The Worst Best Man Read online

  “Yeah,” she says, her lips pressed together as she looks off to an area behind me. Then she shakes out her arms, as though she’s exorcising whatever’s troubling her. “You’re right. Well, I’m going to go. And maybe we’ll see each other later in the week?”

  I nod. “Was hoping you’d say something like that.”

  “Okay,” she says, patting my stomach. “Good, good.” She turns back toward the door, hesitates, then faces me again, her expression soft and her voice unsure. “May I kiss you goodbye?”

  That fucking question. It has a pulse and fingers and is currently digging into my chest as though it wants to pull my heart out and hand it to her. What. The. Hell. I puff out my cheeks, trying to pretend I’m considering her request because I don’t know what else to do with myself. “I’m thinking about it.”

  She pokes me in the stomach. “Yes or no?”

  I gently take hold of her wrists and pull her toward me. “Definitely yes.”

  She leans into my side and places her right hand in my left one. It’s a pose I’ve seen on dozens of special occasions, when the newly married couple dances for the first time. I wonder if she’s seen it so often she’s taken to mimicking it.

  “Are we dancing?” I ask.

  “No,” she says, threading her fingers with mine. “I just like being tucked against you.”

  I bend and sweep my lips across her forehead. She seizes the opportunity to place her index finger against my chin and rotate it so our mouths meet. Her tongue leads, and mine follows. That single digit is now a five-finger caress against my cheek and jaw, and despite the many points of contact between us, it’s that hand that makes me shudder. We slowly draw apart, both of us a little dazed, and now I’m the one rocked by the enormity of what we just did—because of all the things we’ve shared this weekend, this moment is the one I’ll remember the most.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lina

  Rey lifts his palms in the air excitedly. “Turn it up. Turn it up.”

  My older brother’s demanding when the remote control isn’t in his hands. Knowing this, Natalia and I instinctively toss the device between us to keep it out of his reach.

  “Y’all are such brats,” Rey says as he tries to snatch it in midair. Eventually, Natalia and I stop horsing around and I increase the volume.

  We’re in the living room of the small home my mother and her sisters share in Silver Spring. Everyone except Jaslene and me is wearing their Easter Sunday best, and lest I forget it, my mother’s periodically sucking her teeth to remind me that my outfit—a cream blouse and taupe slacks—is underwhelming. Jaslene, who sometimes spends special occasions with us because she lives alone and her family’s in New York, is exempt from my mother’s ire—for now.

  Paolo’s managed to get YouTube through the TV, and we’re watching videos of this year’s Carnaval celebration in Rio’s Sambadrome. It’s the culmination of an intensive and seemingly all-consuming effort on the part of dozens of samba schools to throw one of the most elaborately staged parades in the world.

  “So which samba school is this?” Jaslene asks, a pastel de carne in her hand. It’s essentially a Brazilian-style beef empanada but because Brazilians tend to do everything on a grand scale, this version is the size of a pizza slice.

  “Estação Primeira de Mangueira,” Natalia says from her spot on the armchair Paolo’s sitting in. She throws her hands in the air. “Their theme this year was perfect, and now they’re champions once again.”

  Tia Izabel groans. “I wanted Unidos da Tijuca to win.”

  Everyone except Jaslene boos at her.

  “Wait,” Jaslene says, her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with what she said?”

  “Brazilian samba schools are really clubs tied to different parts of the city,” I explain. “To many, a school is on the same level as a favorite professional sports team. So loyalties and rivalries are inevitable.” I give my aunt a playful evil eye. “It’s like saying you’re a Phillies fan in a bar filled with Mets fans. It’s not wise. And anyone in this house who isn’t a Mangueira fan is suspect.”

  Tia Izabel huffs and joins my mother and Tia Viviane in the kitchen, while Natalia grins and high-fives me.

  “Look at the flag,” Rey says. “That must have caused an uproar.”

