Chapter Text
Louie had outgrown his suit, the one Tina had bought him to wear to weddings and funerals. He seemed unconscious of his bony wrists and ankles poking far out past the black fabric. The boy had no idea how suits were supposed to fit anyhow, and he’d resented every time Tina made him put this one on.
Still, when the Bear got going, and she was making even better money, she was gonna buy him a new suit, a nice one, even though he wouldn’t care or appreciate that one either. But that didn’t matter, the suit was for Tina, so she could take pictures of her son looking nice as he went to his senior prom or his high school graduation (she would get him through high school if it was the last thing she did.)
“Get the basket,” Tina ordered, hustling to open the trunk of the Uber, “Hurry up.”
Louie hefted the basket of food, Tina grabbed the grocery bag, and they headed up the front walkway of Sugar’s house. Tina hadn’t been here before. It was nice, brick painted a pale grey, white trim, box hedges. Very neat, like you’d expect from Sugar.
“Wait,” Tina said before Louie could press the doorbell, “You remember what I said?”
“About what?” Louie asked, “This is heavy.”
“I said you keep your mouth shut about Syd coming over last night,” Tina said, pointing a finger in Louie’s face, “She came to talk to me about personal shit, and she don’t need you blabbin’ to anyone about what you saw.”
Louie had come bounding inside their apartment last night, back from his nightly basketball game earlier than Tina expected, and caught her with her arm wrapped around Syd’s shaking shoulders on the couch. He widened his eyes and immediately went to his room, freaked out by the sight of a crying woman, and because he was a good kid. But he could be mouthy.
“I won’t say anything,” Louie said, shoulders slumping, as if the basket containing two dishes weighed a ton, “Can we go in now?
Tina narrowed her eyes.
“I won’t,” Louie insisted, “It’s fucked up to talk about shit like that. Shits personal.”
“Don’t curse,” Tina snapped but leaned over to ring the doorbell anyway. His sentiment was correct.
“Welcome welcome!” Pete crowed as he swung the door open, “Happy Easter!”
“Happy Easter,” Tina said, immediately stepping inside. She needed to get her dishes in the oven. The asparagus and cheese tarts she’d made still needed to crisp up, and the mini meat pies she made needed to be served hot, “Where’s the kitchen?”
“Oh, back through there,” Pete pointed.
“Thanks,” Tina said, stepping around Pete.
“Louie my man,” Pete said, “How you doing?”
Tina shot a look over her shoulder at Louie that said you better be fucking nice to this man in his own damn house, and when Louie looked appropriately cowed she made a beeline for the kitchen.
“See, what you’re not understanding is—“
“No, I understand you’re just wrong.”
“No, shut up, what you’re not understanding is that everyone learns differently, so—“
“I do understand that.”
“Shut up. Everyone learns differently, so there are a lot of different styles of teaching—Yo T! How you doing gorgeous?”
Richie was across the kitchen in two strides, wrapping Tina in his usual exuberant bear hug. This morning, Tina had resolved to act like everything was normal, like she didn’t know a damn thing, even if she did want to smack Richie upside the head. So she hugged him back and said, “Richie, hello, how are you?”
“Happy Easter, Chef,” Carmy said, looking up from his place over the stove.
“Happy Easter to you too Jeff,” Tina said as Richie released her.
“Here lemme me get this,” Richie said, taking the grocery bag from Tina and turning to set it down, “Now listen T, don’t you agree that people learn in all kinds of different ways?”
“That’s not the point,” Carmy said.
“It is the point! It is the point! Some people are audio learners! They learn better by hearing!”
“Cookbooks make no sense as audiobooks, Richie.”
“Eva learns better by hearing! Her teachers said she’s an excellent auditory learner! Do you not want your niece to learn how to cook Carmen?”
“I need to use the oven,” Tina said. Where was Louie? Did Pete still have him trapped? “Louie! Bring me the food!”
“Ovens full right now but I’ll try to make space in a few,” Carmy said.
