Page 52 of Rivals to Lovers
Her mom’s concerned look deepened. “And that was …”
“My choice.” Mo took an overly large bite of ribs, sure of the alcohol later to come in the evening.
She hadn’t told them about the breakup for the same reason she hadn’t told them about the finished book project: They’d overreacted about both in the past. In both cases, they’d told everyone and their brother before anything was certain, and once it was clear there was nothing to be serious about, they’d had to go and take it all back. That active “oh, actually” cleanup made Mo’s achievements, like finishing a whole-ass book and getting agented to begin with, feel paltry. Unimportant.
Everyone has trust issues.Loris’s voice rang in her head. For a guy she’d met one time, he’d certainly become a little too forceful in her thoughts. Maybe she hadn’t trusted her family enough with who she was, or who she liked. To Mo, the act of finishing her book wasn’t unimportant, and neither were those relationships. Just because the books hadn’t been published and those relationships had ended didn’t mean she hadn’t learned from them. But this relationshiphadended, so she needed to finally rip off the Band-Aid and tell them about it. The book? That could wait. “The truth is, Aaron proposed, and I said no.”
Her dad choked a little and then put down his rib. “Heproposed. He had never even come home with you?”
Mo was grateful for his reaction. “Exactly. Not that I want someone to ask your permission—”
“Not mine to give,” her dad said, waving a hand. “Not that Kyle didn’t come in and try something like that.”
And of course, the conversation turned to Kyle. He smiled next to Anna, barbecue sauce lining his lips. “I would have been more sure of the answer if I’d asked you,” Kyle said, grinning.
Gag.And now they were talking about Kyle and Anna again, which they did for the next twenty minutes until dinner ended. Mo hadn’t spent much time with Kyle, and nothing she had learned about him in their time together had made her want to. It wasn’t like Mo wanted to harp on how her romance had gone to shit, and it wasn’t that she was thinkingYou can be amazed by boring-basic-ass Kyle literally anytime, but she was feeling left out.
On the drive to Des Moines, Mo and Anna passed billboards that hadn’t changed in at least five years. The city skyline was a welcoming hand, waving her back in. She’d loved seeing it from the air yesterday, but she had arrived in the daytime. Now, lit up by lights like rows of white teeth, the whole city smiled at her. It only had one real skyscraper—Principal Tower, renamed 801 Grand—but the low height of the buildings let other landmarks shine. She could point out the botanical gardens on the road into the city, the capitol—it was a sensible city. She’d gone to Iowa State University for undergrad, and many college friends found Des Moines big enough, vibrant enough. It had some great indie bookstores and concert venues. Her mom constantly reminded her that DesMoines hosted the magazine publisher Meredith, so there were jobs for people with Mo’s kinds of skills. Mo rebutted that having never owned a home or garden, she had never written the kinds of articles thatBetter Homes & Gardensmight want to put out. It hadn’t been far enough for Mo, or her imagination. At least it hadn’t been right after college. She had to admit to looking at Des Moines Zillow and ogling how much house she could get for even her share of the rent every month.
The party plan was karaoke, and Mo had delegated choosing a spot to the other bridesmaids, current locals who knew Anna’s recent taste better than Mo did. Ask her what her sister would have wanted to do on a Saturday night when they lived together a few years ago? She’d have had no problem answering that: WatchLabyrinthfor the eightieth time and order pizza. But even loving her sister as much as she did, she didn’t know what Anna’s definition of fun was anymore. The bridesmaids, Lainey and Tiff, had chosen a karaoke bar called AJs. The bar was off Court Ave and walking distance from the hotel.
“Is your Venmo ready?” Mo asked as they stepped inside the bar. Her one contribution to the party was a huge paper sign that readBuy the Bride a Drinkto scan with a QR code. As they entered, even the ID checker at the door smiled and scanned the code. Mo was grateful the other bridesmaids hadn’t opted for games or necklaces with pendants that looked like dildos, but they did try to convince the college-aged boy belting out “Girls, Girls, Girls” by Mötley Crüe to come over and give Anna a lap dance, which he did for ten dollars.
Mo had two beertinis before feeling solid enough to put her name on the list to sing. She never ordered beertinis inNew York, but back here, it felt right. It was a draft beer—in her case, Michelob Ultra—with a handful of green olives in it. Sounded gross, but it was basically an appetizer paired with a drink. Very efficient.
She put herself down for “Pink Pony Club.” She finished her drink and ordered another, and before she knew it, she was at the microphone singing about Santa Monica and big dreams, only one of which she knew about.
Sweaty and laughing, Mo finished the song, but in a few minutes Anna dragged her back up to sing a duet of “Sisters” fromWhite Christmas, one of their favorites growing up. By the time the duet finished, Tiff had bought everyone shots of some eggnog liquor that the barstillhad on hand, even though it was May.
Maureen choked down her shot and watched as someone from a new group took on the Killers. She thought about that first car ride with Wes to the Hill, wishing they hadn’t left things so weird last night. Or wishing they had started things weirder, with him explaining everything the moment he saw her. Luckily, the bar was too loud and she had had too much to drink to replay every mistake and missed opportunity. She’d been in constant movement since she woke up this morning, no time to think, and that was for the best.
“I need to eat something,” Mo said. Her stomach lurched with the eggnog—and maybe a little with the thought of Wes’s face, admitting he’d read her first book years ago.
Tiff had wandered into a corner with lap dance guy, where they were furiously making out. Lainey, Mo, and Anna ventured outside. Lainey paused for a cigarette (“I only smoke when I’m drinking”), but Mo’s attention was on a Super Dogfood truck parked down the street. She tugged on Anna’s hand. “You need to eat too,” Mo said.
The sisters stood in line, the cool air doing its work to sober them. The streetlamps, too, made it harder to feel drunk than the technicolor red and blue bar lights had. They each ordered a fully loaded hot dog—relish, onions, ketchup, mustard, and jalapeños. “Sorry if this is kind of a laid-back bachelorette party,” Mo said, mouth full. She swallowed, the bun sticking in her throat. She wished she had a beer to wash it down but knew she didn’t need another.
“I wanted you here to celebrate all this with me. And I thought seeing Kyle at dinner might help you know him better.”
Mo must have made some sort of face, a face dramatic enough that Anna could see its expression in the light of the streetlamp.
“What?” her sister asked.
“I don’t get Kyle.” She paused and tried to reroute, but her mouth got away from her. “I know you love him and he loves you, but I feel like you deserve someone … He’s just so—listen, I don’t want to say something that will hurt your feelings.”
Anna’s lips pursed. “Then you should have stopped talking two minutes ago. I’m going to chalk this up to alcohol or moodiness. Can you be happy with me that I found a guy I can imagine making a life with? Is this because you’re jealous?”
Mo snorted. “Of Kyle?”
“You don’t even know him. You barely even know me anymore,” Anna said, her voice tight and hard.
Maureen felt the gut punch of that statement. “Anna.”
Her sister relented, turning toward Mo. “What?”
“I am sorry. I’m sorry for not being here as much the past few years. Hell, do you know how bad I felt when I didn’t even have an idea for this party tonight? I didn’t know you’d grown into having a whole karaoke song list.”
Anna shrugged a shoulder. “You could have asked.”
