It’s just after eight on Tuesday evening when Tyler and I make our way to the Lowell on Sixty-third and Madison. The sun is slowly starting to dip behind the buildings of Manhattan as Tyler drives south along Park Avenue. He’s wearing a pair of black shades as he drives, with one hand on the wheel and the other toying at his hair, his elbow propped up against the door.
“I think they’re punking us,” he murmurs after a while. “The Lowell? Give me a break.”
I glance over at him. “What?”
“C’mon.” He scoffs, and despite the fact that I can’t see behind his shades, I can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “Rachael and Meghan are college students. You think they can afford that place? I mean, Meghan just got back from Europe. She’s probably only got ten bucks to her name.”
“Tyler, you were a sixteen-year-old high school student when you bought this car with that big old trust fund of yours,” I remind him, and then, to prove my point, I add, “You really think sixteen-year-olds can afford cars like these?”
“I’m just saying,” he says, ignoring my comment.
It only takes us ten minutes to reach Sixty-third Street, and Tyler reverses into a free spot in one swift maneuver, right in front of the Santa Fe Opera. My parking skills aren’t on a par with his—I’m still getting used to his ability to park in less than six seconds.
While I step out of the car, Tyler throws his sunglasses onto the dashboard right before slamming the car door behind him, and I can’t help but arch my eyebrows as I follow him along Sixty-third Street. I’m not sure what his problem is.
The Lowell is only a few buildings down, just off the corner of Madison Avenue. With red bricking and gold-plated doors and a gorgeous white canopy, I stare at it from outside for a while before Tyler groans and pulls me inside by my wrist. A doorman greets us and holds open the door, welcoming us to the hotel and wishing us a great evening. I get the impression that Tyler doesn’t particularly want to be here when he sighs. Right now, he’s either anti-luxury-hotels or anti-Rachael-and-Meghan.
The lobby is small but inviting, with plenty of seating, and Tyler and I briskly whisk past the front desk and head for the elevator. Rachael and Meghan’s suite is on the tenth floor, so that’s exactly where we head. Tyler folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the hand railing.
“What’s your problem?” I ask, finally.
“Why am I here?” he replies without missing a beat.
I furrow my eyebrows, perplexed at his question. “They’re your friends.”
“Eden,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve spoken to Rachael more than six times in the space of a year and I haven’t spoken to Meghan at all. Neither have you. Admit it.”
I shrug. He’s right in a way. Meghan doesn’t particularly make much effort to talk to any of us anymore. It’s almost like she was glad to leave LA. The only time I really got the chance to talk to her was when she occasionally came home. Even I don’t feel as close to her as I used to be. “Okay, sure, Meghan’s a little more difficult to stay in touch with,” I admit.
“C’mon,” Tyler says with a harsh laugh, “she clearly doesn’t wanna deal with any of us anymore. She’s all about Utah and that Jared guy. Are they married yet? Because they sure as hell act like they are.”
“Jesus, Tyler.”
“Look,” he says quietly. “I just think it’s awkward. I’m not friends with them anymore. It’s just what happens.”
The elevator comes to a smooth stop and the door pings open, cutting our conversation short. I’m not sure I would have mustered up a reply, anyway. Tyler still looks moody as hell and he doesn’t even attempt to hide it as we head along the tenth floor. I pull out my phone again as we walk, double-checking Rachael’s texts to ensure I’ve got the details right, and then draw Tyler to a halt outside the correct door. I rap my knuckles against it.
As we wait, my eyes drift to Tyler. He’s staring at the door, expression now nonchalant, and I can’t help but study every inch of his face. His tanned complexion and his dark, tousled hair that he blames on his Hispanic genes, his vibrant emerald eyes that alternate between dull and bright, his perfectly defined jaw with just the right amount of stubble . . .
All of that . . . All of that is mine.
“What?” he says, catching my stare. Those green eyes gaze into mine.
I can’t even begin to hide my smile, and as my lips curve further up into a sheepish grin, I just shrug. “Nothing.”
The door unlocks then. It swings open so fast it creates a breeze, and before I’ve even had the chance to look up I’m being yanked over the threshold and into someone’s arms.
I recognize the perfume and the shampoo scent in a heartbeat. It’s Rachael’s, and it has been for as long as I can remember. Her long hair gets in my face as she hugs me tight all while squealing, and I can do nothing but laugh against her shoulder. It really is good to see her. It reminds me of my life back in Santa Monica. The past four weeks, I’d almost forgotten about it entirely.
“God, Rachael,” I murmur, “are you trying to break my arm?” Still laughing, I manage to wrangle my way out of her firm hold and then take a step back so that I can study her.
Her hair’s a few shades darker than I remember and has clearly had several inches trimmed off, but I don’t mention it. I remember Dean said she wasn’t all that impressed with it. Other than that, she’s my same old best friend who’s wearing a huge grin. “I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I say. I hadn’t realized that I had until now. I’ve just been so distracted by everything else going on, and now I’m starting to feel guilty.
“Tyler!” Rachael’s eyes widen as she stares at him for a moment, and I honestly can’t blame her. He looks like he’s aged half a decade in the time that he’s been gone. He’s lingering awkwardly at the door, but Rachael steps around me to pull him into a hug, too. It’s only brief, and once she draws away from him she pulls him into the suite by his arm and clicks the door shut. “I can’t believe it’s been a year!”
“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Tyler says. There’s a small smile on his lips now, and I can’t figure out if it’s genuine or fake. Either way, he no longer looks uncomfortable.