“What’s a few?” Tina demanded. She wanted her dishes finished and perfect before Syd showed up. If Syd still came. She said she was gonna come, but she’d been pretty fucked up last night.
Carmy opened the oven door and leaned down, “Fifteen minutes or so.”
“Fine,” Tina said unhappily. Her tarts better not get soggy on the bottom.
“Hey, how’s everybody doing?” Marcus stepped into the kitchen, clutching a basket similar to the one Tina brought, “Can I get in the oven?”
“I’m next,” Tina snapped, “Louie! Bring me the food!”
“Pete’s showing him his audio setup,” Marcus said, not bothering to disguise his grin, “He saved me from that same fate. I appreciate him.”
Tina sighed. She pointed a finger at Marcus, “I’m next in the oven.”
“I gotta get my rolls in,” Marcus said.
“I made the hors d’oeuvres, I go first,” Tina said, heading out of the kitchen to go rescue Louie.
“They got lots of audiobooks for cooking! Look!”
“I don’t need to look, I believe you.”
“You said—“
“I believe they’re a thing that exists I just don’t believe they’re the next big thing or whatever the fuck.”
“They are! Audio cookbooks could be the new podcasts.”
“That’s not how regular people use a fucking recipe!”
Tina listened to their argument fade into a din. She never considered Richie a good liar, but damn if he wasn’t acting like everything was normal. Like Carmy wouldn't be reduced to the same fucking mess he was last year if he found out what was going on.
Tina sighed. It was always something.
“I don’t see it.”
“Nothing?” Natalie said, “In the whole store?”
“Sorry. The liquor stores don’t open till eleven.”
“I know,” Natalie sighed, shoving another dress aside. She rifled through her closet yet again. She loved her sweet baby, but boy could she vomit.
“The selection here is small,” Syd said, “I can go somewhere else.”
“No, a bunch of shit is closed, and it’s not a big deal. Thanks.”
Syd had called this morning and said she was stopping at the store on her way to Nat’s place and wanted to know if there was anything she could bring. At first, Natalie had said no, everything was fine, until she’d gone downstairs and seen the wine Pete had thoughtfully bought on his way home last night. Natalie had asked him to because she was, of course, going to serve drinks to her guests, even though she’d stopped drinking. She’d thought, throughout most of her pregnancy, that she’d go back to her routine glass of wine in the evenings, but she couldn’t drink the first glass she’d poured herself. Her baby was asleep upstairs, and she just couldn’t do it.
But she didn’t want to call attention to her not drinking, and she’d forgotten to ask Pete to pick her up some sparkling non-alcoholic rosé. Nat had immediately called Syd back. It would be fine if she told Syd. Syd wouldn’t ask her to explain.
“Wait!” Syd said, “I found Welch’s!”
“Welch’s?”
“Yeah! The sparkling grape juice.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’ll work.”
“Awesome,” Syd said, “I’ll get two bottles, so I can abstain with you in solidarity.”
“Oh,” Natalie pressed a hand to her heart. Syd was gonna not drink for her? Without even knowing the reason why? “You don’t have to do that.”
“It's fine. I like sparkling grape juice better than wine,” Syd said, “Don’t tell Carmy I said that.”
“That’s so sweet,” Natalie was getting a little choked up.
“Don’t cry,” Syd sounded alarmed.
“I’m not crying,” Natalie swallowed hard, “I just appreciate it.”
“It’s no big deal,” Syd said, “I’ll be over in a few.”
“Okay,” Natalie sniffled.
“Uh,” Syd paused for a long moment, “Is everyone there? Already? Like…is everyone there?”
“I don’t know,” Natalie said, frowning. Syd sounded nervous all of a sudden, “I haven’t been downstairs in a while.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I mean Carmy is here. He showed up at like eight am.”
“Of course he did,” Syd said almost under her breath.
“Do you need someone? I can go check who’s here.”
“No no,” Syd said hurriedly, “I was just curious.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Totally, I’m totally sure. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Syd hung up. Natalie slowly lowered her phone to her lap. What was that about?
