“You still mad at me?” Ashley asks, sliding into the booth across from me at our favorite smoothie joint.
I haven’t talked to her in weeks. She and Jared went on an off-the-grid-to-find-myself vacation with no phones, no WiFi, and no Netflix. Not a good time, in my opinion. Since she’s been gone, I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the Cohen situation.
Ashley has been my best friend since third grade. We were the class nerds who spent our weekends doing homework and reading books while hanging out. We had a similar goal—to become doctors.
We were roommates in college and med school. She met Jared and moved out of our apartment and into his condo last year.
While I took a job in the ER, she took one as an OB/GYN. When she offered me a position at her practice, I declined. The ER holds my heart. It’s stressful, but I love the unknown. People come to us at their most vulnerable times. I wanted to be a doctor to help people, and the ER is what makes me happy.
“Sure am,” I answer, sipping on my açaí smoothie.
“Come on,” she groans. “How was I supposed to know he was a D-bag who liked gangsters?”
“Jared knows what kind of guy he is.”
She wrinkles her nose and rubs her bottom lip. “You see … Jared doesn’t exactly speak to him.”
“What the hell?” I shriek, tossing my straw wrapper at her. “You set me up with a guy neither one of you speaks to?”
Ashley takes a long drink before answering, “I know about him. Sometimes, I talk to his assistant when I visit Jared at the office. She said he was a winner, so I set you up.” She throws her arm out before placing her hand over her heart. “What if someone gave me the opportunity to set you up with a Hemsworth brother? I wouldn’t say no because I hadn’t personally met him.”
“Big difference,” I mutter, shooting her a dirty look.
“Look, my goal is to find you love, and I’m doing the best I can over here. Not all of them can be winners. It’s called a process of elimination.”
“I’ll find my own love, thank you very much.” I sip on my drink. “No more blind dates from you.”
“Where will you find dates then?” She pushes her fire-red hair away from her face and leans across the table. “Did you finally decide to take my advice and join Tinder?”
“Tinder sounds better than Ashley Finds Me a Date, so possibly,” I lie.
“Look, give me another chance.” She presses her hands together in a praying gesture. “I’ll check attorneys off the list. Jared has plenty of frat brothers.”
“Absolutely not. Frat boys are the worst.”
I stupidly lost my virginity to a frat boy I was tutoring my sophomore year of college. He invited me to a party, and one thing led to another. A week later, he hired a new tutor, who I then caught giving him a blow job.
“Technically, they graduated and are no longer frat boys.”
“Thank you, next,” I sing out.
“No accountants, no former frat boys. Anyone else on your no-no list, you picky pain in the ass?”
“No one you suggest.”
She pouts, and her response comes out in a whine, “You’re no fun. Get married, so I can deliver an amazing maid of honor speech. I demand to take credit for you finding the love of your life.”
I roll my eyes.
She perks up in her seat. “How about this? You let me apologize with margaritas tomorrow. You have to forgive someone who offers margs—top-shelf margs.”
“As great as that sounds, can I take a rain check?”
“Why?” Amusement crosses her freckled face as her lips curl into a smile. “You find a boyfriend? Is that why you’re turning down my fabulous list of men?”
“First off, it’s far from fabulous.” I squirm in the booth. “Don’t kill me for not telling you this, but you have been MIA.”
She tips her drink toward me. “Don’t you dare say you got married, and I missed my maid of honor speech.”
I prepare myself for her impending freak-out. “Cohen came to the ER with Noah.”
“What?” she shrieks, catching the attention of the people around us. “Off the grid or not, I’m pissed you didn’t send a letter, a raven, a tele—whatever the fuck they did before phones were invented—to tell me this!”
“He blew me off at first, but I gave him my card. A few days later, he called, asking for help because Noah was still sick, and it has kind of”—I search for the right explanation—“progressed from there.” I snatch my smoothie and suck it down.
“You’re bailing on me to hang out with Noah and his daddy?” she squeals, shimmying her shoulders from side to side. “I like it. I like it a lot.”
“Gross.” I scrunch up my nose. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Fine, to hang out with Noah and the guy you’ve wanted for years.”
