Page 23 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

Rosa shuffles her feet and, biting her lip, looks around, then she says, “Sorry. I, um… I’m going to go now.”

I’m torn. Ingrid doesn’t halt her flow of monologue that holds my attention as I’m trying to work out what it is she wants. And I notice Rosa turning away and making an exit. This all happens in slo-mo. I reach out to Rosa, but she has already moved away.

“Wait!” I finally manage to articulate the word I need to say. “Just a minute, Rosa!”

“No. No, you go ahead,” Rosa says, still walking away. “I… just remembered something… So…” She is already down the street. Each word she says is another step away from me. And I seem to be rooted to the spot. I want to follow her but the look in her eyes tells me, 'No'.

“She’s such a sweetie, isn’t she?” Ingrid says, following my gaze. She is standing on the street in front of me, saying something but I’m not really tuned in. I watch Rosa walk briskly down the street until she disappears into the crowd and out of sight. “… the Big Apple Media Awards...” Ingrid smiles at me and I realize I haven’t heard a word she has said. “…I think Harry and Meghan will be there and they always bring a certain je ne sais quoi to an event, don’t you think? I mean, I know they are not technically royal anymore, but when you’re born into something it’s not like the blue blood turns a different color, just because you’re not actually wearing a crown, right?”

“What? Um, excuse me… media awards?”

“Yes. Nathan. They’ve sent the invitation to me, but they’ve printed both our names on the one invitation card.” Ingrid pulls out an envelope from her blood-red patent leather Prada bag. “So, I was wondering what you want to do about it. That’s why I came over. Well, I was in the neighborhood anyway, so I thought I’d just, you know, run it by you… I mean, we could call up the organizers, and get them to amend the invitation and send out separate ones to each of us, but it’s soon, next week, and things get lost in the mail all the time. So, what I thought is… we could arrive together. That would save a big headache, wouldn’t it? And…” Ingrid changes her tone from a-hundred-miles-an-hour breathy to a deeper, more sultry, “…we could, maybe, enjoy the evening… I mean, yes, it’s work, and we’ll be expected to schmooze. That goes without saying…”

Okay,” I say, a bit bamboozled by the torrent of information. “Yes. That’s fine, Ingrid.” We had broken up. Yes. But we could still be friends. I was open to that. There were no hard feelings on my part. Ingrid is an amazing person. She’s just not the amazing person I want to be with.

“Were you going to have coffee? I’ll join you…” We begin to walk slowly down the street towards The Chelsea Coffee Company. Ingrid continues, over-animated. “I’ve been so busy lately with my new YouTube channel. Follower numbers are off the charts. I feel so blessed. It’s all about quality content and regular blasts. Larry, my agent, tells me I’ll probably be up for a Big Apple award next year.”

“That’s great, Ingrid. I’m happy for you.” I hear my own voice as if it doesn’t belong to me. I’m in the café but part of me is still salsa dancing with Rosa in my kitchen. I’m sad that the moment is gone. The spell is broken.

Chapter 19

Rosa

I’m almost running. Nathan called after me, but I couldn’t stay. Suddenly, the beautiful fictional bubble burst and my romantic idiocy came crashing down around me like fallout from Godzilla on a Manhattan rampage.

I didn’t want to be the third wheel on that vehicle. No way. Ingrid is trying to get back with Nathan and I don’t want to be in the way of that. He laughed at me when I said that I would try not to be in his way. Well, this is exactly what I’m talking about.

They have history. They were in love and maybe they still are, and they just need to reconnect and find their happily-ever-after. I don’t want to be the one to mess that up. What am I even saying? I’m not Ingrid’s rival. As if. I can be fully confident that Nathan doesn’t have the tiniest interest in me other than a casual, my-kid-sister’s-friend kind of interest.

I just got carried away by his kindness. Anyone would have done the same thing in those circumstances: I couldn’t go back to my apartment. He was on his way home in a cab. Kendra is away. There’s a spare room. There’s absolutely no hidden romantic agenda there, surely. It’s human kindness and shouldn’t be confused with anything deeper or more meaningful than that.

