The Writer (3 page)

Over our third cup of sake, he looked at me. No winks, no sparks, no mischievousness was hidden there. His black pupils were huge, ringed with eyes such a dark blue from the low yellow lighting of the paper lanterns above us. They were glazed over, as if on the brink of tears. In 10 years, he had only shed them once, at his brother's funeral.

If Alicia had broken his heart, I swear, I would –

"So you know Alicia has been thinking about applying to medical school," he started, grasping his cup firmly as he met my gaze.

Uh oh.

"She applied to the University in San Francisco," his eyes darted to the lanterns above us, and he neon sign in the window, and into his nearly empty cup, "about two months ago." He refilled his cup. "We didn't think that she would get in, with it being so long since she graduated. And her grades, uh, you know, weren't perfect." Gulping the last drop, he spit out the words rapidly: "And we found out yesterday that she got in."

I chugged my remaining sake, and emptied out the rest of the hot carafe into my cup. Liquid courage, don't fail me now. "So, does this mean, you're resigning as my staff writer?"

His lopsided smile adorned his face. "Yes, and no..."I pushed the last bit of tempura towards him, suddenly not hungry. He shook his head.

"I've asked her to marry me, Ro."

I dropped my cup. It hit the glass top and rolled, thankfully, intact.

He finally captured my eyes, and searched them. "I want to ask if you'll be my best man. Woman. Whatever."

Oh.

"Um... now wait, haven't you guys been together for like... how long as it been..."

"Three years. A long, wonderful three years. She's been a great partner, and I want to support her in her dreams to be a doctor. So we're ready to take this next step, both in school and in life." It came out in a gush, as if he'd researched this for days. "So, will you do this? Please?" Setting down his cup gingerly, as if it was an anchor of courage, he grasped my hand and squeezed it lightly. "We'll be rushing the wedding; we only have a few family members here, and we'd like to get it done before the move."

It was so, so much to take in. "Move?"

"Yes, she starts residency in March, so we are looking to move at the end of January, to give us time to find an apartment near the college and get our bearing. Alicia is really looking forward to a beautiful winter wedding, about mid-January. Outside."

I felt tears well up. Married, gone. And me, without a clue. Sure, we had lost touch before. After Matt had died, Elijah had moved back to the coast to be with his mom. After that, he took an editing gig up north for a few years. We had gone months without talking, so busy with building our lives, completing our dreams, and picking up pieces of disappointments. Always, always, we had picked up where we left off in our friendship, as if no time had passed.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and my cheeks flamed."Oh my god, Rochelle. Are you crying? Are you that happy for me? Does this mean yes?"

Tears of joy. Yup, that's what they were. Okay, let's run with this.

I nodded. "Yes, I'll do it. But if you don't call me once a week from San Fran, I will be very angry. You wouldn't want to see me angry."

He laughed. "You're such a nerd. But nice Hulk reference, by the way." He slapped a $20 bill on the table for payment, and held my coat for me. "So glad you're in on this, buddy," he said, slapping my back in camaraderie, as he held open the glass door. "I might even make you wear a dress."

"Oh dear God, I hate you."

His laugh was rich and deep, but mine was only an echo.

As we walked to our cars, I felt something cold and wet hit my cheek. I looked up at the lamppost, and could see the big, thick flakes falling steadily. My car windshield was covered in a fine dust of icy white fluff. The temperature had dropped, and I was suddenly freezing as I waved goodbye to Elijah and slipped into the driver's seat, blasting on the heat.

I knew the heat wouldn't warm my heart. It continued to pump blood into my veins, but I knew a little piece of me had died.

It was snowing.

"I think I will wear a dress," I said quietly, as I flipped through the bridal dresses with Alicia. We sat on a white lacy chaise lounge near the window, facing the decorative, albeit small, showroom. Their selection wasn't huge, but it wasn't expensive either, and the latter was important to Alicia. She'd even found a dress that was a consignment, elated to be able to save some money for the move.

She jostled me with her shoulder, and winked. "Coming to the dark side, eh? Elijah said that you never in a million years. It has to be pink, you know, that's my colors."

It was her colors. Magenta, pastel pink, and an odd blend of crimson. A sickening array of girl pinks for everyone! Ugh.