  He’s referring to the fact that Mangueira reimagined the Brazilian flag, even changing its colors from green and yellow to pink, green, and white, to represent the forgotten ones in Brazilian society: Indigenous peoples, persons of African descent, and the poor.

  “Look at that woman’s costume,” Jaslene says, cringing. “I think I’m having sympathetic butt-crack pains. There’s no way that material should be up there.”

  To some, the outfits are outrageous, but to me, they’re a whimsical symbol of our culture, and I’m in awe of the colorful and thought-provoking display they make. No matter how many times I see Carnaval, whether in person or on television, the samba school competition never fails to amaze me. They prepare for it for months, building elaborate floats, designing jaw-dropping costumes, and perfecting the songs and dances that will hopefully win over their fans and the competition judges alike. “I wish we’d been there this year.”

  “Talvez no próximo ano, filha,” my mother says, sticking her head out of the kitchen’s pass-through window.

  “But next year’s so far away,” I say. “And it’s hard to get time off in March since I’m always preparing for the onslaught of wedding season.”

  Natalia reaches over and smacks my thigh. “That reminds me. Mom said you were stuck in Virginia for work. What happened?”

  My face is blank, but my brain is on high alert, and my stomach’s churning. “Car conked out on me.” I give her a dismissive wave. “It wasn’t a big deal. The wedding venue I was touring was only two miles away. Stayed at the inn there.” Not bad, Lina. Informative yet succinct. With any luck, she’ll be satisfied with that answer and move on.

  “Max must have loved that,” Jaslene says.

  Shit.

  The women around me and in the kitchen all snap their heads in my direction. In fact, I’m almost certain the combined force of their movements caused the rush of air that just breezed past me.

  I blow out my cheeks and massage my temples. “It really wasn’t a big deal. We stayed the night and came back the next morning.”

  “Glad it worked out, then,” Natalia says nonchalantly as she stands. “Well, since you and Jaslene are both here, do you think we could talk about some last-minute ideas for the wedding?” She motions with her googly eyes and exaggerated arms to the rooms upstairs. “Some of it has to do with what I’m wearing, so Paolo can’t be around for the discussion.”

  I raise my face to the ceiling, well aware that she’s planning to fish for information about the trip to Virginia. Natalia is my closest cousin, but she’s also volatile and unpredictable. Plus, she’s the member of my family most likely to divulge decades-old family secrets when she’s tipsy, so it’s always wise to tread carefully around her. Jaslene, on the other hand, is discreet and never judges anyone except herself. Her presence alone will make Natalia less jumpy, so I’m glad she’s around.

  I sigh. “Okay, let’s head up to your old bedroom.”

  “Don’t take too long,” Tia Viviane calls out after us. “We’ll be eating soon.”

  Natalia takes the steps by twos. Jaslene and I climb the stairs like well-adjusted adults operating at normal speed.

  Inside the bedroom, Natalia jumps on her old bed, landing on her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. “Spill. And make it interesting.”

  Jaslene sits in a desk chair and simply waits for me to talk. Before I can close the door, Rey slips inside and holds up the wall.

  “I want to hear the gossip, too,” he says, waggling his brows.

  I blow a raspberry at him and claim my spot next to Natalia’s head. There’s no magic to sharing what happened, so I just open my mouth and pray for the best. “Max and I wen
t to Virginia to check out a wedding venue, my car battery died, there was no room at the inn, we bickered, a person who was running a couples retreat overheard us and invited us to participate in counseling, we accepted, faking that we were a couple so we could take the only available room, and then we had sex. That’s it. That’s what happened.” I gulp in air after spewing my verbal vomit. “Oh, we also might have agreed to continue seeing each other on a non-permanent basis. Questions?”

  Rey rolls his eyes. “Straights make everything unnecessarily complicated. Good luck. Use condoms. I’m out.”

  He saunters out the door and shuts it behind him. We resume our discussion as if Rey never entered the room.

  “Exclusively?” Jaslene asks.

  I shake my head. “What?”

  Jaslene takes my hand. “Did you and Max agree to see each other on an exclusive non-permanent basis?”

