Chapter Ten

Mirai re-capped the bottle of pale lilac polish she’d been using to paint Cara’s toenails, a frown on her pretty face. “Excuse me. He took you where for dinner two nights ago?”

Cara sighed, having anticipated that her BFF would have this sort of reaction. “A sports bar. You know the kind of place I mean - big screen TV’s, cold beer, greasy burgers. Oh, and some pool tables in the back room.”

Mirai looked as though she’d just squashed a really nasty insect. “Actually, I have no idea what you’re talking about, girlfriend. Because that’s not the sort of place I’ve ever set foot in. Or ever will. Or date someone who would have the balls to even suggest that I should.”

Cara shrugged, trying to make it seem like no big deal. “You’re a snob,” she declared teasingly. “The place was a lot better than some of the dumps we went to over in Berkeley.”

Mirai sniffed in distaste. “Correction, Cara - the dumps that you went to. I do remember one occasion when you dragged me out with some classmates and tried to make me have dinner at some third-rate sushi restaurant. I refused to set foot in the place, took a cab home, and ordered takeout from a real restaurant. You, on the other hand, had food poisoning for three days straight from whatever garbage you ate there. I’ve told you more than once - do not ever go to a place that advertises an all you can eat buffet. Especially when the buffet serves raw fish.”

Cara shuddered a bit in recollection of the really, really bad case of food poisoning she had indeed contracted. “Well, we didn’t eat anything raw on Friday night, just these tri-tip sandwiches that were delicious. And I’m happy to report that I felt just fine yesterday morning.”

Mirai still didn’t look convinced. She took a healthy swig of the glass of Pinot Grigio she’d poured for herself before starting on Cara’s impromptu pedicure. “Hmm. Thought you told me that you were starting a new diet - one that sure as hell doesn’t include tri-tip sandwiches. Or the fries I’m guessing accompanied it.”

“Well, they didn’t exactly have salads or grilled fish at this place,” replied Cara defensively. “If it helps, I only ate about two thirds of the sandwich and hardly any of the fries.”

Mirai shook her head. “It doesn’t help. Not if you’re serious about dropping some weight. And why does this guy keep bringing you to these borderline dives anyway? Sweetie, if he owns a dozen cars - including an Aston Martin, a Beamer, and a Maserati, just to name a few - and wears a Patek Philippe watch, he sure as hell can afford to take you someplace a whole lot nicer for dinner than - than Tony’s Sports Bar!”

“Tommy’s,” corrected Cara in a meek tone. “The place he took me on Friday is called Tommy’s.”

Mirai glared at her. “It could be called The Waldorf Astoria Sports Bar for all I care, girlfriend, but guess what? It’s still a sports bar. Where they serve cheap American beer and chicken wings. Uggh!”

Cara made a face as the other girl pretended to gag. “I already told you, Mir. It doesn’t matter to me what sort of restaurant Dante takes me to. I just like being with him, you know? We have fun together, he makes me happy, and you know better than anyone how hard it’s been for me to feel that way these last few years.”

“Hey, it’s great that he makes you happy. Great that he’s a stud in the sack and gives you some really great sex. That doesn’t mean he can’t take you someplace a little trendier for dinner once in awhile. Someplace where you can actually dress up and that has valet parking. And where they wouldn’t even dream of serving something so bourgeois as French fries or nachos. Have you ever asked yourself,” added Mirai pointedly, “why he only brings you to places in out of the way neighborhoods? Until you showed me on Google maps, I would have sworn that half of those areas weren’t even in San Francisco.”

Cara wiggled her bare feet, then touched a fingertip lightly to one toenail to see if the polish was dry. “Of course I’ve asked myself that,” she admitted in a small voice. “And I could only come up with two logical explanations, neither of which are exactly flattering. One, he thinks I’d be uncomfortable or feel out of place at a really fancy restaurant, either because I’m too young or naïve or just not sophisticated enough. That reason actually bothers me less than the second possibility.”

“Which is?” prodded Mirai.