It was definitely Carmy’s fault. He’d done something to upset Syd. If he actually ever succeeded in driving Syd away Natalie was going to kill him.
Natalie headed downstairs, weighing whether or not to grill Carmy. Syd clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but maybe Natalie could fix it and keep Carmy from scaring off one of the only normal-ish people they knew.
Natalie walked past Pete repositioning a speaker, smiling and shaking her head. He loved that fucking sound system, and it was kind of nice to have. Pete played soothing music in the evenings that permeated the house. Classical, which all his research said was good for the baby’s brain development.
Nothing was soothing about the noise currently permeating the house, centered, of course, in the kitchen.
“I told you it was my turn! Jeff said I get the oven next! Tell him, Jeff!”
“I gotta get these rolls in the oven! It’s too hot in here! They’re gonna overproof!”
“Well, my tarts are gonna get soggy!”
Natalie walked into the kitchen. Carmy was doing nothing to resolve the yelling, instead, he was leaning on the counter next to Richie, one AirPod in.
“It’s nice,” Carmy said reluctantly.
“See!” Richie smacked the counter, “I told you! It’s fucking nice! It’s soothing to hear people talk about food!”
“The rolls are the unsung hero of any meal!” Marcus gestured wildly, “Do you want over-proofed unsung heroes Tina?”
“I made the hors d’oeuvres,” Tina said, jaw tight, “I go first.”
“Marcus,” Natalie called, “The garage is much cooler. You can put your rolls in there.”
Tina and Marcus looked up at her. Marcus smiled in relief.
“Thanks,” he said, snatching up a towel-covered tray.
“Of course, back through there,” Natalie pointed.
Marcus hustled past Natalie into the garage. Tina smiled, “Hey Sugar. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Natalie smiled back, then turned to Carmy, “Carm. I need to talk to you.”
“You gotta listen to this one,” Richie said, “There's something about a dessert cookbook that’s just real luxurious to hear.”
“Carm.”
Carmy turned to her, slipping out the AirPod, “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you,” Natalie said, gesturing toward the back porch. Carmy looked at her for a beat longer, then stood up straight.
“Sure,” he said.
“I’ll send you the link!” Richie called after them, “This shit is fucking decadent, cousin!”
Carmy followed Natalie out onto the deck, walked over, and leaned against the railing. Natalie slid the door shut and joined him.
“Listen,” She leaned toward him, “Did you and Syd have a thing recently?”
Carmy blinked, seemingly confused, “A thing?”
“Yeah,” Natalie nodded, “Like a fight or something.”
Carmy frowned, “No.”
“Are you sure?” She pressed.
“Yeah,” Carmy nodded, “Things have been really good lately. Between me and Syd. Really good.”
Carmy smiled a bit, and his expression went soft. He wasn’t even aware of what his face did every time he talked about Syd. Idiot.
But he was being sincere. Carmy was a horrible liar. His eyes gave everything away.
“Okay,” Natalie said, releasing a breath. So it wasn’t Carmy. She’d just keep checking on Syd then.
“Why?” Carmy asked, brow wrinkling, “Did she say something?”
“No,” Natalie said quickly, “No. Nothing like that.”
“Then why did you ask?” Carmy pressed, frowning now, “Is she mad at me?”
“No,” Natalie said again, “She just seemed stressed about something. And I wanted to check in and make sure everything was fine between you two.”
“So you just assumed she was stressed cause of me,” Carmy’s frown deepened.
Natalie rolled her eyes, “Don’t pretend that’s an unreasonable assumption.”
Carmy looked like he was about to protest but thought better of it. He looked back toward the backyard, “I’ll check in with her.”
“Wait, don’t tell her I said anything!”
“I won’t,” Carmy said, “I’ll just check in.”
Natalie nodded even though Carmy wasn’t looking at her. His expression was faintly worried now. Maybe it was shitty to think so, but Natalie thought it was a good thing that Carmy was worrying about someone else. About Syd specifically.