  I ponder this as they stare at me. Natalia, for her part, is disturbingly quiet.

  Now that I think about it, Max and I didn’t really say all that much. It was enough to say what our relationship wouldn’t be rather than what it would. “We didn’t discuss exclusivity,” I say. “I guess I should talk to him about that.”

  Natalia smirks at me, then says, “Unless there’s another brother, in which case you’ll want to keep your options open.”

  I give her my active bitch face. “You know, I can arrange to have a swarm of bees released at the end of your ceremony.” I put out my hands as though I’m weighing options. “Butterflies. Bees. What’s the difference, really?”

  Natalia sticks her tongue out at me. “Whatever. Don’t forget I’m paying you.”

  “At a deep, deep discount, so don’t get too cocky,” I say. “You get what you pay for.”

  I’m kidding, of course. Natalia’s getting the same treatment I give to my regular, paying clients. The benefit to me is that I get to say things to her I’d never say to anyone else, which is more than enough to justify the reduced rate on my services.

  Jaslene scoots forward in the chair. “Lina, do you think the pitch next month will be affected by the fact that you and Max are doing”—she waves her hands in front of her—“whatever you two are doing?”

  I raise a brow at her. “In a negative way, you mean?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. In any way, I guess.”

  “If anything, I think it’ll help,” I tell her. “We were at odds from the beginning. I mean, I claimed I wasn’t going to cooperate from the outset. But now? Now we’re working together toward a common goal. That’s actually the easy part.”

  “What’s the hard part?” Jaslene asks.

  I sigh. “Making sure Max and I don’t get stupid and think this can be more than a fling.”

  Jaslene frowns at me. “But why can’t it be? You and Andrew are no longer together, so what you and Max do is none of his business.”

  She’s not wrong. Andrew and I parted ways a long time ago, and it was his choice, not mine. My current relationship shouldn’t be any of his concern. Still, I’m not coming between two brothers whose relationship is already strained. Plus, I’d never sign myself up for a lifetime of needing to interact with my former fiancé. It would be so awkward—for Max especially. And his parents? My God, what would they say about all this?

  Natalia expels a dramatic breath. “Goodness, could you imagine what dinners with your in-laws would be like?”

  “Exactly,” I say. “And even if Max weren’t Andrew’s brother, he’d still be too . . . everything. I’m off-balance when I’m around him. Prone to say and do things I usually never do. He’s just not the man I envision spending my life with.”

  Jaslene narrows her eyes. “You don’t want Andrew, but you want someone like him, right?”

  “Now you’re getting it,” I tell Jaslene. “I need someone as far from provocative as I can possibly get. Anyway, I’m not sure why this conversation went as far afield as it did.”

  “I know why,” Jaslene says with a secret smile.

  “Look at you,” Natalia says to Jaslene. “Sittin’ there like some oracle and shit.”

  I stick my hand out and bob my head. “Well, care to share?”

  Playing the role Natalia’s cast her in, Jaslene straightens and waves her hands around, adopting a majestic voice. “Because despite all the reasons you and Max shouldn’t be together, you yourself admitted that limiting your relationship to a fling would be—and I quote—the ‘hard part.’ What does it tell you when you already need to be reminded of that fact?”

  Natalia tilts her head and nods. “She has a point.”

  I jump up and smooth my hands down the front of my pants. “It tells me I’m a careful person, that’s all. You should expect that from me by now. So, I bet it’s time to eat. Ready to head back down?”

  Natalia and Jaslene grin at each other even though I don’t recall saying anything amusing.

  * * *

  The front doorbell rings just as we’re getting ready to dig into dinner. Rey returns with Marcelo in tow, and our family friend takes the empty seat next to Tia Viviane. He nudges her with his shoulder and she winks at him. Yeah, I’m certain those two have seen each other naked.

  We pass bowls of food to one another in a feeding free-for-all. If during any part of this process the plates are passed counterclockwise, it’s a fluke. I’m the last to receive the feijoada, and as expected, the vultures have stripped the dish of all the delicious pork and beef bits that make this bean stew one of my favorite meals.

