It Started with a Kiss

I perk up as she continues. “Cammie brought us homemade cookies. And Marlow—”

The server interrupts, causing her to look up when he cuts around her to set a bottle of wine on the table. Just when it got interesting . . .

After a group toast, I drink the remainder of my beer and then pull the fresh one closer. Leaning in, I dig for more. “Winter, you mentioned Marlow.”

She sets her glass down and smiles. “She’s amazing. “

“She is,” I reply effortlessly, though my grip on the glass could argue otherwise. I set it down before it shatters in my hand. No one twists me up like Marlow Marché.

“Marlow’s trying to organize a special night to preview the Kyoto exhibit. It would be a chance for the highest bidders to see the show before anyone else. That could raise a lot of money for our cause.”

Sitting back, I nod. “That’s great. She hasn’t mentioned it to me, but I know she’s been working hard at the gallery.” I’ve never truly seen Marlow in action, and now I feel like I’ve been missing out. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve taken her at face value. I know she works hard and sometimes long hours, but have I underestimated her all along?

Tealey’s organized a few events when we helped at different charities, and we’ve run a lot of races to raise money, but Marlow’s not been at the forefront of them. She loves to cheer us on from the sidelines instead. So hearing Winter talk about Marlow leading the charge in fundraising for a good cause, I can’t help but wonder what else I’ve missed out on.

Thinking about her work at the gallery, I bet she’s pretty fucking impressive.

Propping her chin in her hand, she smiles with curiosity filling her eyes. “Have you gotten a sneak peek of the exhibit?”

“No, I haven’t, but I bet it’s spectacular if Marlow likes it. She has great taste.” In art. Designers. Men. I have to give myself props.

She sits up again. “Well, she was so lovely to chat with. All of them were. You have a great group of friends.”

“I do.” I take a long pull off my beer, thinking about how I’ve been so sidetracked by the pitch today and Marlow every other day that I haven’t been able to think about my best friends. This week’s been such a blur that I don’t even know if we’re getting together again. I text Rad and Cade: Are there plans for the weekend?

Cade doesn’t leave me hanging and replies: Being between seasons sucks. No games are on. Are the girls forcing us to brunch on Sunday because I wouldn’t mind sleeping in?

Rad: Tealey was asking me earlier. I think she’s organizing something—possibly a shopping trip to the farmers' market. Please save me. I can only eat so many Kabocha squash, and that’s all they seem to have lately. Tealey loves squash like an addict. She needs her fix. Did you guys know that?

Chuckling, I type: Can’t say I did. Sounds like you’re living the good life there, old man.

Cade: I don’t even know what Kabocha squash is, and I don’t think I want to.

Me: Enough with the squash talk. Wanna go for a run? I’ll need it after this dinner.

Cade: Count me out.

That came without a second passing. He never did get into running, even after we forced him to cover some miles with us.

Rad: You’re a no just from the suggestion?

Cade: Yup. Pick a gym, and I’ll strength train because this bulky body isn’t made to hit the pavement. I’ll leave that to you guys.

Although I have a state-of-the-art gym in my building, I usually go over to his house once a week or so to work out in his garage since it’s hard to get him out of Brooklyn. Married a year and he’s settled so far down that I’ve started to wonder if we’ll see him once they have the baby. Like my sister. I don’t see my sister as much anymore. She’s busy. Nick’s busy. I’m busy. It’s strange how the people who were your whole world for a period in your life—my mom, dad, and sister—become like a second family once the kids create their own.

I haven’t built much of a personal life for myself. What’s the point when I’m . . . alone. Alone was something I thought I was content with, but being around so many couples, friends who have found their own happiness . . . maybe this is part of becoming an adult. Figuring your shit out.

Cade: Cookies are ready. Gotta run.

Rad: Thought you didn’t run?

The joke lies there for a few beats as I chuckle. Cade finally texts: For Cammie’s cookies, I do.

Me: We don’t need the details of your sex life, man.

I laugh at my joke. Cade: Do we need to go over the birds and bees again, St. James?