For the hundredth time, Natalie bit back the words threatening to burst out of her. You love her you fucking idiot! She’s the best thing that ever happened to you! It’s a fucking miracle she walked through that shit hole’s door, a miracle that she sticks around! Tell her how you feel before it’s too late! You can be happy! Genuinely, actually, real-life happy!
Natalie would be saying no such thing. It would just freak him out, and a freaked-out Carmy was a dangerous Carmy. Things were pretty good. They’d been good for what felt like a dangerously long time. Natalie wasn’t gonna stir up any shit. Maybe one day Carmy would get his head out of his ass all on his own. Though she doubted it.
Nat’s house was cute. Syd wanted a house one day. But maybe not quite this cute. A townhouse maybe. She loved the fancy townhouses that looked like the one on the Cosby Show. Upsetting that her reference for the ideal home was the Cosby Show, but what can you do?
She was going to have to go in eventually. It would be worse if someone came outside and noticed her standing there.
Syd took a deep breath. She glanced down at her outfit. It was rare that anyone from the Bear saw her not in work clothes. Even when they all hung out it was usually after work. When she went over to Carmy’s place it was to experiment for work. And it wasn’t like she bothered to dress up to go to Richie’s place.
Was it too much? She was trying to be like, festive, cause Nat seemed really into the idea of this being a nice get-together, where they all got to dress up and enjoy a meal together while not covered in grease. Everyone from the Bear was invited, and a few of the new hires were planning to drop by, but it seemed like it would be mostly the old crew. Nat had wanted to hire a caterer so no one had to cook, but they’d predictably shouted her down.
Syd had ended up wearing her date outfit—aka the outfit she wore whenever she felt the impulse to download an app to remind herself she was capable of being a desirable human woman—because it was the only thing in her closet that seemed vaguely Easter-appropriate. She and her dad weren’t religious, but they’d gone to family Easter celebrations, and the dress code always seemed to be pastels. So Syd had on a pink satin mini skirt and a white button-up with a wide Peter Pan collar. And since none of her other shoes went with this outfit, she had on a matching pair of pale pink heels. Kind of high heels.
It might be too much. She hadn’t worn this outfit in a while. A long while. The skirt hadn’t seemed that short when she’d tried it on this morning, but she’d neglected to try on the heels, and she’d forgotten how short they made the skirt look. But she was covered up to the neck, and her shirt had long sleeves. It was fine. It would be fine. It didn’t look like she was trying to impress anyone, because she wasn’t. This was the only event-appropriate outfit she had.
Syd walked up the path, clutching the grocery bag against her stomach, and made herself ring the doorbell immediately, no hesitation. Pete swung open the door so quickly she didn’t even have time to contemplate leaving and going home.
“Welcome welcome! Oh wow Syd you look nice!”
“Oh,” Syd said, “Thank you.”
“I mean it!” Pete said, “You looked fantastic! I feel underdressed!”
“Thank you,” Syd said again, forcing a smile.
“Come on in,” Pete said, stepping back, “Hey, do you wanna see my new sound sys—“
“Hey Syd,” Nat walked down the hall. Nat’s dress was pastel and floral, so Syd had the right idea. But Nat’s dress also reached the ground.
“Do you get the stuff?” Nat asked, voice low.
“I did,” Syd said, voice equally conspiratorial. She pulled a bottle of Welch’s sparkling grape juice from the grocery bag.
Nat’s eyes widened, “Will you marry me?”
“I don’t know,” Syd turned to Pete, “Do you mind?”
“No,” Pete smiled affably.
“Then yes,” Syd said.
“Wow,” Nat shook her head, “My fiancé brought me fake wine and she looks fucking hot doing it.”
“Yeah, about that,” Syd walked toward Nat, lowering her voice, “I was gonna ask, the fit, do you think it’s too much or—“
“Damn! Is that Sydney?” Gary walked in the still-open door, “Girl where you going looking like that?”