But then, there was the sharing a quiet night in: the movie we both like and the popcorn moment. And the ice cream in the kitchen. Spoons dipping into tubs. Sweetness and laughter. And salsa dancing to my favorite tunes. He tried so hard to learn the steps. It was the best non-date I have ever had. And if that is all I am allowed then, I am happy. I shared a beautiful night with a hot older man who was respectful and fun and charming and didn’t try anything sleazy with me. Although, was I disappointed about that? Maybe. No.

It was like we were in one of those old films where the guy and the girl don’t kiss until the end and the sexiest thing they get to do is hold hands. Or like ‘The Notebook’: Allie and Noah don’t make out until they have overcome a heap of obstacles. And it looks as if they are destined to be apart, and then… Oh my! That kiss.

There definitely won’t be a kiss for us. That’s for certain. But I will always have the caramel butter popcorn finger contact moment which was almost as good.

I cross the street and find a café that I don’t know. Somewhere new and fresh without connotation or history. Somewhere far enough away from Nathan’s Chelsea neighborhood, so there is little chance of him wandering in with Ingrid on his arm and the awkward, “Oh, Rosa… again. New York, huh? Not such a big city.”

I look around the café tables inside which all seem to be occupied by happy couples enjoying a leisurely breakfast, probably after a lie-in and some hot morning sex. Sets of twos on every table, slumped together, fingers entwined, lazily disheveled with mops of unruly bed hair. I can almost hear their thoughts by reading their body language. Oh, babe. Let’s have a lazy day, why not? We’ll have breakfast because I’m starving after that three-hour morning make-out session and go back to bed. What do say, hun? I just can’t get enough of you, you wild temptress. Why did I have that thought? I’m annoyed with myself and order a large mochaccino with extra chocolate and marshmallows to go.

Irritation and disappointment make me restless, and I take my mochaccino and stomp to a bench outside where I lose two of my marshmallows that were stuck to the lid. When I took the lid off, they slid onto the floor but made sure they ricocheted off Kendra’s pretty dress, leaving a trail of chocolatey foam, before hitting the dirt near a dog poop. Urgh.

I can’t settle and wander aimlessly trying to decide how to fill my weekend. I’m avoiding my apartment. I don’t want to go back there, even if it is safe. I walk down to the Hudson River Park. Families with young children play on the swings and slides. Their laughter and squeals of delight are abrasive and harsh. Watching the mothers hold the tiny hands of their small children creates an unpleasant ache somewhere deep inside. I turn away and follow the path to where brightly colored boats bob and chug on swirling brown currents.

I am reminded of the day of the photo shoot, out on Esmerelda with Nathan, when I thought I was going to die of exhaustion. I didn’t like him at all and, I suppose, I was a bit in awe of Kendra’s older brother, who had achieved legendary status in my imagination. I thought he was aloof and cold, but I realize now that this was because he was focused and professional. I believed he was grumpy and unfriendly and that he didn’t like me at all. But I was so useless and young, wide-eyed: straight off the plane.

It was only a year ago, but I feel so much older. My life is slipping away, and I’m suddenly lonely as grubby New York rain spits in my face. I tug my collar up and hunch my shoulders as if this futile action is going to help me not get wet. I wish I had remembered to bring an umbrella.

Chapter 20

Nathan

The Big Apple Media Awards is the most prestigious event in the industry calendar. It’s up there with The Oscars, with as much hype and lead-up insanity as you would expect from one of the biggest nights of the year. Each year is grander and glitzier than the one before, attracting A-list celebrities, showbiz names, and the rising stars of the world of print and digital media. The Big Apple has catapulted careers overnight. I’ve been nominated for a couple of categories, so I had better turn up, in case I win one. Part of me is excited and proud about the praise and acknowledgment of my work, and part of me couldn’t care less.

The New York Times Magazine ran the article about the Cuban Community Center, and it looked really good. The piece was spread across four pages and coincided with the Cuban Revolution Day. I called Alfie to congratulate him. The picture of Rosa dancing with Raul is central. They are wearing street clothes. The feel is quite mundane, although the light from the window is truly atmospheric which lifts the picture and adds glamor. I’ve caught them in a kind of semi-silhouette. It’s all about contrast. There’s hardly any color. Everything is low-key and everyday, and that is why this image is successful. It conveys the magic of dance and Cuban culture that is intrinsic to ordinary people. Everyone in Cuba dances. They dance before they can walk.

I’ll see Alfie at the awards, probably. The magazine is in the running again this year and he deserves to pick up a trophy or two.

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