Cara exhaled sharply, reluctant to admit the truth, both to her BFF and to herself. “That he’s afraid of running into any of his friends or family members if he took me someplace trendy. Because he’d be embarrassed to be seen with me. You know, because I’m more than ten years younger than he is, and I have exactly two nice dresses, both of which I’ve already worn several times in his presence. Oh, and because I’ve got a big butt and look nothing like his ex-girlfriend who’s drop dead gorgeous. I told you that I figured out who she was after Leah mentioned her name one day, didn’t I? And, omigod, Mir, I have zero idea why Dante would want someone like me after her because..”

Mirai held up her index finger, her longstanding way of letting Cara know that she was talking waaay too much. “Enough with the Cara-bashing, okay? God, you know how crazy it makes me when you keep putting yourself down! But let me ask you this, hmm? If you’re so sure that the reason Dante’s taking you to out of the way places is because he’d be embarrassed to run into some friends, then why the hell are you still seeing the asshole? Not to mention fucking him twice a week?”

Cara had asked herself the same question at least a dozen times over the past few weeks, and hadn’t been able to come up with a reasonable answer. “Because I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with him,” she replied miserably. “And I’d put up with a lot just to keep being with him.”

Mirai gave her a scornful look, then did a complete about face and hugged her instead. “What am I going to do with you, Cara?” she asked in an exasperated voice. “I thought you outgrew mooning over hot guys after the naked pictures incident. Why do you keep letting them just walk all over you? Believe it or not, you are worth a whole lot more than that!”

“Dante’s not like that,” Cara replied defensively. “He’s not a jerk like every other guy I’ve dated was. And maybe he doesn’t take me to the hottest restaurant in town, or out dancing to the new club everyone’s talking about, but so what? I told you before - I just like being with him. And he’s plenty generous, you know, always bringing over wine and dessert and stuff. And he helps with the dishes. I’ll bet you can’t say the same about any of the guys you’ve dated!”

Mirai smirked. “That’s because I don’t cook for them.”

Cara shook her head. “And after you spent almost six months at culinary school. Do you even remember anything you learned there?”

“I’m still pretty good at chopping stuff. I figured since Daddy paid a small fortune for that set of professional grade knives I ought to use them once in awhile. Overall, though, I don’t remember much. What in the world was I thinking of when I enrolled in that course, anyway? Can you just see me slaving over a hot stove?” asked Mirai in disbelief.

“Not even for a minute,” declared Cara. “And I seem to remember telling you exactly that while you were filling out the application. Just like I told you that you probably weren’t going to like fashion design school, either.”

Mirai sighed. “Yeah, I admit it - I’ve got commitment issues. Both to men and to school. Though at least I’ve stuck with school for longer stretches than I have with men!”

Cara knew that wasn’t saying a whole lot, though. Mirai, who at twenty-three was a year older than Cara, had already spent a year at community college before transferring to Berkeley. Even with her mega-rich father’s influence and monetary donations, the university still hadn’t been willing to offer her admission as a freshman, and the admissions officer had strongly suggested she take some core classes at community college first.

Mirai had drifted for a few months after her ill-fated year at Berkeley, before declaring that what she really wanted to do with her life was become a chef and open her own restaurant someday. Cara, who knew her friend could barely boil water, had suspected that Mirai’s sudden enthusiasm for cooking had been the result of watching way too much Food Network, and had tried to talk her out of enrolling. Mirai had lasted less than six months at culinary school, which was twice as long as Cara had quietly predicted.

After another period of time spent visiting her father in New York, traveling between Japan, Florida, and Paris with her mother, and generally goofing off, Mirai had declared herself ready to get serious about school again. Attending design school had seemed a natural for a fashionista like herself. Mirai loved clothes and accessories, had stacks of fashion magazines piled high around the apartment, and had an uncanny knack for being able to identify what sort of designer label someone was wearing with just a glance. What she did not posses, however, was any sort of artistic ability whatsoever, and could barely draw a stick figure.

She’d quickly switched her focus over to fashion merchandising from design, and had actually come within a semester of earning her Associate of Arts degree. But then, as was typical of the flighty, easily bored Mirai, she had dropped out again, declaring that she’d lost her passion and needed to re-think her career goals.