  “Seriously, people?” I say, pushing the serving spoon around. “There’s no linguiça left.” Feijoada isn’t feijoada without spicy pork sausage, so now I’m ready to fight someone.

  My mother, who’s sitting to my right, slaps a piece of linguiça on my plate and continues to pass dishes as they come to her.

  “Obrigada, Mãe,” I say.

  She smiles, delighted as usual when an occasional Portuguese word rolls off my tongue. “De nada, filha.”

  As we eat, Marcelo tells us about his daughter’s home in Vero Beach, Florida. It’s spacious, according to him, and he’ll be living in the in-law suite.

  “You could come visit me,” he tells Tia Viviane.

  “Or you could come visit me once you’re gone,” she replies with a lift of her chin.

  “Maybe I will,” he says, leaning into her.

  “You’re going to be one of those pervy men watching people on the beach, aren’t you?” Natalia asks, peering at him with a smile.

  Paolo groans. “Baby, don’t. It’s Easter Sunday—”

  “No,” Marcelo says, talking over Paolo and shaking his head. “When the women see me in my bathing suit, they’ll be the ones checking me out.” He crouches down and adds in a whisper, “And it’s a Speedo.”

  Natalia sticks her finger in her mouth and gags; Rey cringes. Jaslene just blinks and stares at Marcelo.

  Their jokes about his upcoming move gloss over the upshot: Soon I won’t have business headquarters, and unless I get the position with the Cartwright Hotel Group, I’m going to be running my business from the front passenger seat of my car.

  Perhaps I grimace as I think about the repercussions because Marcelo stops laughing and his expression grows serious.

  “Any luck finding a new location?” he asks me.

  “Not yet. But Jaslene and I have been devoting a couple of hours each day to scouting candidates.”

  “Your aunt tells me you’re trying to get a new job,” he says. “What would you be doing?”

  I tell him about the position, even mentioning the potentially significant increase in income.

  “Cha-ching,” Natalia says between bites of her food.

  “So if you get this position, you won’t need to worry about the lease, right?” Rey asks.

  “Exactly. It would definitely take the pressure off me. Plus, more money.”

  “But you’d be working for someone else,” Tia Viviane observes. “Are you ready for someone else to tell you w
hat to do? Even if it means more money?”

  Am I ready? Hell, yes, I’m ready. Owning my own business is stressful—I get night sweats around tax time—and I’d gladly give it up if a better opportunity came along. But these women would laugh in my face if I told them my troubles. They came from another country, got married then divorced, learned the English language, and opened their own business. They don’t have time to hear about my silly American problems. So I make light of Tia Viviane’s question because it’s easier that way. “Ha. I’m a wedding planner. People tell me what to do all the time.”

  “You know what I mean,” Tia Viviane says.

  “I wouldn’t necessarily be doing it forever,” I hedge. “It’s a great opportunity.”

  “Sounds like it,” Tia Izabel says, giving me an encouraging smile.

  “Having options is never a bad thing,” my mother adds flatly.

  The tension holds me in place like a paperweight. I can’t help thinking that they’re disappointed in me, Viviane in particular. She’s the eldest, and the reason my mother and Izabel were able to come to the States in the first place. They faced obstacles and overcame them—under circumstances far more challenging than mine.

  The truth is, failure shouldn’t be an option for me, but if neither Plan A nor Plan B works out, how will I avoid it? It’s only then that I truly realize the extent of my predicament: I need a Plan C, but I don’t have one.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Max

  I start the workweek the same way I’m likely to end it: thinking about Lina.

  I’d like to reach out to her, but I’m not sure how I should go about it. An email’s probably too impersonal. A text might be too familiar. No, I should call her at the office. That way, I can start the conversation with business and test out whether I should end on a more personal note. After dialing Lina’s business number on the speakerphone, I look down at my clammy hands. Damn, I’m in high school all over again.