Birthday Suit Page 4

  “That sounds like a dystopian hell.”

  “I hear if you’re very bad in this lifetime, you’re sent to an afterworld without chocolate.”

  I shuddered. “I’ll be a very good boy, then.”

  She nudged her shoulder against mine, nodding at the ingredients. “What do you say we crush it here? I have big dreams.”

  “Big dreams are the best kind.”

  She smiled at me, her mismatched eyes holding my gaze in a way that made my breath catch. I wanted to say something else, something witty or clever. But I figured there would be time. Maybe over lunch. When the class ended, we left together, and I asked if she wanted to grab a bite to eat.

  Once we sat down, Tripp strolled in. He scanned the tables to find me, and a flicker lit his eyes when he spotted Lulu. Like a spark—a spark that wouldn’t fade.

  He parked himself at our table with a dramatic huff. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to boil water?”

  “How hard is it to boil water?” Lulu laughed, Laurel-and-Hardying with him right off the bat.

  Tripp dragged a hand through his blond hair. “It’s virtually impossible. You have to turn on the stove, then pour the water in the pot, and then put the pot back on the burner. It’s too many steps. Who can keep track?”

  “I think you’re supposed to fill the pot first, then put it on the burner, then turn it on.” She counted off on her fingers. “But I understand it might be hard to remember these in order. Did you want me to write it down?”

  “Would you please? It’s too complicated without a cheat sheet. I’ll never make it.”

  She laughed again. “Do you need a private tutor?”

  “I do. Please, please tell me you’re a water-boiling expert?”

  “I can teach a master class in it. I can also make toast without burning the bread.”

  He leaped up from the table, dropped down to one knee, and held out a hand, clasping hers in his. “You’re a goddess.”

  I laughed, only to cover up what I was really feeling. Left behind.

  Some things you just know.

  I knew then that he’d win Lulu.

  Tripp had an easy way about him. An effortless charm. He was sunshine and go-for-it mornings. I was nighttime and careful plans.

  When he returned to the seat, he extended his hand toward Lulu. “Tripp Hudson. You have one green eye and one . . . not so green.”

  Her smile grew galaxies bigger, like someone had seen into her soul. She leaned closer to him, their body language instantly fluent. “Everyone says one is green and one is blue. But really, they’re just different shades of green.”

  “Everyone else is wrong. We’re right. One is a darker green than the other. And you wear contacts too.”

  She shook his hand. “I’m Lulu Diamond. I want to be a great chocolatier, and someday I’ll get Lasik.”

  “How fortuitous. I want to be a great chef, and I’ll pick you up from your eye surgery.”

  As if he’d just remembered I was there, he jerked his gaze to me. “And Leo? Leo Hennessy is going to fucking dominate. He’ll be running your chocolate business and owning my restaurant. This man?” He pointed at me exaggeratedly. “He’s got game when it comes to numbers and business and how shit runs. No one is better.”

  I just shrugged, smiling softly.

  Maybe I should have said something else.

  But it was clear that the brief chocolate-utopia moment from class was no more. And that Tripp had won a race neither one of them knew had started.

  I took the back seat.

  7

  Lulu

  Present Day

  * * *

  Three-legged stools work well.

  Better than four-legged ones. That’s what my friend Cameron told me years ago when I had explained that yes, it was weird on the surface, but Leo, Tripp, and I got along like the Three Musketeers.

  He reminds me again tonight as I bound up the subway steps, phone to my ear, chatting with him as I walk to The Pub after working in the shop all day.

  “It has less constraints that would make the stool wobble.”

  “English, please.”

  “It’s the theory of the three-legged stool. Its power. Its strength. Its stability. Ideal governments strive for a three-legged-stool model because the foundation is solid.”

  “You’re such a brainiac.” Cameron is a foodie by job and a philosopher by heart. “Why is it more solid?”

  “Why do tripods have three legs instead of four?” He’s like a professor practicing the Socratic method.

