people around, polite but panicky.

  Her attention to detail has no doubt paid off. I can’t wait to see it.

  “Okay, you know what you’re doing here?” Hugh asks me, nodding toward the aisle.

  We’re standing with the rest of the bridal party and groomsmen just inside the hallway off the terrace, awaiting our cue to get this show on the road. Hannah’s at the back, taking a few photos alongside her father. It makes me wistful looking at them. I can’t imagine what it will be like when I walk with my dad down the aisle. Oh, he’s definitely going to cry. I’m going to cry. It’ll be a mess.

  “It’s easy. Just like we rehearsed,” I assure Hugh. “We just follow the people in front of us.”

  The aisle is made from a white silk runner that’s been hand-embroidered with Hannah and Conrad’s signature wedding monogram. A thick white floral arch sits at the end where Conrad stands, handsomely waiting for his bride.

  “Not too fast though,” Hugh confirms.

  “Right. We have to be cool about it. Pace ourselves.”

  “Okay, you do the leading. I’m a great follower.”

  I chuckle. “Noted.”

  There are close to 300 people in attendance—small by my mother’s standards—but Conrad and Hannah were insistent that they didn’t want it to get too out of hand. The terrace is packed to the gills as the pianist begins to play.

  Guests shift in their chairs, turning back to look at us. Thankfully, Hugh and I are toward the end. I get the benefit of watching most of the bridesmaids walk in front of me as I hang back at the edge of the doorway, mostly out of sight. I scan the sea of chairs, searching like I’m on a Where’s Waldo? assignment.

  Hudson’s surprisingly easy to spot in the crowd. He’s tall, which helps. Also, most of the Elwood Hoyt employees have banded together in the back rows. Lucy sits on the aisle seat wearing a cheery yellow dress that I instantly love. Hudson sits to her right, his head slightly bowed.

  Lucy sees me and waves. I smile and give her a little wave back. She turns, murmurs something to Hudson.

  He lifts his head and shifts in his chair to look over his shoulder. His brown eyes meet mine. My stomach flips. The easy joy I felt seeing Lucy is inflamed and turned to ash, replaced with heart-racing, nausea-inducing nerves. Seeing him makes it so every other man feels inconsequential, boring, lackluster. Hugh says something and I smile because it feels like I should smile, but I’m not listening. I’m looking at Hudson.

  It’s a formal wedding and he knows how to dress. I love his black tie, black jacket, the slope of his broad shoulders, the sharp contours of his handsome face. He’s still looking back at me but he hasn’t smiled, hasn’t given me any sign of anything.

  The last two weeks have been a new kind of strange for us. He hasn’t been avoiding me, but our encounters have been stilted, condensed down to small talk, really. He’s seemed almost nervous around me, though it’s hard to believe Hudson Rhodes has the capacity to be nervous around anyone.

  The bridesmaid and groomsman in front of me link arms and start walking down the aisle. Hugh steps up, offering me his bent elbow, and I smile and take my place.

  There’s an uptick in murmurs as I appear in the doorway. It’s not surprising considering how many people I know here.

  “…haven’t seen her since she was a baby…”

  “…looks just like her mother…”

  “…Barrett’s twin…”

  I smile down at Lucy as I pass her by, but I resolve to not look at Hudson, at least not until I’m safely up front, standing in line with the other bridesmaids, holding my smile, calming my nerves. The flower girls and ring bearer trickle down to a chorus of laughter and oohs and ahhs. The cutest little things. And then Hannah steps up with her dad and everyone stands. In the chaos, I look at Hudson, and while everyone’s looking at Hannah, he’s looking at me.

  He looks troubled by something. I keep waiting for a smile or some kind of nod, a secret word or mouthed joke. It doesn’t come. His eyebrows stay furrowed. His mouth keeps to a flat line, leaving me with an ominous feeling of dread, but at the very least, I console myself with the news that he didn’t bring a date. Bethany and her husband are sitting on the other side of Hudson. Unless you count Lucy, Hudson’s here alone.

  I turn to watch Hannah take her final steps toward Conrad. Her father lifts her veil, grips her arms, and kisses her cheek with a final thoughtful parting word. Then the ceremony begins. I didn’t think I’d get choked up and emotional during it. Conrad is so stoic, the most serious one out of the bunch of us Elwoods, but I watch him turn to Hannah and absolutely crumble. His eyes brim with tears as he smiles down at her. I love you, he mouths, and I reach up to swipe a tear from my cheek, overjoyed for Hannah and my brother. Maybe also a little envious, though the feeling is so foreign I don’t recognize it for what it is right away. I’ve never been someone particularly in a rush to be married, or even in a rush to be in a serious relationship. It’s why I didn’t immediately notice the red flags with Jasper. I thought it was perfectly reasonable that I wasn’t interested in moving in with him just yet. The burning desire to be with him all the time, the need to check in, the yearning for that connection—all of that would come later, I thought. Now I realize I have all of those things, all for the grumpy man sitting near the back of the crowd. The man I was warned to stay away from. The one I never saw coming.

  I can’t look back at him, not again. This overpowering well of emotions building up inside of me feels like it might blow at any minute. It’s made worse by the swell of music as Conrad and Hannah kiss for the first time as husband and wife, the celebratory applause as everyone cheers.

  I’m grateful that once we proceed down the aisle after the newlyweds, the guests are invited to a cocktail hour and I have time to compose myself, to refit the airtight lid on my blaring thoughts while I smile and pose for photos, both with the bridal party and with my family.