Stone Cold, page 15
“I don’t know,” I say. “Stone always seemed annoyed when I was around. I think he only tolerated me because I was his best friend’s girl.”
“You know that old cliché where a boy pulls a girl’s ponytail in the schoolyard, but it’s really because he likes her?”
“Nah. I think I’d know. He was always so cold to me.”
Monica throws her hands up. “I still think it was a cover up. He was trying to overcompensate for how he really felt. Or maybe he was trying to deny how he felt. Either way, nobody’s cold to people for no reason at all. Everyone’s got their reasons.”
While Stone seems to have thawed a bit since college, almost everyone gets a little better with age.
But still, I can’t help but wonder if Monica’s onto something.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Stone
* * *
“Check these out.” Stassi’s brother, Sutton, lifts a shiny golf club from his bag. “Just got new grips on these last week.”
Stassi’s father and Jude look on, impressed, but they just look like ordinary rubber grips to me.
“Custom,” he adds. “Fitted to my exact finger size and everything.”
“Where’d you go for that?” their father asks, his Rolex twinkling in the morning sun. A few minutes ago, I watched him climb out of his chromed-out Escalade and snap at the valet to help him hoist his clubs out of the trunk. He then slipped him a crisp bill of some undetermined amount and went inside only to emerge with a cocktail. Never mind the time of day.
Sutton pulled up behind him in his Porsche Cayenne, copying his father move for move.
Meanwhile, Jude and I parked in the general lot and carried our clubs to the clubhouse ourselves.
I hope for Jude’s sake he never becomes one of them—the kind to walk around like the rules don’t apply to them. Not that it would bother me any, it’s just that the world already has plenty of people like that. They don’t need one more.
Every once in a while, I’ll catch glimpses of a version of Jude I don’t recognize. Like he’s assimilating into the Guinness family lifestyle. It was bound to happen sooner or later—and Jude was worried early on about them liking him, especially since he hailed from a blue collar background.
He was concerned he wouldn’t be deemed good enough for their princess.
It turns out, though, that whatever the princess wants, the princess gets. If the man she wants isn’t highbrow enough, the Guinesses will make him highbrow enough.
I think about what Stassi said the other day, about how once they start a family, Jude won’t have time to hang out anymore. I’ve seen it happen with colleagues over the years and other friends who went straight from college into the married-with-kids life. And I get it, you have to put your family first. It’s just how it goes. It just hurts watching my best friend fade into the man they want him to become … essentially a stranger.
Jude tees off at the first hole, followed by his future father-in-law. Sutton and I wait in the golf cart we’re sharing.
He fusses with the radio, tuning it to some classical station, and then he turns to me. “So, uh, are you cool with the line-up change with the wedding?”
I wrinkle my nose. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t he tell you?” Sutton asks. “He was going to swap you and I … it’s just that Stassi thought since I was actual blood family, that I should be the best man.”
My stomach knots, caving in as if I’ve just been sucker-punched.
First of all, that’s the most ridiculous notion I’ve ever heard.
And second of all, why the hell didn’t Jude tell me himself?
“At least you don’t have to come up with a speech anymore.” Sutton slaps my back. “Takes some of the pressure off. I know Jude said you were stressing about it a bit.”
I was only stressing because I was struggling to find the words to describe Jude and Stassi’s relationship in a way that didn’t reek of superficiality. All I could think about was that night at the club in Tulum, and how she was a virtual siren, calling him away from everything he thought he wanted back home.
“You’re next, Stone.” Jude says from his cart as he places his club back into his bag.
I grab my club and a ball and head to tee off, contemplating how long it’s been since they made the change and when Jude was going to tell me.
I can still remember with vivid clarity the day Jude asked me to be his best man last year. We were leaving nineties trivia night and he stopped me to tell me he had something important to ask me. With tears in his eyes and everything, he told me he’d be honored if I stood next to him at the wedding as his best man. He then went on to elaborate on how it will be the most important day of his life and how he can’t imagine getting through the day without me by his side.
Now Stassi gets to walk in and sweep all of that off the table because she wants her brother to stand there instead?
“Jude, you didn’t tell him about the best man change,” Sutton says behind me.
“Oh, shit,” I hear Jude say.
I tee off, watching long enough to track my ball to a general area, and then I trudge back to my cart.
“When were you going to tell me?” I ask him.
“I was waiting for the right time.” His words are timid and reserved. I’m guessing Stassi stole his fucking balls when she made that change, too.
Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about going to the concert with Jovie last night.
Loyalty clearly means something different to each of us.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jovie
* * *
It’s been almost two days since the concert, and while my weekends are normally quite productive, I’ve done nothing more than sit around thinking about Stone. Pacing my kitchen, nibbling my thumbnail, I stop when I spot his neon green glow-in-the-dark souvenir beer cup from the concert.
