Ricochet (2 page)

“What the fuck is this?”

I was barely through the door when Arianna jumped up from the couch and charged toward me. The fire in her green eyes was something I’d only seen a few times since we first started dating; recently, I saw it almost every day. It didn’t faze me until she shoved her phone in my face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I said, ‘what is this?
’!”

I squinted at the small screen and then placed my hand on the inside of her wrist to push the phone away.
The picture was simple enough. Warren, a couple of the guys, me, and a group of random people we’d met on the trip. I didn’t see what the big deal was.

“It’s a picture of us in Vegas?”
I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

“Yes, I can see that. Who the
fuck are those bitches in the picture?” Her voice took on a slightly hysterical, sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

The group picture consisted of about five dudes and three chicks. I didn’t see anything wrong with it and shrugged.

“I don’t know them,” I said, not in a whisper but speaking softly. “We met them at PURE, I think.” Or was it the club inside the Bellagio? Irrelevant. “We were partying and drinking, but nothing happened. I already told you about that night.”

“Then explain this.” Arianna pushed the phone in my face again.

“Get your phone away from me.”

“Fuck you! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this. I had to see this shit online. Really?”

“What shit exactly?” I was genuinely curious. While memories of the trip were a little blurry at times, I could say with certainty I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t—and would never—cheat, on my girl. I can’t say the same for the guys.  Thinking about some of the shit they did being made me cringe. What happened in Vegas would not stay there, not with photographic proof popping up.

She smirked. “Are you afraid of me finding something?”

“No.” I dragged the word out.
What the hell is her problem?
“You’re the one who said you had to see this shit online. I’m just asking what you were talking about.”

“Vegas. Why did I have to find out about Vegas from the Internet? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you I went to Vegas?” It was a rhetorical question seeing how when Warren handed me my boarding pass, Ari was the first person I texted.

“You didn’t tell me what you
did
in Vegas. That you were hanging around girls and Warren and Lonnie aren’t together.”

She can’t be serious.
“You’re mad because … Are you for real? Who gives a fuck about Warren and Lonnie right now?”

The back and forth about this topic and the way Arianna had been acting was exhausting. I understood how she felt when it came to Warren’s on-again, off-again relationship with his girlfriend, Lonnie. When things were good between him and Lonnie they acted as though they were seconds away from running off to get married.
Warren forgot himself when things were bad.
It was never pretty, and in a way, kind of sad. But to let him tell it: he’s a man—
the
man. And whenever he was single he was entitled to do whatever he wanted. That meant sticking his dick in anything that moved. But that had nothing to do with me or my current and pointless argument with Arianna.

“When Warren does—”

“No. Fuck that!” Realizing I was in her face, I took a step back and shook my head. “We’re not talking about him. We’re talking about you. Actually, no. I’m done talking.” I turned to walk away, done.

“You know what I think, Miles?”
She yanked my sleeve and pulled me back.

I narrowed my eyes. “Do not touch me.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for this”—she waved her finger between us—“for us. You don’t want a serious relationship. Maybe we should cool it for a while.”

For a second I thought she was bluffing, trying to get a reaction out of me. When her resolve didn’t falter, when she didn’t start backtracking, I almost lost it.

“Are you serious? Over some bullshit? Over some pictures I’m doing nothing in? We need to
cool it
?”

I towered over her but didn’t let my temper get the best of me. I would never lay a hand on her, but I sure as hell would say some shit I would regret if she pushed me. And boy was she good at pushing my buttons when she wanted. Right now was no exception.

“Oh, shut up.” Her voice wasn’t high pitched or angry anymore. She sounded bored, uninterested in what she was saying. “If you were serious about us, we wouldn’t be in the same place we’ve been for the past four years. You wouldn’t have gone on vacation with your friends without telling me where you were going. And I wouldn’t have had to find out what you did from pictures online, for fuck’s sake.”

“You found out where I was going the same time I did!”

“I find it funny,” she continued with a sarcastic smirk, “that you’re acting concerned about me now. I’m sure you weren’t thinking about me when you were running around Vegas.”

Arianna
pushed her phone back in my face.
It took everything in me not to grab the piece of shit out of her hand and throw it against the wall.

This was bullshit. I did nothing wrong. When I returned from Vegas, Arianna and I had a small fight. Despite her knowing the tradition, despite my telling her dozens of times I was clueless about where we were going beforehand, the minute she heard “Las Vegas” she was convinced I’d been keeping it a secret all along. Even when I tried to reason—if I’d wanted it to be a secret she would
never
have known—she still made it an issue.

And now, after what felt like hours of arguing, begging, and some pleading for her to think about what she was doing and saying, I stopped.

She wanted to go. She was ready to end it, end us. Why was I begging her to stay with me if she didn’t want to?
If someone wants to walk out of your life, you should let them, right
?