I flipped the last page, and I found it. Sleeveless, with a heart shaped bust and a wide skirt ruffled with layers of tulle. The raven hair model smiled at me from the page. It was even a deep shade of pink that would offset my pale skin and murky gray eyes.

"This one," I said, pointing to it.

Alicia squealed. "Oh, that is so gorgeous! But maybe we should trim the tulle, because that wide waistline isn't very flattered for a woman of your size."

Those last two words she hesitated to say, as if mulling around the appropriate substitute for "fat." Okay, Alicia, we get it, I wanted to spit back at her. I'm not a size 0 like you, and you'll never let me forget it.

I looked up at my reflected in the big bay windows that faced Main street. Dull, flat, dark blond hair that stubbornly refused to style. A few years ago I had it cut to my ears because I was sick of fighting with it. Gray eyes greeted me, a little dark and stormy, but with a twinkle hidden in their depths. Could this dress make me feel beautiful inside? Would it make me feel prettier than I had the last time I had worn one – the night of my high school prom? I couldn't bear it if I looked like a fool – not in front of Elijah.

"A flattering design is important," I said instead, smiling ever so sweetly at her. I stood up and went to the counter. "Wendy? What about this one?" I called.

Wendy Corisant, the boutique's owner and one of 2 employees (the other being her husband) appeared from the white curtain that separated the showroom from the stock in the back. She took the book from me and glanced from the picture to up and down my wide frame.

"I think this will look wonderful, if we trim the tulle to allow for your figure. Pretty sure I have this in the 3x, believe it or not." She handed me back the book. "Be back in a jiff" and disappeared behind the curtain again.

"While she gets that, I'm going to try on my gown, k?" Alicia said, and without waiting for an answer, ducked into the tiny dressing room.

While I was waiting, my phone buzzed – a text from Elijah: hope dress shopping is funner than this bow tie.

I punched back: It's "more fun" dork, and why do I have to wear pink again?"

His reply was swift: It's her day, make her happy. Gotta go, the dick with the needle is back to fix these sleeves

I laughed, putting my phone away, disappointed that my mirth faded quickly. It was always "she."

"Ta-da!" Alicia burst out of the dressing room, and onto the platform surrounded by six long mirrors. "Whaddya think, bestie?"

Ugh, I didn't even bother correcting her. But that dress looked fantastic on her slim, fit frame. It was a wrapped style, with white satin twists and turns that accentuated her long torso. The low neckline was the right length to bring out her flat chest, but not so long that that it minimized them. Long, lacy white arms that hooked around her middle finger, like a medieval princess, completed the floor length gown.

"Wow, it's really beautiful," I said. Honestly, it was. "I mean just, wow, Elijah is going to love you in this. It's so simple and elegant." I was no fashion designer, but this consignment wedding dress looked brand new, as if it was made to fit her body.

Every dress I had ever owned had always just fit like a garbage bag.

Wendy appeared with my dress. I glanced at the time on my phone. "I have to hurry with mine; I have a meeting with the owner of Barb's Barbs, the piercing shop on 9th, for an article."

Rushing into the dressing room, I shed my clothes and stepped into the pink floor length gown. I had to have Alicia zip me, which was no easy feat, because it didn't fit over my breasts, no matter how many deep breaths I took. The zipper only went up about halfway.

"Well, you'll have to start hitting the gym with me, or wear a corset. The first option is the healthy one, of course."

I smiled; because opening my mouth would have been dangerous at this point.

Wendy stood by the platform, ready to make some alterations. "We'll just work on the bustier for now, since you're in a hurry," she told me.

After a few measurements with the zipper, she asked me, "What do you think about getting rid of the zipper altogether, and going with an adjustable lace up for the back? I have some ribbon that's the same shade as the dress, or we could go a shade darker, if you'd like."

I thought about that. It would mean no deadly corset, but I'd still have to endure comments from Alicia. Comfort over silence? Yeah, I'll take the comfort. I nodded to Wendy. "Yeah, I think that will work just fine."

"Okay," she said, and made a few more marks with her chalk pen. "You can go change now," she finally told me.

I got dressed and made arrangements to come back in a few days. Small town life also meant quick turn-around time, which was an asset considering our rushed time frame.

We swirled around the dance floor, our drinks drained and set aside. The DJ was playing Garth Brooks, or something. My world only consisted of one man right now.