While they talk, I take a minute or so to check out the suite. It’s huge, and it looks like there are separate bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchenette. It’s all hardwood flooring with oriental rugs, and it all feels rather elegant and vintage, yet somehow modern at the same time. There’s some impressive artwork on the walls, but I don’t stare at it for long before I walk back over to Tyler’s side.
“So is the subway safe?” Rachael asks him, eyes wide. “We won’t get shot or anything?”
“Don’t worry about the subway,” Tyler says. I can tell he wants to roll his eyes at her, but he refrains. “Just don’t look like a tourist and you’ll be fine.”
I glance around the suite again. Something’s missing. It takes me a second to realize, and when I do, I flash my eyes over to Rachael and interrupt their conversation. “Where’s Meghan?”
Slowly, Rachael glances over. She almost smiles, but she bites it back and shrugs rather nonchalantly instead. “She brought back some virus with her from Europe. She literally couldn’t stop throwing up so she didn’t come.”
“So you came all the way over here on your own?”
The words have barely left my lips when someone throws their arms over my shoulders and Tyler’s, grabbing us tightly. I flinch at the abruptness of it, and before I even get the chance to turn around a voice is murmuring, “Hey, New Yorkers.”
My heart stops. Not because of the momentary scare, but because of the voice. It’s one I recognize all too well.
It’s Dean’s.
Shrugging his arm off me, I spin around at the exact same time Tyler does, and I’m exactly right.
Dean’s standing in front of me. There’s a huge grin plastered on his face and his dark eyes are sparkling as he steps toward me, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tightly against his chest. I feel so numb that I can’t even hug him back. I just stand there, my lips parted in disbelief and my eyes wide. Over Dean’s shoulder, Tyler’s staring back at me, his face as pale as mine. We’re both thinking the exact same thing: I wish this wasn’t happening right now.
“Surprise,” Dean whispers. His voice sends a chill down my spine as he buries his face into my hair, and it all feels so foreign now. I’m not used to Dean. I’m used to Tyler.
Dean shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be in New York with Tyler and me. He’s supposed to be in Santa Monica. I’m supposed to have two more weeks to figure out what I’m going to do about him. I’m not ready to deal with this now. Dean being here could ruin everything.
When he finally lets go, he stares down at me in awe, shaking his head as he smiles. Wide and sincere. It hurts to see it. “God, I’ve missed you so much,” he says, and he presses his lips against mine.
I’m taken aback at first, so surprised that I can’t even bring myself to pull away. I used to feel something when I kissed Dean, but now I feel nothing. I don’t experience any sort of rush. Dean kisses me softly but frantically, like he’s trying to remind himself of what he’s been missing, but I can’t return his energy. I don’t want to. To me, the kiss feels lifeless.
I try to shoot Tyler an apologetic glance. His body has stiffened and his eyes have hardened, and he’s staring fiercely at us with a cold expression on his face. Out of nowhere he grabs Dean’s shoulder and pulls him back a step, breaking our kiss. I’m thankful.
“Hey, man, are you forgetting about your best friend?” Tyler asks, and by the time Dean turns around to face him, he’s got a smile on his lips. I can see straight through it, though. I can still the furious glint in his eyes. I can still see the way the muscle in his jaw has tightened.
Dean, however, can’t see anything but the smile on his best friend’s face. “Geez, what happened to your voice?”
“New York City. Roommate from Boston,” Tyler says dryly. “Tends to mess up your accent.”
Laughing, Dean draws him into a half-hug while they thump each other’s back, and when Dean steps back Tyler asks, “So why are you here?” He doesn’t bother to hide the harsh tone of his voice. Just folds his arms across his chest and raises his eyebrows at him, awaiting an answer.
“Filling in for Meghan,” Dean says. He’s wearing a pale-blue shirt and dark jeans, and he stuffs his hands into the front pockets. “It was really last-minute. I thought my dad wouldn’t let me take the time off work, but he told me to go for it. Rachael’s idea.”
Both Tyler and I fire our eyes at Rachael at the exact same moment. She’s watching the scene unfold with a beaming grin spread across her face. Right now, neither Tyler nor I are impressed. Inviting Dean to New York? That’s quite literally the worst thing she could have done.
“Tyler, I brought you your best friend. Eden, I brought you your boyfriend,” she states, grin stretching even wider. “Am I the greatest best friend in the world or what?”
I can’t even bring myself to reply to her. I know her intentions were good, but she has absolutely no idea what she’s just done. She’s made everything so much more complicated. I doubt either Rachael or Dean notice it, but to Tyler and me the tension in the room is starting to feel unbearable.
I shoot him a panicked glance and he closes his eyes, running a hand back through his hair. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do. And as Dean joins me by my side again, throwing his arm around me and pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, I begin to feel even worse.
Are we supposed to tell him the truth now that he’s here in New York? Or do we wait like we’d planned? That’s the hard part. Knowing when to hurt Dean. It’s inevitable that we will: It’s just a matter of when and where. Not here, that’s for sure. Not right now. But soon, perhaps.
And if I thought it couldn’t get any worse than this, then God, I’m so wrong.
The bathroom door swings open, drawing the attention of all four of us, and as I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, I hear a voice gush, “Guys, the tub is amazing.”
It’s another voice I recognize. A voice I never thought I’d have to hear again. A voice that belongs to someone I haven’t spoken to in two years. And just as the color in my face begins to drain once again, she steps out of the bathroom with her hair thrown up into a messy bun and nothing but a white towel wrapped around her tiny body. She stops when she spots us and her eyes flicker between Tyler and me for a moment, and then, so slowly that it becomes almost painful, Tiffani smiles. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that my favorite pair of stepsiblings had arrived?”