“Here,” Sydney said, cheeks starting to burn, “I’m going here.”
Ebra came in behind Gary, “Hello everyone.”
“Hi.”
“Hi, Ebra.”
“Hi,” Syd said, hoping Ebra would break that pattern and not comment on her—
“Sydney,” Ebra stopped walking and looked at her closely, “Do you have a date after this?”
Syd inhaled deeply through her nose, “No.”
“It’s very strange to have a date on a religious holiday,” Ebra said.
“I don’t have a date Ebra,” Sydney said, hearing herself sound a little snappish. She took another deep breath, “I just wanted to dress for the occasion.”
Ebra looked unconvinced. Syd turned back to Nat, who was smiling at her. She had a weird look in her eye.
“What?” Syd asked.
“Nothing,” Natalie said quickly, “But you do look really beautiful.”
“This is a normal outfit!” Syd protested. She was wearing a Peter Pan collar! Her arms were covered!
“Okay,” Nat said. It looked like she was trying not to laugh.
Syd sighed. “I should put your fake wine in the fridge,” she said.
“This way,” Nat said, turning to lead her to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to make anything,” Syd said. She’d been planning on making something yesterday afternoon, but then she’d decided to see Richie. So. “But I brought this amazing cheese, and these crackers from the import grocery by my house that are fucking delicious. Like I know they're just crackers so that sounds insane, but they’re so good.”
“Thank you! And don’t apologize, there’s gonna be way too much food as it is.”
“Oh,” Syd skirted to a stop as she almost ran into Marcus.
“Sorry,” he said, rushing past her, “I gotta get these in the oven.”
“Have fun in the war zone!” Natalie said cheerfully before turning and heading back to the living room. Syd walked into the kitchen.
He was already there, talking to Carmy, who was carefully layering cellophane over neat rows of chicken breast, his old meat tenderizer sitting next to him. She’d used his tenderizer a couple of times. It was super heavy despite being small, and the metal of the mallet head was all scratched up and discolored from age. She’d asked Carmy once if it was an heirloom. Not really, he’d said, it’s just always been around.
Syd turned around and quickly opened the fridge, so she didn’t have to see him see her.
“Nobody touch the oven!” Marcus called as he left the kitchen, “The unsung heroes are baking!”
“Hey Chef,” Tina walked into the kitchen from the living room, smiling that toothy smile that meant she was about to say something terrible, “Why you dressed like a slut?”
Syd closed her eyes.
“Don’t you know it’s Easter?” Tina said, “This day is about Jesus and you got your thighs all out.”
Half her thighs were out. Half.
Syd sighed deeply. She should’ve stayed home. What was she trying to prove? That she could handle extreme emotional distress? That’s what work was for.
“Hey.”
Syd felt a hand on her arm. Tina was looking up at her, concerned.
“I just meant you look pretty,” Tina said, “I’m glad you made it out.”
Syd swallowed. It should feel bad, Tina talking to her like this—soft, comforting. It was embarrassing and unprofessional. She shouldn’t have gone over to Tina’s apartment last night, but Tina was the one person who already knew about her and Richie, and at some point, Syd had started to trust her, really trust her, beyond the trust a CDC needed for their sous. As a friend. So she’d showed up at Tina’s front door, face puffy and eyes red, and Tina hadn’t even blinked, just drew her inside and sat her down on the couch where the whole story spilled out of Syd in teary, snotty torrent. But it didn’t feel bad or embarrassing, then or now. Tina had her back, like always.
“Thanks,” Syd smiled softly. Tina squeezed her arm.
“Hors d’oeuvres in the living room,” Tina said, “Come try.”
This was gonna be fine. She was gonna avoid Richie and have a nice meal with her friends.
Almost as soon as she thought that she felt his eyes on her. How did she know it was his eyes? She just did.
Syd turned around, and sure enough, Richie was looking at her, eyes hooded and blank. She stared back. She’d decided to be angry with him, at least for today. It was fortifying, and more bearable than the alternative.