That had been almost a year ago, and she’d been drifting ever since - spending time with both of her parents, working for a few months at an art gallery owned by family friends (even though she’d confessed to Cara that she didn’t know the slightest thing about art), and wasting a lot of time watching TV, shopping, going to the gym and the spa, and dating a string of guys that she seemed to get bored with after the first date. Cara had more or less given up on trying to counsel her friend, or suggest a possible career path, having realized months ago that this was something Mirai was going to have to figure out for herself one of these days.

But it was hard not to worry about her BFF, or to try and offer her advice now and then. After all, Mirai had done so much for Cara, and would have done a great deal more if she’d been able to swallow her pride and accept the many favors that had been offered to her. Mirai would have literally given Cara the clothes off her back if they had actually worn the same size. Unfortunately for Cara, her ultra-slim friend with the killer wardrobe was at least four sizes smaller than she was. Otherwise, Cara’s closet would have been bulging at the seams with castoffs, since Mirai had a serious shopping addiction.

At least Mirai had been able to pass along some accessories, like a couple of really fabulous handbags, scarves, costume jewelry, and belts. She also bought large quantities of cosmetics on a frequent basis - if she liked a particular brand of lip gloss, for example, she typically bought it in eight different shades, only to find that at least two of the colors didn’t suit her at all. Which meant Cara had a fairly good sized stash of her friend’s discards, even though she didn’t wear much makeup most of the time.

Mirai gave Cara’s freshly painted toenails the touch test. “Okay, these are dry enough. But leave your shoes off for a little while longer. And - oh, good. Dinner’s here. I’m starving.”

Cara glared at Mirai as she dashed off to open the door for the delivery driver who’d brought their dinner. As wand slim as Mirai always was, she had the appetite of a football player and could put away an astonishing amount of food at times. She claimed it was either due to good genes on her Japanese mother’s side of the family, or just a speedy metabolism. Either way, Cara thought it grossly unfair that she had to watch every calorie she consumed for fear of packing on another pound, while her ultra thin BFF could eat whatever she pleased and never gain an ounce.

Cara only took modest amounts of the pad Thai, chicken satay, rice, and butterfly prawns, even though she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The thought of the admittedly greasy tri-tip sandwich she’d eaten two nights ago made her shudder a bit when she mentally calculated how many calories it had contained. And she’d been too busy studying and doing chores this weekend to fit in any sort of workout. Summer classes were far more demanding than the rest of the year, since the same curriculum had to be squeezed into a much shorter amount of time, and thus the level of homework and studying was heavier than normal.

She was also conscious that - once again - Mirai had insisted on paying for dinner. Cara tried her best to reciprocate, but Mirai was as fussy and particular about the restaurants she ate at as she was about the clothes she wore. And Cara simply couldn’t afford the sort of trendy, upscale places Mirai favored, so she would cook for the two of them occasionally to return the favor.

Mirai ignored Cara’s protests about not wanting more wine and refilled both of their glasses. “Oh, just drink it, for God’s sake! You can go back to counting calories tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll be tempted to finish the bottle and I still have to drive you home later. And I’m not the greatest driver even when I’m sober.”

“I’ll just take the bus, Mir. I hate to bother you all the time.”

Mirai snorted. “Seriously, Cara? Like I have to get up early in the morning or something? And how are you bothering me if I’m the one who makes the offer?”

Cara sighed in resignation and took a sip of the excellent Pinot Grigio. Mirai also had expensive tastes in wine - just like Dante did - and wouldn’t have dreamed of drinking Two Buck Chuck, or even using it to cook with.

“What time should Rene be home?” asked Cara.

Mirai rolled her eyes. “Who knows? Between her classes and rounds at the hospital she’s hardly ever here. I haven’t actually seen her for about three days.”

Rene was Mirai’s older sister, her roommate, and a third year medical student at the University of California in San Francisco. Rene was everything her younger sister wasn’t - serious, studious, and dedicated - and had known since middle school that she wanted to be a doctor. Their father frequently pointed out Rene as an example to Mirai, asking why she couldn’t be more like her sister, or at least stick with something for more than a few months at a time. It had caused some friction between the sisters at times, resulting in screaming matches followed by days-long uncomfortable silences. The occasional tension between them was one of several reasons Cara had never taken Mirai up on her offer to move in with them here.

