Birthday Suit Page 7
She hummed then her eyes lit up. “Your name.”
Shortly after the next riddle, Tripp cursed from the kitchen. “Shit. I’m out of mushrooms. Be right back.”
He took off for the store, and Lulu’s stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry. I can’t wait for him any longer. If I have to wait, my stomach is going to mutiny.”
“Best to avoid that sort of insurrection.”
“Don’t tell Tripp I’m going to snack.”
“It’ll be our secret.”
She grabbed a bag of popcorn, returned to the couch, and tossed a kernel into the air, catching it on her tongue. “I’m like a seal.”
“Me too.” I held open my mouth, and she tossed me one.
I caught it on the tip of my tongue and yanked it back, lizard-style. “Look at us. A couple of seals.”
“We have so much in common.”
“Because of that?”
She downshifted into serious mode. “No, but for other reasons. Think about it. We’re both driven, we’re both determined to succeed, we both work hard. And we both like Tripp. But I bet you can’t wait for him to move out so you can have this place to yourself.”
I couldn’t wait, and I would also wait a thousand years if I could keep having her here like this. I was a Lulu junkie. I’d take the pain for the hit of pleasure.
“You ready for next week?” I asked, choking on the question, but needing to ask it just the same. The more I stuck my finger in the flame, the less it would hurt when the skin burned.
“Yes. My mom’s giving me away. Which is kind of against the grain, but I’m totally excited about it.”
“It’s always been just you and her. You two are so close. It’s fitting that she does the honors.”
“It feels right, you know? She’s my family, and we’re tight.” She crunched on more popcorn, her expression turning somber, a touch of sadness in those mismatched eyes. “I feel bad that Tripp’s parents hate each other so much that they’ll be on opposite sides of the room. I hate how his dad is constantly trying to buy his love with gifts, but never time. And he needles his ex-wife like he wants to wear Vivian down. We have to make sure they don’t sit at the same table at the rehearsal dinner or the reception.”
“Yeah, that sucks. Vivian’s great, but I know she can’t stand being near his dad. I wish they could be there for Tripp instead of against each other.” I reached for more popcorn.
“That’s something else we have in common. Even though your family is traditional and mine isn’t, we both rely on them so much. I rely on my mom, and you on your parents and your brothers. But Tripp doesn’t really have anyone to rely on.”
“True.” When he was a teenager, his parents had fought and fought until they finally divorced, and the intensity of the vitriol was hard as hell on him.
She leaned closer to me, her eyes big and vulnerable. “That’s why we have to look out for him, Leo. We’re the family he wants. Promise me. Promise me that you and I will look out for him.”
I swallowed hard, past the bile of my own guilt. “He’s like a brother to me. I’ll always look out for Tripp.”
“I love that you see him that way. That’s how I see you guys too, and it makes me happy. You’re best friends, but you’re also brothers.”
“We are.” It was the truth, and a necessary reminder.
When he came home a little later, he finished the mushrooms and polenta, served us an amazing dinner, and cracked open a new bottle of wine. Lulu insisted we dance and toast to the sounds of Bruno Mars.
I called Daphne, and she joined us, and that made the rest of the night more bearable.
I didn’t ask her to come to the wedding with me though.
I couldn’t ask anyone else to endure being my plus-one at what was both a celebration and a funeral.
A week later, Tripp adjusted his bow tie in the hotel suite. “What do you think? Am I a handsome devil or what?”
I met his gaze in the mirror. “I’m not going to answer that.”
“C’mon, don’t I look good?”
“Yeah, jackass. Like a penguin.”
He smacked my back, laughing. “If I look like a penguin, what do you look like?”
I considered my tux, same as his except for the cummerbund. “Best man?”
“You’re like the runner-up penguin.”
I winced inside. He had no idea. “Let’s stick with best man.”
He smiled, a big, genuine one. “All right. Time to go marry the love of my fucking life.” He turned to me, tugging on his cuffs even though they were neat, his smile slipping away. “You know Lulu is the best thing that ever happened to me, right?”
My heart lurched. In moments like this, Tripp was my brother, shedding all his lightness, all his masks. “I know that, man.”
“I love her like crazy.”
“I know you do.”
“She’s the only thing in my life that’s made sense. Well, besides cooking. But you know what I mean?”
He was talking about his family. “I know what you mean.”
He stepped closer, emotion straining his voice. “I want to do right by her. My whole life.”
The guilt lassoed my waist, yanking tighter. But I’d done nothing wrong by loving her. I’d never acted on it. I shouldn’t feel so much damn guilt. Just be his friend, like you’ve always been, I told myself. “You will, Tripp. You will.”
“You really think I’m good enough for her?”
“She said yes to you. She loves you. Go make her happy.”
He exhaled deeply. “She makes me so happy.”
We left the suite and headed to the small ballroom where a justice of the peace waited.
I entered with him, the knot twisting and turning in me like a tornado.