  “Why? Tell me why?”

  Laughing, he answers, “Because it’s the ideal number for maximum stability, but not too many to make it wobble.”

  “So Leo, Tripp, and I were better as a threesome than we’d have been as a foursome? Is that why we worked well even when Leo wasn’t involved with anyone?”

  “That is indeed why.”

  “What about when he had girlfriends?” I pause, reflecting back on those times. Truth be told, I didn’t see him as much then. “I guess we never hung out as much when he had girlfriends.”

  “Because you hated them all.”

  My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. “Take it back. I did not hate any of them.”

  “Fine. You simply didn’t think any of them were good enough for him.”

  “They weren’t! No one was good enough for him.”

  “I love that you’re the self-appointed arbiter of who is good enough for Leo.”

  “I like Amy,” I admit, picturing the smart brunette I met once. “She was intelligent and sweet, and she seemed like she really cared about him.”

  “And it hardly sounds like it pains you at all to admit that.”

  I lift my chin as I march down the block. “She’s lovely, I’m sure.”

  “Be sure to let him know she’s obtained the Lulu seal of approval.”

  But something gnaws at me as I think of Leo’s woman, and it’s not about approval. It’s not even about her.

  I wonder how Leo and I will be without him.

  From the day I met Leo in the chocolate course, we were instant buddies. We had that repartee that reminded me of all my favorite sitcoms that my mom and I would watch, then analyze, then discuss. Only Mom could make commercial TV educational. Bless her heart.

  Leo made me laugh, and then as we came to know each other, he made me think. He was patient, more introspective than Tripp. He was a quiet rainstorm at night, the kind that turned the air earthen and fresh the next morning.

  Tripp was fire and lightning. He crackled and burned, a burst of bright, dangerous light across the sky.

  The three of us clicked. I’d at last found my people. My mom and I had moved around so much when she went back to school, then for her master’s, that I’d never settled anywhere. I’d been forced to adapt, to make new friends every few years since I was a little kid.

  With Tripp and Leo, I felt like I’d finally discovered friends I could have for a long time.

  That’s what we were for a few months. A trio of buddies.

  Until Tripp grabbed my arm after class one day, dragged a hand through his hair, and said, “I can’t take it anymore. Go out with me. Go out with me tonight.”

  I said yes in a heartbeat.

  On our first date, he took me to play boccie ball. As we played, he ordered a beer. Then another. He’d only had two by the end of the date, and that wasn’t a lot by any stretch.

  But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and looking back, I can see clearly what I couldn’t see then—the first sign of a coming hurricane that I missed in the thunder and lightning of Tripp Hudson. Now, I try to be wiser, to use my peripheral vision more.

  I turn the corner, looking up at the wooden sign written in proper English calligraphy. Even though I’m eager to see Leo, my chest squeezes and my pulse quickens. One of the legs in the three-legged stool is gone. I don’t have a clue how Leo and I will work without that vital support.

  After all, no one ma
kes two-legged stools.

  As I head inside The Pub, I tell myself to focus on our friendship, not on Tripp and not on Amy.

  I can’t think about how handsome Leo looks casually sitting at the bar, chatting with his friend. It would be wrong to think of him like that, especially since he’s involved. But my heart beats faster with relief when I see she’s not here.

  It sighs ever-so-happily that he’s solo.

  Then a dash of guilt chases me.

  I choose to ignore it, sliding into my everything-is-fabulous mode, dropping a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Hey, you handsome thing.”

  “Hello, you pretty creature.”

  Then I squeeze Leo’s arm. “And hello to you, most amazing person.”

  “Oh, please.”

  I stare at him. “Seriously. You’re incredible. This opportunity with Heavenly is huge. Thank you. I can’t thank you enough. Drinks are on me.”

  “Please don’t wear them. I’d hate for you to lose another dress.” He gestures to my striped dress. Green, yellow, and light blue. “By the way, your orange dress is at the cleaners. She thinks she can make it brand-new again.”