“Guy I’ve wanted for years?” My cheeks burn. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
“And?”
“And he was a total ass to me. He’s not the guy who dated my sister. He’s different.”
“Obviously. Your sister fucked him over. That kind of betrayal will change a man.”
I nod in agreement.
“Ask him out.”
My eyes widen, and it’s my turn to shriek and gain people’s attention, “Are you nuts?”
“What will it hurt?” There’s not a hint of sarcasm on her face.
I flick my hand toward the door. “Go away and get back to giving Pap smears.”
“What will it hurt?” she repeats. Placing her elbows on the table, she rests her chin in her hand and stares at me dreamily. “I think you two would be super hot.”
“Did you bump your head when you were doing that eat, pray, love shit? Not only is he my sister’s ex but he’s also the father of her child.”
“Heather lost any right to him and Noah when she left him for that scumbag.” She leans back and shrugs.
I play with my straw, and it squeaks as I move it in and out of the cup. “Still doesn’t make it right. Heather didn’t do anything to me.”
She snorts. “She cut off all your Barbies’ hair after claiming you were too old to play with them. She made fun of you like it was her job. Remember when she broke your grandmother’s antique clock and blamed it on you?”
Struggling to sound defensive, I say, “Payback isn’t sleeping with her ex, and that was childish stuff she did to me.”
She sighs. “It sucks when your bestie is in love with someone but won’t make her move.”
“I don’t love him,” I say harshly, looking away from her.
“Don’t bullshit me. You told me yourself you loved him.”
When I glance back at her, my narrowed eyes meet her entertained ones. “I told you that my freshman year of high school when I didn’t date, no guy paid attention to me, and he was always around. It was a stupid crush.”
She tips her head to the side. “Look on the plus side, bestie. You won’t have to endure any more of my blind dates.”
“Cohen or no Cohen, I’m still not enduring any more of your blind dates. I’d rather have my period for a year straight.”
“Make sure you make an appointment if that ever happens, okay?”
“I’m still not hiring you as my gyno.”
“Lame.” She checks her watch, frowns, and slides out of the booth. “Find out when I can meet the little guy, and if anything happens between you and Cohen, don’t wait a damn month to tell me, okay? I don’t care where I am. I want all the deets.”
My throat tightens as my nerves go into overdrive.
I considered driving to Cohen’s house to ask him this, but I don’t have panties big enough to do that. So like the scaredy-cat I am, I call him.
“Hey,” he answers.
Playing with my hand in front of me, I inspect my nails in an attempt to control my anxiety. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Sure,” he drawls, curiosity in his tone. “What’s up?”
“My parents want to meet Noah,” I rush out before I lose my nerve.
My hold tightens around the phone, and I glance around the hospital cafeteria, wondering if I’ll need Xanax by the time this call ends. This request can piss him off enough that he won’t talk to me again.
“You told them?” he hisses, and my eyes slam shut at his tone.
It’s a mixture of shock and anger.
As if I betrayed him.
My wish of him taking this lightly is not coming true.
“It was an accident.” Tears prick at my eyes, regret sliding through me as my hands start to shake.
“An accident?” he slowly repeats, calling my bullshit.
“My mom called when I was babysitting Noah. I ignored her calls, but she kept calling. I was worried it was an emergency.”
“Jamie,” he warns.
“I didn’t plan for her to find out. She heard Noah in the background and asked who he was.”
“You couldn’t tell her he was someone else?” The bullshit-calling is still evident in his voice.
“I suck at being put on the spot, and I suck even more at lying, which some would find a very honorable trait.”
“You know what another honorable trait is?”
“Forgiveness?” I squeak out.
“Keeping your word that no one would find out.”
“Cohen,” I say his name like a statement.
“Jamie,” he mocks in the same tone.
“I give you my word that they won’t tell Noah who they are. Please give my parents this. Even if just for one day. My mom’s birthday is this week, and it’d make her day.”
“I don’t care what’d make her day.”
The call goes silent, and the anxiety feels so similar to when my mom called, asking who was in the background.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally states.
“That’s all I’m asking for.”
“No, you’re asking for a lot more.”