Best man, best man.
I needed to behave like the best man.
And the best man should not be madly in love with the bride.
When Pachelbel’s Canon in D played, the attendees rose, all eyes on the woman in white as she walked down the aisle to marry my best friend.
I knew it would hurt.
I wasn’t prepared, though, for how sharply it would sting when I finally raised my gaze. It was like my insides were being excavated as I watched Lulu, radiant in a strapless dress that showed off delicate shoulders I wanted to kiss in another lifetime. She walked down the aisle beaming, her mother’s arm in hers, the way she had wanted.
Her eyes stayed on the groom. Never wavering.
He never wavered either.
Thank God all eyes were on them. No one was looking at the best man. In case anyone did, I schooled my expression so the emotions would read like pride and joy, rather than one last fleeting wish that she was walking to me.
When she joined him, he smiled and whispered, “You look so pretty.”
He was wrong though. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
And never more so than when she pledged to love him till death do us part.
I took my own vow that day. No matter what, I had to get over her. There were no runners-up in love.
12
Lulu
Present Day
* * *
The next evening I’m practically bouncing off the walls, prepping for the scavenger hunt. The level of fired up I feel might be off the charts. I text Leo.
* * *
Lulu: I’m stretching.
* * *
Leo: I’m listening to an audiobook on the wonders of Brazil. But I’ll bite. Why are you stretching?
* * *
Lulu: It’s prep work for the hunt. Did you know I’m completely determined to take home the prize?
* * *
Leo: I had a feeling you were. And so you anticipate needing to stay flexible while engaged in a team-building Easter-egg-of-sorts hunt?
* * *
Lulu: You never know what hoops we might need to jump through! My friend Mariana told me her law firm tried team building once, and the big boss threw all sorts of unexpected stuff their way.
* * *
Leo: Such as?
* * *
Lulu: He made them do things together. Like have meals. And discuss their feelings. Gag.
* * *
Leo: Sounds horrendous.
* * *
Lulu: They’re lawyers, so you can imagine how well that went.
* * *
Leo: As well as finding a parking place in the theater district on a Saturday night?
* * *
Lulu: Who would even attempt such an impossibility?
* * *
Leo: No one, Lulu. Absolutely no one. What other prep work are you doing?
* * *
Lulu: Why? Angling to join me?
* * *
Leo: I don’t think you want to see me in leg warmers doing calisthenics.
* * *
Lulu: Was that even an option? Either the calisthenics or the leg warmers?
* * *
Leo: Shockingly, no.
* * *
Lulu: Fine. We shall work on our brain stretching. I’m seeing my mom later tonight. Want to meet me at An Open Book in fifteen minutes?
* * *
Leo: I’ll bring my brain along.
* * *
Lulu: It’s good that you keep it handy like that. PS What are the wonders of Brazil? Besides chocolate.
* * *
Leo: I’ll tell you when I see you shortly.
13
Lulu
The second he strides down the aisle at An Open Book on Saturday night, he announces, “It’s tucked into the corner of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay.”
I search my brain, but it goes blank. I’m good with riddles, not geography.
“Tell me what this wonder is.”
“The two hundred seventy-five falls of Iguazu. One of the most stunning waterfalls in the entire world.”
He whips out his phone and shows me a stunning image of water pouring over cliffs at sunset, and it takes my breath away. “That is definitely a natural wonder.”
He gives me a satisfied smile. “Your turn.”
I rub my palms. “Riddle time. It’s shorter than the rest, but when you’re happy, you raise it up like it’s the best. What is it?”
Leo hums, his dark-brown eyes deep in thought. As his brow furrows, it’s as if I can see the cogs in his brain whirring. “I want to say flagpole, but that makes no sense.”
I rock back and forth on my wedge sandals. “Definitely not a flagpole.”
“Happy.” He seems to turn the word over in his hands. “Raise it up.” He stares at the shelves beyond my head. “When you’re happy, you raise the roof, you raise your arms, you raise your . . .” Leo’s smile spreads, that warm and buzzy kind of smile that makes the air crackle, as he lifts his hand and in slow motion raises the shortest digit. “Thumb.”
I thrust my arms into the air in victory, then set the book down on the shelves. “You are a riddle master.”
“Hardly. Just analytical.”
I give him a duh look. “Yes, that’s what it takes to solve riddles.”
“And that would make you analytical?”
I tilt my head. “Yes, I’m analytical. Why does that seem like such a surprise?”
“Well, lady in sequins, I wonder.” He gestures to my red sequined tank top that slopes off one shoulder, my skinny jeans, and my silver sandals. “Analytical is not the first adjective I’d use to describe you.”
I park my hands on my hips, considering his monochrome wardrobe—dark jeans and a gray T-shirt that hugs his pecs and shows off arms that are stronger than I remembered. Or maybe I never noticed his arms before. “Then what adjective is the one you’d use, Mr. Black-and-White Wardrobe?”
