“Talked to me, yeah.” She shrugs. “What’s the big deal?”
“Nothing.” Except it’s out of character for my buddy. And Echo is acting…flustered. “I didn’t know you and X were that close.” The kind of close that would warrant his extra effort.
“Since we both got stuck in that Spanish class with the Russian professor this semester, we’ve been talking more.” Again, Echo doesn’t quite meet my stare.
That makes me scowl. “How much more?”
“I don’t know. More.” She pours herself a mimosa heavy on the champagne and takes a healthy sip. “Want eggs with your French toast?”
I should get to the bottom of this thing with Xavian, but she said the magic words. “You made French toast? For me?”
She nods. “When I figured out the party would be just the two of us, I decided to make your favorite.”
“No wonder it smells so good in here.” I grab her around the waist and pull her close. “Thanks, shortcake.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s my way of buttering you up.”
“For what?”
“It’s my turn to pick the movie…”
Probably another reason everyone bailed today. The guys usually pick action flicks. Kella likes mysteries and psychological thrillers with the occasional anime film. Maryam chooses blockbusters everyone has seen a hundred times. But Echo is a hopeless romantic. She always picks the mushy movies. And they always make me groan.
Everlasting, til-death-do-us part love is a greeting-card fantasy. Businesses use it as an emotional tool to sell everything from books to flowers to honeymoon destinations. Echo is never going to agree with me, and that’s fine. Her eternal optimism is part of her charm. But my family history makes me fairly sure I’m incapable of her notion of love. And I don’t know if I can handle ninety minutes of mind-numbing sap this morning.
I grab my phone. “Gosh, would you look at the time? I just remembered that I have a thing this afternoon and—”
“A thing?”
“Yeah, an appointment.”
“For what?”
“A haircut.”
“You had one last week.”
She’s right, damn it. I grapple for another plausible answer—and draw a blank. “I mean a doctor’s appointment.”
“On a Sunday?” she asks dubiously.
“It’s a really important appointment. I’m having a lobotomy.”
“Right. Well, let’s sneak in one last feel-good film before you have half your cynical brain ripped out. It might help you…”
“No, the doctor says I’ve watched too many of your schmaltzy flicks over the years, so I should see something else before the operation. The more violence, the better.”
“You know…” She bustles to the oven and withdraws her famous French toast casserole that nearly brings me to my knees. It’s a candy-coated indulgence I don’t partake of often, but every time she makes it, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. “Maybe you should go home and rest up before your big procedure. I’ll eat all this gooey, cinnamony goodness on my own.”
It looks amazing, and it smells even better. And damn if Echo doesn’t have me right where she wants me. “I could probably move my procedure out long enough to eat that.”
“Nope. I’m only serving this during the movie. But it’s fine. I’ll make it again…someday. Well, maybe I won’t. After you’ve had your lobotomy, you won’t appreciate all this yumminess anymore. So I’ll probably stop forever. Sad that today is the last time I’ll ever bake it, and I made it for you, but…oh, well.”
When she drizzles the buttery syrup on top and extracts a plate of crispy, thick-sliced bacon keeping warm in the microwave, I give in. Even the most cloyingly sentimental film is worth the watch if I get to eat that. “All right. You win. Hand me a plate. I’ll cancel the lobotomy and stay for the movie.”
“I thought you might see things my way.” She grins as she hands me a dish.
Despite the dimple in her left cheek, I take it with a growl. “You’re punishing me, Hope.”
“I’m not, Elliot. After seven weeks of action heroes, twisted relationships, and sophomoric comedies, it’s time for something nice.”
Echo might have a point. She’s the only one who ever introduces movies meant to leave people happy. “All right.”
I refill her mimosa while she finishes setting the food on the coffee table in front of the “big screen.” The gang makes fun of Echo’s TV because it’s an old console set from at least twenty years ago. In fact, her whole place is full of half-patched, well-loved hand-me-downs from her older sisters and flea markets. It’s nothing like my super-sleek bachelor pad, but I’ve spent so much time here this place feels like home.
“So what’s the name of your torturous flick today?” I ask as I drop to the floor and position myself in front of the table.
Echo is right beside me, bumping elbows and brushing thighs as we settle in. With my next breath, I smell not just our brunch…but that elusive something else sweet that’s turning my head and driving me crazy. What is that?
“Pride and Prejudice.”
Is she for real? “Didn’t I have to read that in, like, tenth-grade English?”
“You had Mrs. Hanover for sophomore lit, right?”
“Yeah.” I haven’t thought of that woman in years. After the end of that semester, I blocked her out.
“Then you did. It was the best thing we read in class.”
“Lord of the Flies was way better.”
Echo pins me with a withering stare. “You might be a man, but you’re such a boy.”
“What does that mean? I—”
“Eat, so I can start my movie.” She wags her finger at me.
I really would rather not watch this classic chick-flick, even if Kiera Knightly is on the screen. She’s hot, despite the billowing dress and any absence of cleavage. But Echo’s words bug me.
“Hang on.” I shift to face her. “How am I a boy?”
“You don’t think much about tomorrow.”
“Exactly.” I just turned twenty-four. I have the rest of my life to obsess about that shit. I’m not in the market for a wife. After watching my parents, I doubt I ever will be. But I’ve got a great six-figure job working for an up-and-coming financial services company here in LA. No, it’s not Wall Street. I’ll be there eventually, once I pay my dues.
Echo sighs. She doesn’t like my answer. Funny, we’re not together at all…but I hate it when we fight. I hate it even more when I disappoint her. And I clearly have.
“And you just made my point.” She shakes her head as she grabs the remote.
“There’s no sex in this movie, is there?” I grumble.
“Nope.” She rolls her eyes. “Not everything is about sex.”
“Sure it is.” But she doesn’t know that because she’s still a virgin at twenty-two. I respect her choice to wait for someone who means something to her, even if I don’t share it.
“It’s easy to feel your nether regions. Feeling your heart is a lot more complicated. And a lot more significant.”