Page 25 of Coincidentally Kismet

“We are going bowling. Why?” I ask, a chip halfway to my mouth dripping salsa down my shirt, because of course I’m spilling red sauce on a white tank top.

“Just trying to gauge how many margaritas it’s going to take to unravel the shitstorm of red flags you just laid down. Didn’t want to jump in now and miss something important later.” He chews thoughtfully on a chip. “Let’s start with the fact that it doesn’t sound like hate at all. It sounds like a whole lot of tension of the sexy variety, but definitely not hate. Which is concerning because it means your heart is already involved, whether you want it to be or not.”

“My heart is absolutely not involved. I hate him, I promise.” I pull my leg up under me, leaning in, ready to defend myself against what is turning out to be a conversation with another skeptic.

“Okay, let’s pretend that’s true. If we hate him, then why does it even matter if he’s around? Like, why is it affecting you so much? Just pretend he’s a gnat and ignore him.” He grabs the pitcher, refilling our glasses with what remains and signaling to Marco to bring another.

“Ugh...I can’t because he insists on either being nice to me, which is just so...so typical of him that it’s infuriating. Or he’s giving me a hard time, and you know I can’t back down from a fight.” I put my head into my hands, fighting back tears of frustration, tears of longing, tears of pure despair. Five years of my life have been wasted on this, five years that I will never get back. “How am I supposed to deal with caring about him as a person but at the same time wanting to throat punch him repeatedly?”

“My dear...that right there is what I like to call sexual tension.” Elliott pauses, presumably trying to be thoughtful about his response. “And normally I would advise you to just take him for a roll in the hay, but in this case, that’s too dangerous. For your heart, I mean.”

“I know that. I just wish he had...I don’t know, aged poorly?” Marco drops off our tacos and we dive in.

“Let me ask you something.” Elliott has his serious face on, except he’s got a smidge of crema on his cheek making it difficult to meet him there. “Do you trust him?”

“No.” It’s an easy answer, one that I can give emphatically and without reservation.

“Well, that’s the answer then. Regardless of how much you want to jump his bones—which by the way, gross—it won’t work if there isn’t trust. Without it, you don’t stand a chance.” He takes another bite of the birria taco, hogging the rest of it. So much for sharing.

“So I hate him. Okay. I can do that.” I reach for some queso, pouring it onto a chicken taco.

“I didn’t say that.” He shakes his head. “We both know you don’t. But there’s too much history, too much baggage. It’s like...do you remember when our house burned down? We loved that house, and then the fire came and ripped it to shreds. Mom and Dad rebuilt and we both liked the new place but it was never the same, you know? I think you could be friends-ish. Not too close but, like, acquaintances, since you share a group of friends.”

“I don’t know, El. That sounds easier than it actually is.” I sip the last of my margarita.

“Listen, you don’t have to decide anything right now, you just have to trust your instincts. Do what feels right and don’t overthink it—which I know you will, but you have to admit that it’s got to be fate bringing you both here. It’s too much of acoincidence otherwise.” Elliott waves to Marco, likely to request the check.

“It’s not fate. I don’t believe in that. But maybe you’re right, maybe I needed this, needed to see Will again, to finally let go and move on.” My brother nods his agreement.

I don’t know why Will is back in my life, but I do know one thing: It’s time for me to get closure. It’s time for me to move on.

The smash of balls hitting pins echoes all around us as Elliott, Lo, and I walk into the Alley. After our fiesta lunch, Elliott and I headed back to my apartment to change before our evening plans and pick up Lo. The Alley is a classic bowling alley that’s been renovated to be provide modern amenities with a vintage flair. The carpet is a kaleidoscope of colorful swirls beneath our feet as we make our way to the lane we reserved. The very one that’s already occupied by my three new friends and the Davenport siblings, one I love and one I hate.

“Hey, Cam! Bring a date?” Smith hollers when he sees us approaching.

“That’s her brother.” Amy elbows him in the ribs. “Hey, Elliott, how are you? It’s been a while.”

“Little Amy Davenport? It’s been forever. I’m great, you?” Elliott and Amy start catching up. There’s nearly a ten-year age gap between them, but Amy was around a lot when Will and I were together.

“Wright, good to see ya.” Will nods a welcome in my direction. If I was guessing, I’d say he’s a little nervous with my big brother around. Serves him right. “Elliott, been a long time, man. Good to see you.” He reaches out a hand to shake my brother’s, interrupting Elliott’s conversation with Amy.

Elliott looks at him, really assessing him, before saying, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not shake hands. Not until you’ve made things right with my girl.”

“I respect that, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to steal a moment of your time.” Will points toward the patio. Apparently he’d like to talk outside, man to man.

“What is this, the 1920s, Rambo? You don’t need to talk to my brother.” I stomp my foot and prop a hand on my hip. I do not need him to chat up Elliott and come to some big understanding. If he wants to talk to someone, he can talk to me.

“Cam, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a few. Order me a drink.” Elliott leads the way out toward the patio. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he puffed out his chest a little as he walked away. Men are so dumb!

I say hello to the rest of the group, pick out a red, sparkly bowling ball, and set up our names in the computer to keep score. Then I order a couple of fishbowls, which are advertised to contain sixty-four ounces of blue punch with more than enough alcohol to hate myself in the morning, and slump into a chair at one of the two tables skirting the red pleather horseshoe-shaped bench seating. It’s been like ten minutes, and there’s still no sign of my brother or Will.

“Hey, you okay over here?” Butler bumps his shoulder into mine, gentleness etched in his brow.

“Yeah...But actually, what the hell are they doing out there?” I groan before taking another sip of punch.Yep, I am going to hate myself in the morning.

“It’s a man thing. He just wants to clear the air with your brother. It’s fine.” Butler shrugs before grabbing one of the ten straws sticking out of the giant (literal) fishbowl and sucks. “Davenport is an honorable man. He’s doing the right thing by owning his mistakes.”

“If you ask me, he’s owning those to the wrong person,” Lo quips before also grabbing a straw to drink her fill.

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