He mimics me, setting his hands on his hips. “Rainbow-loving.”
“That’s not an—” I let my shoulders fall dramatically. “Damn, that is an adjective.” I poke his shoulder. “But why can’t color lovers be analytical, you pigeon-holer, you?”
“Actually, they can. When you think about it, it makes perfect sense that you’re a riddle lover. It’s analytical, and creating recipes is too.”
“Exactly. I’m so damn analytical, you’re going to call me Miss Analysis from now on. Except confession: I hate spreadsheets.”
“Confession: I love them.”
“Spreadsheet lover,” I tease, enjoying the back-and-forth with Leo. We’ve always exchanged rapid-fire words, and it feels so natural, so right to slide back into that kind of repartee. “To each his or her own. Also, should we look at more riddle books or don leg warmers and do calisthenics?”
“No to the latter. As for the former? You do realize it’s not a riddle contest?”
I glare at him. “If it’s not, it should be.”
“Nor is it a hide-and-seek contest. You were touting your prowess in that to Kingsley.”
“But that would be so fun. Hey, maybe we could join a hide-and-seek league. I bet Noah would be all over that.”
“I’ve no doubt he’d be all over any league.”
“Do you think hide-and-seek leagues truly exist?”
“If I were betting, I’d say yes. There are leagues for hacky sack and Monopoly, so I suspect you’d find one for hide-and-seek.”
I glance around the bookstore, bustling with evening shoppers out hunting celebrity biographies, travel guides, sudoku puzzles, and more, then whisper, “Let’s practice. See if you can find me.”
I dart around the brainteasers and into the neighboring section of cookbooks, Leo’s laughter trailing behind me. In exaggerated fashion, I duck. Seconds later, he taps my shoulder. “Tag, you’re it.”
“We’re playing tag now too?” I set my hand on my chest. “Be still, my beating heart.”
“Lulu, is there a game you don’t love?”
I stand, raising my chin defiantly. “I had a very rich and fulfilled childhood. Don’t mock me for liking to have fun.”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “Consider yourself thoroughly unmocked.”
“Great. And I’m holding you to a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game at some point.”
“I will consider it a date.” He stops short on that last word, as if it’s strangling him. “I mean, I’ll consider it—”
I touch his arm, wanting to remove any weirdness he feels. “I know what you mean.”
He meets my gaze, saying nothing. The air pulses between us. And maybe this evening here in the bookstore, laughing, teasing, playing, does feel the slightest bit like a date.
And maybe I like how it feels.
That realization clobbers me from out of nowhere. But it shouldn’t. I’ve always liked spending time with Leo. I shouldn’t be surprised that I enjoy his company.
I simply need to remind myself that this is Lulu and Leo 101. We’ve taken this class. We know the curriculum cold.
We check out some more brain-busting books, since I’m convinced that’ll help us win the scavenger hunt, and when we’re done, we wander through the aisles. I run my finger along the shelves, savoring the feel of the wood, then the spines of the books. “I don’t think I’ll ever be an e-reader gal. Is that terrible to say?” I grab a book, open it, and sniff the pages. “I love the smell of books.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“Why?”
“You’re a tactile person.”
“Am I?”
“Of course you are. You’re attuned to your senses. Your eyes seek out color, your hands are drawn to ingredients, your taste buds crave chocolate.”
“Speaking of . . .” I dip my hand into my purse then bring a finger to my lips. “Shh. I brought you a sample. Don’t tell a soul.”
He hums. “Gimme. Now.”
I hand him a chocolate square, and he drops it on his tongue. He sighs as he chews, taking his time, savoring the flavors, it seems. “Lulu, this is decadent.”
“You really like it?”
“I love it. It has a hazelnut taste, but then it’s strong too, with the darker chocolate. Is that from Brazil
?”
I nearly squeal. “Yes. That’s amazing that you can tell.”
“I have good taste buds,” he says, in a whisper that’s a little naughtier than I expected. “Would you make me a secret stash?”
“For you, I would.”
His expression shifts like he’s studying my face, and the veracity of my answer. “You would?”
I slug his shoulder. “Of course I would. I’d do nearly anything for you.”
“Nearly, huh?”
“Oh, stop. When people say they’d do anything for someone, it’s never true. Rarely would someone do literally anything.”
“Is this one of those times when you’re talking about something other than what you’re saying?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
“Is this you still feeling like you didn’t do enough for Tripp?”
I hit pause in the self-help aisle to think about his question. In general, I try to be up-front and direct. But with Leo, I feel like I can’t be anything but that. He knows me so well. He’s seen me incandescently happy, devastatingly sad, and everything in between. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and he knows it.
But in this case, he’s wrong. “No. I know I did enough. I have no regrets.” That’s honestly one of the greatest feelings ever—to be free of the past.
The smallest sliver of a smile plays on his lips, then it disappears as if he won’t permit it to stay. “Good. Because you did. We both did. How is it being back in New York?”