Page 44 of How to Say I Do
“Oh, so you’re just wearing that as afashionstatement?”
“Drop it.” I knew good and well that was the exact way to piss him off, and, sure enough, the edge in my voice mashed down on Micah’s defensive buttons. Predictably, his eyebrows shot up as his chin went down. He dug out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, studying me as if he was weighing up whether I was worth any of his attention for the rest of his life.
I rolled my eyes and went back to my phone.
“I tried texting you, you know.”
Guilt was his comeback of choice today. “I lost my phone.”
“Mmhmm.” A long drag of his cigarette. On the set, the director called, “Action.” Micah looked at me from under his eyelashes, hollowing his cheeks.
Those assessing eyes. That unblinking gaze. I hadn’t thought it before, but now… “Did youknow?”
“Know?” He dragged out that single word into a multi syllable question.
“About Jenna.”
As soon as I asked, I knew. Of course he had. Of course he’d known. Micah knew everything about every model in the city. He’d told me about three different pregnancies, and about who was secretly dating who and who had dumped who, and who was never actually dating to begin with because they were very, very gay, and very, very closeted. There was no way on God’s green Earth or under Coco Chanel’s soul that he did not know about Jenna and Derrick Kane.
“Oh, please.” Micah’s words tumbled out on a slip of smoke, blown sideways around my face. “Everyoneunderstood what was going on. It sucks that she didn’t keep up her end of the deal. Like, itreallyfucking sucks, because, hello, howmortifying. But everyonegotit. We all knew already.”
“Everyoneknew? About her and Kane?”
“About her andyou!” He waved his cigarette over me as he gave me a what-the-fuck-did-you-expect look. “Obviouslyyou guys wereusingeach other. She climbed that career ladder sky-fucking-high”—a big sweep of his hand toward the blue sky—“and you were all over the right media. All you two needed was one year— No, no, just nine months, and that would have been it. You’d get the partnership at Harrison, and she’d keep being herself, the new face of every-fucking-thing.” He dropped his cigarette and lit another in one smooth motion of inhaling, exhaling, and winding up his arms as he got good and going. “Like, I don’t understandwhyshe couldn’t stick to the plan? Obviously she got the beneys before you did, so, selfish much?” He rolled his eyes heavenward, sucking down a deep inhale.
In his own way, he was offended for me. Upset for me, even. I recognized that, even if I had no fucking clue what else he was saying. “Partnership?” Out of everything he’d said, that was the only thing I echoed.
His mouth twisted. “Uh,duh? You’reobviouslyHarrison’s favorite, and he was teeing you up to be his anointed little princeling. All you needed was the final piece, you know? You needed to sell the glorious life to everyone who wants to buy what you’ve got. And it was a fuckingbrilliantmove, I have to tell you. Jenna isclearlygoing to go places with those cheekbones—God damn Naomi Campbell bone structure—and those eyes, myGod. So you needed someone on your arm, and she needed a launch pad…” He spoke with the cigarette bouncing between his lips, hands moving fast, enunciating every word. “We all thought it was fuckingbrill. But then she stabbed you in the back, going public with her littlecinq à septwith Derrick Kane, so now…” He clamped his lips shut.
And here I thought all she’d done was rip out my heart. I had no idea my career was on the line, too. “Harrison has never spoken to me about becoming a partner.”
“Well you don’ttalkabout it—”
“Jenna wasn’t a professional arrangement!” I shouted. “I didn’t date her for appearances! Iloved—” My voice tore in half.
Micah was silent. Intricately, stupendously silent. He watched me carefully, his gaze, for once, not flippant or snide or accusatory. A couple hundred feet away, Priscilla struggled with her lines. A production assistant ran onto the set in between takes, dabbing sweat off powdered cheeks and handing out ice-cold bottles of water.
The whole time, Jenna had been working our relationship as part of her career ladder. Theentiretime.
Sunlight caught on the gold outline of a sea turtle. I dropped my chin and tried to stop the flood of my memories. Not of Jenna, but of Wyatt. Of beaches and midnights and slow smiles, and someone who hadwantedto put a ring on my hand, even if it was only a tourist trinket, even if it was only for two days. He’d wanted me, he’d honestly wanted me, at least for a little bit. Wasn’t it just a sign, a giant Times Square sign, that I was here, maudlin and morose over Wyatt when I was supposed to be broken-hearted over Jenna?
“IthoughtI loved her,” I said. “Once.”
Micah spun me around. He took my hands, almost tenderly, and regarded me like he was an oracle about to dispense holy wisdom from on high. “Honey,” he said. “If you want to find love?” He raised our clasped hands in front of our faces.
If you want to find love, his name starts with Wyatt. You’ve got to turn around. You know you missed the boat, or plane, in this case. You fucked up, you already fucked up—
“If you want to find love, youhaveto go to Queens.”
CHAPTER11
Wyatt
I kept turningit all over in my mind. Where did I go wrong? What did I do that pushed him away? What was the moment, the thing that I said or did that made everything collapse? If I understood it, and I relived the moment where I fucked it all up, maybe I could…
What? Go back in time? Replay the week somehow andnotsay or do whatever it was that made Noël leave me in the middle of the night? No, there were no do-overs in life. I’d had one week with Noël, and that was it.
This wasn’t the right way to reminisce and reflect on those six days. I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from striding down a daily path of self-flagellation. Pour myself a cup of coffee; think about Noël’s smile.
