Raucous giggles from the far back corner of the diner shifted my focus from my sandwich to two young women, probably somewhere in their early twenties. Their belly laughs continued to ring through the space, growing louder with each eruption. Spread out across their table was half of the appetizer menu in all its deep-fried glory.
I couldn’t hear their conversation, but it didn’t matter. Their uninhibited chatter and comfortable body language indicated these were two friends sharing uncounted calories and a relaxing day out . . . and I was jealous. The friends I made after Marisol went our separate ways were superficial at best, hanger-on-ers who were only there for Adam’s jet-set lifestyle—and once it was gone, they quickly were too. I didn’t see it then, but now, I had to wonder if Adam preferred it that way, nobody ever getting close enough to know what was really going on behind the curtain.
It’d been a long time since I had a moment of real, genuine friendship. Short of that nice conversation with Charlie a few minutes ago, my list of close confidants had dwindled to almost nil, and truth be told, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d really laughed . . . like laugh-laughed ! Like tears in your eyes, snot down your face, side-splitting, ready to pee your pants kind of laughter. A special kind you really only get with good friends. The kind I could count on anytime I hung out with Marisol.
That last fight we had, I’d replayed it over and over in my mind the better part of this last decade. Marisol, my closest friend, was now living in New Jersey, a married mom with two kids. How had that happened? And worse, how did I let myself miss it all?
Chapter Fourteen
I thought back to that last fight Marisol and I had on a girls’ weekend Adam planned for us at a chic hotel in Montauk. At the time, I thought he was trying to win her over since she was not only my best friend, but also happened to be Gabe’s sister. Looking back, though, I wondered if the real reason was to distract her with smoke and mirrors, what I would later come to understand was his MO whenever he believed someone was starting to catch on to his true nature.
Maybe he knew that Marisol, a New Yorker through and through and as brutally honest as they come, would very clearly see through his bullshit. I’m sure he was worried she’d ask too many questions （which, of course, she did）， but I was so dazzled by the light show that I couldn’t see Adam for who he really was. Instead, I ended up pushing Marisol away because she had seen it all along.
That particular weekend, Adam pulled out all the stops, booking us the private deluxe oceanfront cottage, not to mention spa treatments and surf lessons. At first, Marisol seemed to be enjoying herself, but as the weekend went on, things started to feel more and more strained between us. By the time we got to dinner the second night, she was barely speaking to me. Things finally came to a head when the waiter brought over a pricey bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Instead of a bright and grateful smile, Marisol’s face morphed into a scowl, more annoyed than appreciative.
“Okay, what’s your problem? You’ve been acting like a petulant child since breakfast, so speak up. I’ve never known you to hold back before,” I spat.
Marisol sat up straighter, emboldened by the challenge. “Is this really who you are now? C’mon, eight-hundred-dollar bottles of Dom Pérignon? Is this a joke?”
“No, it’s a gift. You’re my closest friend. Adam’s just trying to impress you.”
“No, he’s just trying to impress you, Avery. It’s weird. Why does he feel like he has to work so damn hard?”
I leaned forward in defiance, countering her stubborn gaze. “Admit it, you just don’t like him. Not because he’s Adam. But because he isn’t Gabe. You were the one who said, even though Gabe’s your brother, the breakup wouldn’t affect our friendship, but clearly, it has.”
Marisol rolled her eyes. “You don’t want to be with Gabe? That’s fine. Don’t be with Gabe. But you’re too smart to fall for all thissss,” she said, gesturing wildly—at the table, the room, the champagne. “I never took you for the kind of girl who could be so easily bought.”
I slammed my hand down on the table between us. “No. Adam makes me a priority, something Gabe couldn’t do. Something neither of you have ever been good at.”
She narrowed her eyes and squared her shoulders. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just because you’ve never been in a relationship long enough to understand how to put someone else first . . .”
She snorted. “You’re not putting Adam first, you’re hiding—the same way you allowed yourself to be absorbed by Gabe and what mattered to him. What about what matters to you, Ave? You broke up with my brother, claiming that he didn’t see you, but do you even see you anymore?”
Her words stung like a slap, but even worse was that they were kinda true. I did blame Gabe, at first anyway. For not being supportive enough. For not pushing me hard enough. For not believing in me when I needed him to the most. And maybe it wasn’t fair, but it’s how I felt at the time. And then, of course, Adam galloped into my life like an unexpected white knight. Though we’d met briefly at one of Gabe’s fundraisers, it wasn’t until a year later when we ran into one another again that he started to pursue me. I wasn’t interested at first. Of course, I thought he was handsome and charming, but I wasn’t ready. We became friends but it didn’t take long for him to sweep me off my feet in a way that only Adam could. He’d chosen me as his leading lady, so it stopped feeling so bad that casting agents didn’t. I kept auditioning here and there for a while, but my heart just wasn’t in it anymore. It’d been broken too many times, and there was Adam ready to mend it with both hands.
“Adam has nothing to do with my career,” I insisted.
“Or lack thereof,” Marisol bit back.
It was a below-the-belt strike, and I fought to find something equally hurtful to hurl in her direction. But my racing thoughts kept me from finding the perfect retort. After a moment of silence, all I could muster was, “I love Adam, and I love our life together.”
“You mean his life, don’t you?” she fired, not relenting. “You gave yours up when you moved out of our place and into his penthouse on Park Avenue.”
“Riiiiiight, I forgot the only place worth living is ten feet from Grimaldi’s Pizzeria. Just ’cause I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge doesn’t mean I defected. I was drowning—in failed auditions and in self-doubt. Meeting Adam was like being thrown a life raft. When you’re drowning, you don’t question the help, you just take it, grateful your head’s above water again.”
Marisol softened a bit, her expression growing more worried than angry. “I’m not trying to fight with you, Ave . . . I just . . . I don’t recognize you anymore. What happened to the girl singing and dancing on tables at Mimi’s ready to take on the Great White Way? You gave up on her too easily. Where’s your fight? Where are you in any of this?” she asked as she again gestured to the opulent chandeliers, luxurious decor, and tuxedoed waitstaff.
Why couldn’t Marisol see that I didn’t want to stop fighting—I just didn’t have any fight left. Doors can only be slammed in your face so many times before you start looking for a new one. I sighed. “I’m still me, Marisol.”