Grabbing my phone, I snap a photo and send it his way.
ME: You forgot this Friday night.
To my surprise, he responds right away.
STONE: It’s all yours.
ME: The problem is, I already have about a million glow-in-the-dark souvenir beer cups. I don’t have room for one more. And I’d hate to toss it because it’s a perfectly good glow-in-the-dark cup.
STONE: Fair enough. I can come by and pick it up. How about tomorrow night? Around seven?
I do a mini hop in my kitchen. If he’s willing to drive clear across the city for a plastic cup, then maybe Monica’s theory has a little bit of weight?
ME: That works.
ME: Have you started the book yet?
STONE: I have.
ME: And?
STONE: It’s surprisingly hard to put down.
ME: I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic …
STONE: I’m not. I don’t usually read this kind of stuff, but I’m finding myself drawn into the story. I can see the appeal of the escape. I have to say, though, the Duke of Stonington is kind of an asshole.
ME: I like to think he’s just misunderstood.
STONE: Aren’t we all …
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Stone
* * *
I’m about to head out the door Monday night when Jude shows up.
“Hey,” I get the door. “Everything okay?”
It’s not like him to show up without calling, and the forlorn look on his face is suggestive of some sort of storm brewing.
He hoists a duffel bag over his shoulder. “You care if I crash here for a bit? Stassi and I got into it. She kicked me out.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re getting married next month.”
“I know.” He rolls his eyes.
“What happened?” I stand back and let him in.
He drops his shit by the door and makes a beeline to my kitchen, helping himself to a beer. He twists the cap with his bare hands, grips the neck of the bottle, and takes a swig.
“She was on my phone … and apparently decided to go through my search history.” His eyes avert to the floor; a look of shame.
“Oh, god.” No good can come of going through someone’s search history, it’s like going through their innermost private thoughts without any context. “What’d she find?”
“She saw that I’d been Googling Jovie …”
“What? Why?”
He takes another swig, this time bigger than the one before. “I don’t know, I guess she was still weirded out by the Facebook tag thing.”
“No. I mean why were you googling Jovie?”
He shrugs. “I told you the other day … running into her lately has got me thinking … and I guess I was just curious. Wanted to know what she was up to …”
I shake my head.
“I know, I know I fucked up.” He places one hand in the air, as if to stop me from the lecture he knows is brewing.
I glance at my keys and phone resting lifeless on the counter.
I spent all day looking forward to tonight, to seeing Jovie again.
Now I have to cancel.
Grabbing my phone, I fire off a quick message. Better to rip the Band-Aid off now than leave her hanging or thinking I’m ghosting her.
ME: So sorry—something just came up. Rain check on the glow-in-the-dark cup?
I wait a moment, but she doesn’t respond right away.
Jude takes a seat at my kitchen island and rambles on about Stassi, word vomiting every detail of their relationship problems—problems that should’ve been hashed out in marital therapy months ago, like I recommended.
I gave him all my best advice as to how to set up a marriage for success and how to avoid divorce, or at least a nasty divorce.
But Jude seemed to be more focused on the prenup than anything else, and he laughed at the idea of going to therapy when they were quote-unquote happy.
I can’t believe I’m about to defend Stassi, but here I go …
“See, that’s the problem with you, Jude—you’re always looking out for number one and in the end it gets you in trouble every. Single. Time,” I say. “Not only that, but you’re afraid to be alone. You wrap your entire identity in your relationships—relationships that you’re willing to chuck out the window the second there’s a hairline fracture in the foundation. You’ve got to quit while you’re ahead. Go home, apologize to her, grovel on your hands and knees, and make sure she knows you’re committed.”
He takes another drink of beer, his eyes hazy and unfocused. I can’t tell if he’s wallowing in self-pity or digesting the advice I just shelled out.
“If I was getting married in a month and my fiancée was googling her ex-boyfriend from college, I’d be having second thoughts too,” I say. “Look at it from her perspective.”
Jude buries his head in his hands, breathing hard through his fingers.
He knows I’m right.
“You can crash here tonight,” I say. “You both probably need time to cool off. Guest bed’s made up. It’s all yours. But first thing tomorrow, you go home and you make it right with Stassi. Be the man I know you can be.”
Or rather … the man he should be.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jovie
* * *
“So it appears that your ex has found himself new representation,” my new attorney says Tuesday. Opening a file folder, he produces a stack of white papers. “And this is what he’s proposing.” He slides them to me. “This is your copy. Now feel free to take that home and go over everything, but I will say, I’m familiar with his attorney, and her bark is far worse than her bite. I’ve had a chance to comb through this already and I’ll say it’s pretty reasonable. If I had to guess, I’m willing to bet he’s talked to enough lawyers to have a little bit of sense knocked into him.”
