This Summer Will Be Different(27)
He gives me a look that’s so plainly guilty, I’m already laughing before he says, “I didn’t finish it.”
“I knew it.” His favorite book is Great Expectations, and he doesn’t like gore.
“Joy gave it to me. She said I had to read it.”
I don’t even blink at the mention of Felix’s ex. I’m a champion. “And?”
He hedges. “It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t my thing.”
“You’re such a liar. You hated it.” I love that I know his taste in books better than almost anyone.
“There were so many dead people,” he says. “And body parts in cupboards, and sock drawers, and hot tubs.” Felix’s vibe is manly—the square stubble-covered jaw, the expanse of his shoulders. Even his fingers are hypermasculine, blunt at the ends—so when he shudders, it’s in such contrast to his appearance that I laugh harder.
“So now you’re soothing your mind with Elizabeth and Darcy.”
He offers me a half grin. My heart squeezes at the sight of the dimple. I knew it was there, stowed away under his beard all this time, but I forgot how much I adore it. I could get lost in that crevice and never find my way out; it would be a good death.
“You got me,” he says.
I do, I think. I’ve got you. A beat of silence passes, and I search his eyes for a sign that last summer meant more to him, that it wasn’t just me who felt the ground shift, but all I see is a playful glimmer.
“Your sister must have perfected her guilt trip,” I say. “What did she say to change your mind about staying?”
“She didn’t say anything. I’m here because I want to be.”
“You’re worried about her?”
He gives me a long look. “Bridget’s never really needed anyone to worry about her.”
“I know, but that’s why this is weird, right?” I gesture to myself and then him and then the deck. “This is not where any of us is supposed to be. She missed her final dress fitting. I canceled the bachelorette party I was supposed to throw tonight.”
It was simple, and Bridget gave me explicit orders for what she wanted. Nosebleed seats at a Jays game followed by dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory with a small group of her girlfriends.
“Our wedding is going to be chic as fuck,” she’d said. “I want to drink beer and wear jean shorts at my bachelorette.” She’s been looking forward to it for months.
“She’s not herself,” I tell Felix.
“No, she’s not.” He takes a sip of his tea. Earl Grey with a spoon of honey and a squeeze of lemon. Both he and Bridget prefer it to coffee in the morning. “I tried talking to her on the way to pick you up at the airport, but she didn’t give me anything. What has she told you so far?”
“Not much. Homesickness. Stress. She had a complete meltdown yesterday and said something about things slipping away, but nothing that makes sense. You know her—she hoards problems until she can solve them.”
Felix nods and stares into his cup, then looks at me from beneath his lashes. “Do you think he did something?”
“Miles?” I take a deep breath, turning this question over yet again. If there’s one thing I know about Miles Lam, it’s that he’s hopelessly in love with Bridget Clark. And I like Miles. He’s been an unwaveringly good partner. He worships Bridget, supports her career, cleans up. He arranged a surprise trip to Australia for their anniversary. He asked her to book the time off work but wouldn’t tell her where they were going, saving Bridget from going into vacation planning overdrive, as is her way. He makes heaps of money, but he never brags about it. And he’s put up with endless shit from me.
Once, after two glasses of wine, I told him he’d stolen my friend and that I was jealous he spent more time with her than I did. It was supposed to be a joke, but it came out sour. Miles said that was the only logical response to having to share the best woman on the planet, and then he poured me more wine.
“I think this has to be about him,” I say to Felix. “But I don’t think Miles would cheat.”
Felix runs a hand over his face. “Me neither.”
Bridget and Miles’s relationship progressed at warp speed. It happened exactly like I expected it would—Bridget fell fast and she fell hard. She came home after their third date and announced that he was the one. Miles was similarly smitten. Theirs was a straight path to marriage, a mortgage, and babies.
My aunt had her share of “lovers,” but she never settled down. She didn’t want to. Stacy believed in finding your own path to happiness, and hers didn’t include a partner. But she was happy when Bridget found Miles—and thrilled that the fourth member of our family knew his way around the kitchen.
“If you don’t marry him, I will,” Stacy told Bridget after he’d made us a rack of lamb with herbed polenta. I’m pretty sure she was serious.
“I don’t know what else it could be,” I tell Felix. “Bridget has been obsessed with the wedding since they got engaged, and now she doesn’t want to talk about it. She wants to explore the island and do all this touristy stuff, pretend like it’s our first trip here together.”
There’s an asymmetry to Felix’s face that I find captivating. The lopsided smile and solo dimple. That speck of brown. Right now, a single eyebrow arches. “Oh yeah?”