Page 2 of Just Joshing
"Of course, I forgive you." I injected joy into my voice pasting on the biggest smile I could manage. I looked back down at her hand. "Wow! Check out that rock. I’m so happy for you."
"Oh, Molly. Thank you!" She threw her arms back around me, swaying us from side to side. "I just knew you'd be thrilled. You’re my oldest and dearest friend," she pushed me back, pegging me with puppy eyes. "Please say you'll be my maid of honor."
"Of course, silly."
As much as I loved Bess, I couldn't say that she was my best friend. No, that role was taken by the man beaming beside her – Peter, her fiancé. We’d been born six-months apart. I’d grown up in his house and he in mine. Our parents were best friends, our older brother’s inseparable. Peter and I had shared everything - dreams, illnesses, toys. On my eleventh birthday I’d fallen in love with him. Years ago, I'd assumed we’d end up together.
At fifteen, lazing around the pool at our summer home, I’d admitted my crush to Bess. They were dating the next week. Now, over twelve-years later, they were engaged. I'd made peace with this eventuality. Any romantic love I'd had for Pete had long since thawed, leaving behind something more akin to sibling affection.
That didn't mean it was easy watching Pete press joyful kisses to Bess' lips.
I wasn’t bitter about being single. Nope. Not me. Not at all. Look at me being sugar and spice and all things nice cause only bastards aren't happy for their friends.
I knew I could be simultaneously happy for them and still have a little ache in my heart. It wasn't that I jealously coveted Peter. No, I was envious of their relationship. They had their one person. In this crazy world they'd found the one person they wanted more than any other. And I wanted my one.
Peter stepped into the space left by Bess. "Hey, Molly McGee."
I wrapped arms around him, squeezing him tight. "Hey, Petey Piper."
We grinned at each other. "Congratulations." I gently punched him on the arm. "You never said a word."
He chuckled, pretending to rub the pain away. "I think you gave me all the pointers last month."
I frowned, trying to remember. "Wait. Her birthday? You used the birthday suggestions I gave you for this proposal?"
He grinned, shrugging.
I opened my mouth to tease him but was interrupted by a booming voice behind me.
"There they are! It's about time!" Pete’s dad, Geoffrey stopped beside me, clapping a hand on Pete's shoulder. "Thought you’d never get a ring on the girl."
A mirror, though older, image of his son, both were blonde, blue-eyed and big-mouthed. They laughed easily, smiled freely and invited everyone to enjoy their orbit.
I watched, smiling, stepping back to give them space as Geoff pulled a laughing Pete and Bess in, wrapping them in his big arms.
"You know," the hushed words brushed the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "I never thought he’d actually do it."
I turned, blinking in surprise at Joshua Greenfeld, Pete’s older brother and his exact opposite. Black hair, tan skin with his mother’s deep mahogany-brown eyes. His navy business shirt fell open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He wore sharp black pants with perfect creases and shiny black shoes. But no matter how well dressed, Josh remained too casual for this suit and tie affair.
I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut, unsure of how to respond. He always did this to me, made me clam up. Where Pete was smiling comfort, Josh radiated edgy tension. If he were a cliché, he'd fall into the bad boy genre. A man who always knew who he was, what to say and how to act – consequences be damned. A good man wrapped in a bad boy shell.
Meanwhile, I was the awkward younger sister, always out of step with the world. My awkward made babies with my anxiety when he was around.
He caught my surprised look.
"Don’t get me wrong, she’s a nice girl." He shrugged, tucking hands into his pant pockets. "Just never thought they fit. She’s champagne and caviar, he’s burgers and beer."
"They’ve been together a long time," I pointed out. My fingers beginning to tap a nervous tattoo against my thumb, each finger marching one-by-one against the pad of my thumb before starting over. "He can afford champagne."
Our parents, along with being best friends, were business partners. I’d been raised in boardrooms and at dinner parties where mergers and cutthroat politics took place and were managed with a handshake and a bottle of shared whiskey.
Peter, and most of my brothers, had happily followed the well-worn path into the family business. But Josh and my closest brother, Samuel, had taken another route. They’d started their own production company, leaving New York for the warmth and glamour of Hollywood. Sam took center stage as director while Josh supported as script-writer and cinematographer. Their first success had come in their early twenties - three Oscars and two golden globes for They called him Dog. I’d nearly burst with pride, fingers pressed to my lips, eyes glued to the TV, watching as they’d walked-up the red stairs to accept their awards.
Their success stood in stark contrast to my own life. Women in my circle were rarely encouraged to pursue careers. Say what you would about feminism, but the concept had not yet reached the upper echelons of my society.
I’d been trained from a young age to adorn the arm of the man who would be my most suitable match. My marriage would be a political move, a merging of families and businesses. I’d been schooled on how to be a credit to my husband, to not embarrass him, to grace his life like a pretty ornament reflecting his every whim.
It had never been clear to me who "he" would be.