I page through the papers, but my nerves get the best of me and all the words jumble together. I’ll have to read this when I’m at home. Every time someone passes the window outside Mike’s office, I get a little flutter in my chest at the off-chance that it’s Stone.
“He’s still asking for spousal support, but given the brief nature of your marriage and the fact that the two of you were renting a modest apartment by your income’s standards, there’s no judge with half a brain cell that’s going to go for what he’s asking. He’ll be lucky if he gets anything at all, in my opinion,” Mike says.
I exhale, my thoughts a little less dizzying than they were a moment ago.
“That’s a relief,” I say. “I’m still kicking myself for not signing a prenup. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s hard to think when you’re in love,” he says, softening his words the way my father always does when he’s giving difficult advice. “No one wants to take off the rose-colored glasses until they have to. You were in love, you married for love, and that’s okay. You weren’t the first and you certainly won’t be the last. Anyway, go over everything, shoot me an email if you have questions, and we’ll go from there.”
I thank Mike before gathering the documents, and then I show myself out, only on the way out, I make a wrong turn and end up in some unfamiliar corner of the building. Nothing but office after office, all of them with identical cherrywood furniture, executive-blue carpet, and sweeping views of the parking garage.
“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice calls. I turn around to find a somewhat familiar face peering down her nose at me. It only takes a second for me to recognize her from the last time I was in Stone’s office.
“I’m just looking for a way out of here,” I say with a nervous chuckle.
Her gaze drips from the top of my head to my shoes before she huffs a response.
“Take a right at the end of this hall, then go through the third door on your left,” she says. “Past the reception area, you’ll find the elevator bay.”
I barely have time to thank her before she spins on her heel and leaves, her hips swaying with each long-legged stride.
Heading down the hall, I turn right when I get to the end—only to be met with another hallway with identical offices. Only these offices are missing computers. And human life. And all of the lights are turned off.
Did she give me bad directions on purpose?
I spend what feels like another ten minutes wandering the halls in search of a glowing red “exit” sign when I round a corner and bump right into Stone himself.
“Oh, geez. I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Hey.” His midnight black suit and navy tie give him an ominous presence, unlike the more relaxed vibe his khakis and t-shirt gave off Friday night at the concert.
“I was just meeting with Mike …” I point behind me, but honestly I have no idea if there’s where I came from. I’m beyond lost at this point.
“I figured.” He drinks me in. “Sorry about last night … Jude stopped by unexpectedly.”
“Is everything okay?”
He winces. “I can’t really go into details.”
I know better than to pry. And besides, it’s none of my business even if I’m extremely curious …
“You’re a good friend,” I say.
“I know.” There’s a flicker of a smile on his face that disappears before it fully registers.
“Hey, you want to grab lunch or something? There’s a taco truck setting up around the corner …”
He checks his watch, his full lips moving from one side to the other. “Yeah. I’ve got some time.”
“Okay, cool,” I say. “I’ll be completely honest; I’m lost so I’m just going to follow you.”
He chuckles, nodding toward the hallway to my right.
“I ran into your friend a few minutes ago,” I say when we step off the elevator a minute later. “The one you were supposedly not in love with.”
“Becca?” he asks.
“I don’t know her name. I just know I asked her how to get out of here and she gave me bad directions.”
He sniffs. “Sounds about right.”
“What’s the story with you two anyway?” I ask as we hit the sidewalk.
“We were hooking up. She wanted more. I didn’t. She continued to step over the line. I ended things. End of story.”
“So she was falling for you.”
“She was falling for an idea of me,” he says, checking his phone as we walk. “She wasn’t falling for the real me.”
“How do you know?”
“I couldn’t tell you when her birthday is. Or what her favorite pizza topping is. What kind of music she likes. The name of her hometown. When I tell you it was purely physical …” he trails off.
“Did you even try to get to know her? What if she could’ve been the one? She must’ve felt something for you, there had to have been some chemistry?”
“Not for me there wasn’t. She’s vapid, vain, and dull—a trifecta of red flags.”
“Really? Aside from the dirty looks, she’s very beautiful. And she must be smart and driven if she’s an attorney.”
“See, that’s exactly the problem with people these days—we’re constantly projecting our ideas onto people we hardly know. That’s why half of all marriages end in divorce. People fall in love with the idea of marriage or the idea of what a marriage should be instead of falling in love with the flawed human being they’re marrying.”
“Damn, Stone. That’s deep for noon on a Tuesday.”
We stop at a food truck around the corner, nab a place in line, and grab an assortment of tacos to share before finding a park bench.
“Do you ever think you’ll get married someday?” I ask. “I know it’s a random question, but I’m curious given your profession if you’re leaning one way or another.”
“To be honest, I don’t think about it. It’s not even on my radar.”
“If you met the right person would you?”
He takes a bite, chews, and wipes a drop of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “She’d have to be one hell of a woman.”