  I throw my arms around him. “You are my hero a thousand times over now.”

  He tenses briefly then hugs me back. When I extract myself, I turn to Dean, tapping my chin, thinking of what to order. “What should I get? We need something fabulous to celebrate.”

  He narrows his chocolate-brown eyes. “I bet you want something pink and glittery.”

  I love that Dean gives me a hard time. It’s part of our routine and has been since he and Leo became friends a couple years ago. “But pink and glittery drinks are so delish. Let’s be honest. You can make fun of piña coladas and strawberry daiquiris, but everyone secretly loves them. Leo, don’t you secretly love piña coladas?”

  Leo shakes his head adamantly. “I despise them.”

  “You’re only saying that to stay on Dean’s good side. You love piña coladas.”

  Dean growls at me. “Lulu, if you say those words again, I’m literally going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Piña colada, piña colada, piña colada.”

  He points to the door.

  I pretend to be shocked. “You would throw a nice girl like me out on the street?”

  He pretends to be annoyed. “You think you being a woman is going to stop me from throwing you out on the street?”

  “No, I think me being a huge fan of your hot-ass husband would stop you. Did you see that slap shot the other night?”

  Dean’s eyes light up. “Did I see it? Or did I fucking reward him for it?”

  I smile and offer a palm. “Man after my own heart.”

  Dean smacks back. “It wasn’t his heart I was going for. It was his—”

  “A beer for Lulu, please,” Leo says.

  “But it was just getting good,” Dean says. “Lulu and I have so much to discuss about . . . rewards.”

  Leo rolls his eyes. “Shockingly, you can imagine that’s a conversation I don’t want to have.”

  I bump shoulders with Leo then speak to Dean. “Leo’s no fun. I bet Amy thinks he’s no fun either.”

  Dean coughs, sputtering, “Amy?”

  Leo holds up one hand as a stop sign, nodding to Dean. “Thanks for the beers.”

  Dean plunks a beer down for me, depositing a pink umbrella on the edge of the glass. Leo grabs the drinks, and we head for a table in the corner.

  The second we sit, I nearly spit out the question forming on my tongue.

  I’m crazily curious.

  I don’t know if I can wait any longer.

  I’m dying to know what’s going on with Leo’s fiancée, and my curiosity is a living, breathing thing.

  As he raises a glass and toasts our new partnership, I blurt out the question. “How’s Amy?”

  8

  Leo

  She stares at me with wide and curious eyes, asking a question I should have known was coming. But even when you know something is coming, you’re still not prepared for how it blindsides you.

  I take a drink, thinking about why I feel weird answering her. Maybe because there was a part of me that liked being able to say to Lulu that I was getting married. Maybe some vestigial part liked the shield it provided.

  She must take my silence to mean something else, since she fills it. “I’m not upset that Amy didn’t want to invite me to the wedding. It’s okay. I understand. I mean, I love weddings. I love all weddings. They make me cry. I always cry at weddings, no matter what. But you know that. I cried at mine. Of course I’d totally cry at yours too.”

  A sharp pain lashes me at the memory of her wedding, but as I’ve learned to do, I shove it away, stuff it into a corner, and ignore the fuck out of it. I rub my hand over the back of my neck, half tempted to play with her only because it’d be funny, and Lulu loves jokes.

  But it would also be cruel, so I choose honesty. “We’re not engaged anymore.”

  Her jaw hits the floor, cartoon cash register–style. “What?”

  “She’s not my fiancée anymore.”

  For a second, it looks like Lulu is rearranging her lips from a grin to a ruler, and I don’t know why she’d do that. I must have imagined it.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes.

  I will myself to feel nothing. I do feel nothing. “It’s fine. There’s no need to apologize. It’s all for the best.”

  “Why didn’t it work out? She’s great. You two were perfect together.”