“You know what?” My shoulders slumped. I rubbed my finger and thumb against my eyes in a final attempt to compose myself and control the burn behind my eyelids as
everything she’d said caught up with me
. I’d been too much in denial to let the words sink in before. Arianna and I had gone back and forth for so long. I was angry and done with feeling like a pussy: crying and begging someone to stay with me.

Resigned, I stormed to the door, yanked it open, and nodded toward the hallway. “If you want to go, then go. Get the
fuck
out. Just don’t forget
you
wanted this. You decided this. If you leave, there’s no taking it back.”

We’d had this talk before.

In the four years we’d been together, I’d always made it clear—and she’d done the same—if we left each other, that was it. Arianna and I weren’t the type of couple who did the break up to make up thing just for kicks. That shit was exhausting to watch, much less live. I would never be about that life.

Despite her mind being made up and all the things she’d said to try to tear me down in the past hour, Arianna had the gall to act shocked that I told her to scram.

Scowling, she picked up a bag stashed in the corner and made her way toward the door
. Her chin quivered. She opened her mouth to say something, but I glared and pointed toward the hallway. To me, she was done talking, and I was done listening.

Once she crossed the threshold, I slammed the door shut behind her. I thought about
swallowing my pride and running down the hall
—begging her forgiveness for whatever the hell she was mad about, asking her for a better explanation even though I wouldn’t get one—but I didn’t.

I slumped to the floor and softly banged the back of my head against the wood. This was not how I thought things would turn out. This wasn’t the plan I had in mind.
With shaky hands, I texted my sister.

Sell the ring. It’s over.

“I feel like you’ve been avoiding me,” my sister said, a few weeks later at dinner.

I shrugged and waved the waitress over. “That’s because I have.”

When I texted Lena about the ring, she called with a million questions and demanded answers I didn’t have. In hindsight, I should have waited a few days and let it simmer before I hit anyone up,
but my instincts won. I cut all ties
.

My sister and I were close and always made sure to meet from time to time. But for the past few weeks, I’d been dodging her because the subject of Arianna would come up. Since her name alone put a bitter taste in my mouth, I wasn’t ready to discuss my ex, the end of our relationship, or that I heard she was already with someone else.

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Miles.”
Her voice was comforting, yet her eyes were full of pity.
I felt pathetic.

“Stop looking at me like that.” I took a few large gulps of my beer. “We’re over. I went to Vegas and she ended things. She’s moved on. The end. So how about
we
move on from this topic? How’s married life?”

“We’re getting a divorce.”

Shocked her marriage lasted as long as it did, I hesitated, unsure of what to say.
Her husband’s family came from old New England wealth. While we Bedfords matched them in bank, we were considered new money; therefore, we never took ourselves too seriously.

He never mistreated my sister
, at least not that I know of. When it came to their relationship, she wore the pants and ran that shit. But considering the way my sister was, she needed a man’s man. Lena would never admit it, but the way she was able to control her husband made respecting him difficult. Meanwhile, whenever other people were around, he’d bring out the arrogance I loathed about his family. We never vibed well.

I felt bad for my sister, though.

“I’m sorry.”

Squinting, she leaned away from me. “No, you’re not.”

“Just like you’re not sorry about Arianna, huh?”

She frowned but didn’t deny it. “I wasn’t her number one fan, but I was more than happy
you
seemed happy. I would’ve never wanted this to happen to you. You know that.”

“I do.” I nodded. “I know that.”

“Do you miss her?”

There were times when she popped into my head. Stray moments that made me smile. It would be awhile before I forgot her completely. “Sometimes, I guess.”

“Maybe it’s not too late to work things out. Maybe you guys will get back together.” Lena’s voice was hopeful, but we both knew Arianna wasn’t coming back. If she did, I had no intention of
reconciling with her.

Whether I wanted to or not, I would have to find a way to be OK with that.

“I think you should come with me tonight,” Warren said, his voice hesitant as if he was afraid of my answer. It had been the same invitation for the past month or so, but the pressure to go out had increased since my dinner with Lena a couple of weeks ago. That was the first time I did something other than work, and Warren didn’t want me to let go of that sociable feeling. He was trying to be a good friend, saying misery loved company. I wasn’t miserable, though, and I didn’t want any company—just solitude.

I’d declined all the other times he’d asked, choosing to enjoy my newfound freedom by, ironically, staying in alone. Tonight I felt different. I needed fresh air. “Yeah, I think I might.”

“Really?” He stiffened. “You know I mean go out, right? As in getting dressed, leaving the house, and actually talking to people?”

“Yeah, I got it.” I laughed. “I need to get the fuck out of here …”

He smirked. “And get some pussy?”

Warren’s one-track mind meant him and Lonnie were off again. I didn’t want to go there.
“
Where are you going? What’s the plan?”

“Good question.”

There was a moment of silence while I replayed his response. “How you gonna invite me out when your shit’s not even together yet?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Because you’re my boy. That’s what we do.”

I waited for him to say “duh” but he didn’t. “So, to clarify …” I shifted to face him. “You asked me to chill hoping I’d say no?”