"You surprise me every day, Ro," he said, spinning me to Garth singing about Thunder.

"Whatever do you mean?" I smiled.

"You're the only girl that can take me out to a strip club, tuck dollars in a g-string, and finish the night with a trip to a country bar. Talk about a bachelor party!"

"The finest the best wo-man can provide!" I said loudly as I spun back to meet his upheld open hand. The sounds of the storm echoed in my ears as the song ended and we sauntered back to our table, where Tim, Alex, and Aaron were waiting.

"Heineken?" Elijah shouted over the new rap music that had crowded the dance floor. I nodded.

When I got back to the table, Aaron nudged me. "Some best man," he said, his elbow in my ribs. "Jocking the groom's..."

Asshole. Why had I ever dated him? I took in his close-cropped dark hair, 5 o'clock shadow on his chin, and brown eyes that were too big for his face. The dimples at the corner of thick lips that had kissed me - whether I'd liked it or not.
His immaculate shirt collar was starched and buttoned firmly at the top, and his black slacks were freshly ironed with a crease, even though we'd been out for a few hours. Oh yeah, he was a perfectionist, a neat freak, and the world's biggest jerk. "I'm going to see if Elijah needs some help," I said, as I pushed my way to the crowded bar.

Before I could find Elijah, a voice to my right announced: "Why, if it isn't Rochelle Adams. Still playing at the magazine game, Adams?"

"Well, well, Ryan Gonzales," I addressed the assistant editor of The Tribune. He was dressed impeccably as usual, in a suit and tie, even at a bar full with jeans and shirts. My boys were dress in polo shirts and jeans – except for Aaron, as usual - and I was in a purple silk blouse with a little black skirt over leggings and the only heels I enjoyed. But Ryan, he was something else. He paraded a gray silk blend suit that shimmered in the flashing blue and red lights from the dance floor, a white shirt that glowed neon under the bar's black light, and a black tie. His shellacked nails were carefully trimmed as he took a sip from his glass, probably scotch, if I remembered correctly. That was Ryan – always immaculate, always put together, and always, always, a self absorbed jerk.

"Playing magazine? You mean my magazine with more worldwide readers than your small town newspaper, with over 40 issues and running 4 years strong? That magazine, Ryan?"

He smirked, gulping the contents of his glass. "Guess so, smarty pants," he shrugged. "Online numbers don't mean shit," he slurred.

"I have a staff now, and an office; we're taking steps one at a time. Come a long way from working out of my garage," I said. Why was I even giving him the time of day?

"Sure, but Amazon started in their garage... and well, honey, you are no Amazon." He lifted his hand with his index finger up to the bartender.

I bristled to retort when he changed directions on me: "You with someone tonight, Adams?"

"Yeah, Elijah."

"Elijah Baker?"

"Yes, my assistant editor."

"I offered him a job once," Ryan said, his glass refilled with amber liquid.

"Really?" I didn't care.

"Yeah. Turned me down, said he had a better paying option. Guess you pay pretty well."

I didn't. "Yeah, well, he's mine."

He tipped his glass towards me. "I wouldn't count on it for long. Word is he's been looking around. But I must digress, as I see your editor has found you. Have a good night, Ms. Adams."

"So you gonna take this or what?" Elijah whispered in my ear, so loud that I jumped. I turned to see him juggling 6 of the delicious green German beers. I took three from him and we jostled our way through the crowd back to the boys.

A little shaken from my conversation with Ryan, I wondered if he noticed that his rescue had calmed me from an intense conversation with Eli.

We reached the table and Tim took a beer from me. "About time," he said, clinking the long neck against mine.

"Yeah, well, Ryan Gonzales was up there, drinking scotch as usual," I said.

"Ryan?" Tim replied, "That guy is uber creepy."

"I saw him," said Elijah soberly. "He is a creep. Good thing you have a wingman," he nudged my shoulders with his. He leaned in and whispered, "Let's dance, Ro."

I could tell he was drunk from the smell of his breath. How many was it? Two, three? Four more at the strip club? I'd only had a sip of my second one of the night. I usually prefer to have my fun sober, and I knew two was my limit. As it was, I would have to call a cab. While my head was on straight his was not; but the desire that burned in my stomach took over any rational decisions.