The other reasons were varied, some valid, others not so much. For one, she would have had to sleep in the living room on a plush leather chair that converted to a single bed. Admittedly, the sleeper chair was far more expensive and comfortable than her own futon, but the lack of privacy she would have endured by not having a room of her own hadn’t been appealing.

Neither had the fact that both Mirai and Rene were unrepentant slobs. Cara couldn’t remember a single time when she’d visited their posh apartment when it had actually been tidy, even though their father paid for weekly maid service. There were always used dishes and empty takeout containers piled high in the kitchen, dirty and discarded clothing strewn about the bedrooms and the single bathroom, and an assortment of mail, magazines, and Rene’s textbooks piled on the tables in the living and dining rooms.

After sharing first a dorm room and then a house with multiple roommates during her two years at Berkeley, Cara had cherished having her own place, tiny and old as it was. She liked the quiet, liked having her few possessions neatly in their place, and even though it had been oh so tempting to take Mirai up on her multiple offers to move into this upscale apartment in one of the city’s best neighborhoods, Cara valued her privacy more.

And, of course, it always came back to her reluctance to accept yet another favor from Mirai. Cara knew that her friend’s heart was in the right place, but there was no way she could allow Mirai to keep on doing these things for her. It didn’t matter that Mirai had a rich father who spoiled her rotten, and that she could easily afford to treat Cara to dinner or buy her little gifts or even invite her to move in with her. Cara was both proud and stubborn, and felt strongly that it was her father’s responsibility - and not someone else’s parent’s - to provide for her. And since Mark had stopped supporting her a long time ago, she wasn’t going to depend on someone else to take up the reins.

It was later that evening, after she’d reluctantly let Mirai drive her home, when Cara thought back to the conversation they’d had about Dante - more specifically, when she had assured her friend that it didn’t matter to her in the least where he took her on their dates, that she was happy just to spend time with him no matter where it happened to be.

The truth of the matter was that it did bother her - a lot - to acknowledge the fact that Dante probably took her to all of those small, neighborhood places for dinner because he didn’t want to run into anyone he knew. When Cara had learned the name of his ex-girlfriend, she’d looked up Katie Carlisle online, and known immediately that there was no possible way Dante would have dreamed of taking the gorgeous blonde actress to eat pizza at Pasquale’s. Or fish and chips at the Black Horse Pub. And most assuredly not tri-tip sandwiches at Tommy’s. No, someone like Katie Carlisle would have insisted on dining at only the most popular, upscale places in town - somewhere where she could order miniscule portions so that she could maintain her slender, perfect figure.

But it was all too obvious that Cara wasn’t Katie - not even close. She wasn’t Dante’s actual girlfriend, someone he had deemed worthy of bringing home to meet the beloved family he talked about from time to time. Or to double date with one of his friends whom he’d mentioned on occasion. Cara was merely someone for him to pass the time with until another woman like Katie caught his attention. Or, worse, she was just his fuck buddy, an easy, convenient, and uncomplicated lay who made no demands on him, never asked for anything, and acted like she was perfectly content with their current arrangement.

Except that she wasn’t. She wanted more - a whole lot more. She wanted him to spend the night with her, wanted to be invited over to see his place. She longed for the freedom to call or text or email him whenever she liked, rather than contact him only when it was absolutely necessary so that he didn’t think she was needy or a pest. She wanted a commitment of some sort from him, a promise that this relationship was important enough to him to put some serious work into. She desperately wanted to meet his family, to hopefully be welcomed into their fold with open arms, and to finally feel that she belonged somewhere for the first time since her mother’s passing. She thought how much fun it would be to double date with Angela and Nick, or any of Dante’s other friends.

Most of all, though, she wished with all her might that he might one day return her feelings, might whisper that he loved her as much as she loved him, that she was the one he’d been waiting for all his life. And while she might have told Mirai a little white lie that she didn’t care where Dante took her out to dinner, Cara had definitely been telling the truth when she’d confessed to being in love with him - as well as being willing to do most anything to keep him with her. And if that required keeping her real feelings for him hidden away, she figured it would be well worth the effort to keep her relationship with Dante going.