“No,” he answered, slowly. “I hoped you’d say yes but expected you to say no. There’s a difference.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, really, there isn’t a difference.”

The back-and-forth continued for a while before we decided to go to Faneuil Hall and bar hop.

The night was a bust.

This was the first time in years I’d been to a club or bar as a single man. I had no idea how to act. I didn’t remember the girls being like they were: dressed nice, dancing with each other but turning down any and every guy who tried to interact with them.

It was lame. I felt awkward. After a few drinks, I made my way to the main road in hopes of hailing a cab.

I’d drunkenly staggered halfway up State Street before someone called my name
. I turned around just as Warren tried tackling me to the ground.

“What the fuck?”

“Give it to me!” He roamed his hands over me.

“
Yo.” I pushed him away, looked around, and straightened. “If you don’t back the fuck up … How drunk are you?”

“I mean your phone, smartass.” Warren took a large step backward. “You’re not
that
cute, and I’m not that drunk.”

“What the fuck you mean?” I widened my arms. He was more than drunk. He was delusional. I’ve been called tall, dark, and handsome on more than one occasion.
I smacked a hand to my chest and took a step forward. “I’m sexual-fucking-chocolate
at its best. Admit it!”

“Really?”

I paused for a second and replayed our conversation in my head.
What the hell was I talking about?
“OK, let’s take back that last minute.”

“Agreed.” H
e held out his hand palm up
. “Now give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Because I know that look.” He pointed at me, all accusingly and shit. “And I’m not letting you call Arianna. You’re drunk enough to do it.”

“I’m not drunk!” I stumbled away from him and shook my head. “And I’m not going to call Ari. I’m just trying to go home.”

“You’re going the wrong way. So there goes the not-drunk theory.”

I frowned at my surroundings. I wasn’t lost; I knew exactly where I was. I just happened to be heading toward the aquarium when I needed to be going in the opposite direction. “I’m not lost.”

His laugh echoed behind me. “I didn’t say you were lost, just you were going the wrong way.”

I didn’t answer and doubled back. I ended up slumping on a nearby bench, exhausted and defeated. “This is so fucked up.”

The sound of Warren’s sigh reached me before I felt him beside me.
He slapped me hard on the back
. “It’s about time you said something.”

He didn’t need me to elaborate. The genuine friend in him always showed up when I needed it. “How is it she leaves me over nothing, already has some chump catering to her, and I’m fucking miserable? How? Do you
think … ?”

“Don’t know. I don’t think you want to, either. What good would it do?”

Having confirmation Arianna cheated? Nope. Wouldn’t do any good at all.

“Is this how ‘the Bean’ is now?” I gestured around with a sarcastic laugh. “Stuck up chicks and way too expensive drinks?”

When I peeped Warren’s scowl, my laugh turned into a chuckle. Calling
the city by anything other than its actual name was one of the easiest ways to fuck with him.

“That’s how
Boston’s
always been.
Nothing’s changed around here but you
.”

“I refuse to believe that,” I said, shaking my head.

I hadn’t changed much. What I’d done was adapt. I was whoever and whatever Arianna wanted. That included becoming someone who constantly pulled audibles:
changing plans at the last minute to ditch whichever of my friends she didn’t like that day
. Warren was one of the only people who was nonnegotiable. No matter how much she tried to force him from my life or how much he hated her, I never budged when it came to our friendship.

Between that thought and the buzz from the whiskey, I had the urge to tell him how much he meant to me as my boy—my best friend.

My rare moment of sentimentality caused him to laugh.
“Now I know you’re lit.”

I didn’t comment. He wasn’t way off; I
was
drunk.

“You know what you need?” He perked up.

I cringed, constantly worried about what he would say next but rolled my wrist, indicating he should get on with his thought
.

“A rebound!” he almost shouted, way too fucking proud of himself.

“A rebound, Warren? Really?”

“Yes!
The Rebound Effect. It’s the only way to move on.”

Here we go.
“What’s the Rebound Effect?”

“Funny you should ask.” He cleared his throat and took on a tone way more serious than this conversation called for. “The Rebound Effect states: in order for you to get over someone, you need to get under someone else. And God knows you need to get some.”

“You know what I’m not doing? Taking advice from you, ever. Didn’t you almost get burned by some chick last year? Had that itch?” That was a low blow on my part, but he needed to shut the fuck up about what was going on in my bed. “I’m not going to risk catching something to prove a point.”

“Then be careful. Wrap it up or don’t fuck them.” He shrugged. “That’s not what I’m trying to say, but you need someone, something. After having a constant person in your life for years, you’ll go crazy once you start missing that attention and affection. Believe me. I might fuck around, but it’s not about the pussy. Sometimes it’s about having someone there.”

“Well …” I smacked my hands against my thighs and stood. This conversation was getting too deep. “Before I start growing a pussy of my own from all this girl talk, I think I’ll head out.”

“Hey! You’ll be OK, you know?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

I just wasn’t sure when.