  “We were great together. She’s thoughtful and kind. She remembers birthdays and anniversaries. She liked to restore old furniture with me. She’s pretty, and I definitely loved her.”

  “But that wasn’t enough? It doesn’t sound like there’s any animosity, so I’m guessing there was no cheating or dismemberment?”

  I crack up at her Lulu-ism. “There was no dismemberment, nor disembowelment. Only disengagement.”

  She frowns. “Really?” She seems immeasurably saddened by this, like I’ve somehow committed a sin against love.

  “Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes it can’t bridge the distance and the miles.” I take a drink, reflecting on my year in South America, away from my then-fiancée. “And sometimes absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. In fact, shitty broadband service makes the heart grow weaker.”

  “Seriously? You broke up because of bad internet connections?”

  “I wasn’t in major cities. We couldn’t keep in touch. I remember calling her one night, and the entire conversation was like a bad commercial. Can you hear me? Can you hear me now? I can’t hear you. I still can’t hear you. It wasn’t really conducive to maintaining a relationship.”

  Lulu stares at me like I’m speaking in Morse code. “You split up because it was hard to make a phone call from South America?”

  Apprehension crawls into my muscles. “Yes. And we didn’t see each other often either.”

  She leans closer across the table, her eyes locked on mine. “But you loved her?”

  I grit my teeth, breathe out through my nose. “Yes, Lulu, but it’s not always poetic. It’s not about love conquering all. Hell, you ought to know that better than anyone.”

  She looks away, swallowing hard, and instantly, I feel like a jerk. But I also don’t want to explain all my choices to her. “I tried as hard as I could with Amy, and it wasn’t working—case closed.”

  She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Sorry I pressed you on it.”

  And I feel like a total shit now. “I didn’t mean to get angry.”

  She flaps her hand in front of her, exonerating me. “No, it’s okay. Sometimes I get caught up in all the poetry-of-love nonsense. My God, I was all about that.” She forces out a self-deprecating laugh.

  I soften my voice. I can’t ever stay annoyed with her. “You weren’t all about poetry. You were practical too, Lulu. You tried hard always, especially at the end. Don’t beat yourself up.”

/>   “You were always the practical one.” She exhales as if she’s sorting out her emotions. “I understand what you’re saying. I just liked Amy, and I was happy for you. It seemed like you’d finally found your person.”

  Was Amy my person? I’d like to think, for some people, there’s not one person, as in the one and only. I hope that’s the case.

  “Amy was great. And I don’t mean to sound cold and calculating. I loved Amy. I didn’t propose to her on a whim. I proposed to her because I wanted to be with her. But duty called, and that was what I did. Even if the relationship was collateral damage. I was too busy with work, and I was committed to making the deals I was assigned to make. I couldn’t do both.”

  “She didn’t want to wait?”

  “I don’t think either one of us did. Look, in the end I suppose we could have chosen to be patient and see what happened after a year. But she chose one thing, and I chose another.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  I regret so many other things so much more. So many things I didn’t say or do.

  “No, I wanted to grow the company, and it was an amazing experience in South America. I’m fluent in Spanish now. So there’s that.”

  She raises her glass, toasting again. “To fluency.”

  Soon enough the conversation shifts to safer topics, and we catch up on other things. I tell her I’m still living near Central Park, I’ve become obsessed with South American history thanks to my time there, and I’ve committed to learning the history and geography of a different country every month. I’m also still restoring old furniture I find at garage sales.

  “Much to the chagrin of your neighbors?”

  “Ah, but they are no longer chagrined. I have a little warehouse space that I use for restoring the pieces I find.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “It keeps me busy, and I don’t think about deals when I’m working with my hands.”

  “It’s your necessary break from work.”

  “Exactly.”

  She tells me about her mom, who’s still teaching media and culture classes at the college level. After years of moving around to earn an advanced degree when Lulu was younger, then to chase various teaching jobs, her mother has finally settled right here in New York, and that makes Lulu very happy.