God, why was he wearing one of those stupid fucking “Orginal Beef” t-shirts? Didn’t he know Natalie wanted today to be nice? Tina was wearing pretty flats and nice bright lipstick! Marcus had on slacks and no beanie! Ebra had a bow tie on!
Richie looked away first. Syd swallowed hard.
“Hey,” Carmy looked up and smiled at her, “You look nice.”
Syd smiled back, warmth washing over her despite everything, “Thanks.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Syd saw Richie stand up straight and shove off the counter. His footfalls were loud as he walked away, like he was announcing it. Dramatic bitch.
Carmy was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt like always, but at least this one had buttons and a collar.
Syd walked over to the counter across from Carmy, “Whatcha making?”
“Saltimbocca,” he said, “Real simple. Sage, garlic, red pepper. Making this crunchy pea salad to go with it.”
“Sounds good,” Syd nodded.
“Yeah,” Carmy readjusted the cellophane, “Listen, I wanted to check in with you.”
Syd’s brows knit, “What about?”
“Just a general check-in,” Carmy said, “Things have been going good, or at least I think they’re going good. I want to make sure you feel the same way.”
Syd felt another wave of warmth. She tried to suppress a smile, and only half succeeded. They were partners. This was a thing partners did—check in with each other.
“Yeah. I’m good,” she nodded, “Things are good.”
“Really?” Carmy raised his brows.
“Yeah, I mean. It hasn’t been all smooth sailing but, we like, have a fucking restaurant,” she said, the smile taking over her face. They had a fucking restaurant. Together. They had for almost a year. Shit had been rough when they’d first opened, but at some point, with a lot of hard work, they’d found their footing. They were a team.
Carmy smiled back, “Yeah. We do.”
They just stood there for a second, smiling at each other. Syd had had to believe this was going to work to get through the insanity of opening, but now that it was actually working she struggled to believe it. She, Sydney Adamu, former abject failure, was partners with Carmen Berzatto, the best chef in the world. And they were succeeding. And he was checking in.
“Okay,” Carmy looked down abruptly, “I just wanted to make sure. See if anything was going on with you I should be aware of.”
His tone had changed suddenly, was more serious, and the warmth left her in a rush, followed immediately by a chill of fear. Wait? Did he know? Was he trying to sus her out?
“Nope. I’m all good,” Syd said, stomach curdling. Stupid. She’d forgotten for a second that her life was a shit show. Yeah, the Bear was doing great for a new restaurant, but her personal life had gone to hell, which could threaten the success of said restaurant.
“Good,” Carmy said. He picked up the tenderizer, braced a chicken breast with two fingers, and started to hammer into the raw meat. Even as distracted as she was, Syd couldn’t help but admire the control he had. She knew every piece of meat would be perfectly even.
“I’m gonna go try Tina’s hors d'oeuvres,” Syd mumbled, not bothering to check that Carmy heard her, turning on her heel and hurrying from the kitchen. Instead of heading for the living room, she went upstairs. She was just gonna have a quick panic attack in the bathroom, then everything would be fine. Maybe she should have asked which room was the bathroom first, but you live and you learn. Syd started opening doors.
Not bathroom, baby’s room. She was napping. Aw.
Next door was a linen closet. The door after that was a home office, and because this was her life, and the universe hated her, Richie was in there, sitting in the desk chair, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.
Syd teetered to a stop, her heels clicking down hard on the hardwood. These fucking shoes.
Richie turned and looked up. The bags under his eyes were dark. He looked exhausted.
“I was looking for the bathroom,” Syd said, even though she didn’t need to explain herself.
Richie looked back down, “Sure.”
“I was,” Syd insisted.
“There’s one downstairs,” Richie said to the floor.
Damn.
“Well I didn’t know that,” Syd said.
“Fine,” Richie said. His voice sounded tired too.
Syd’s hand was tight on the doorknob. She felt unsteady on her feet. Because of the shoes. Why wasn’t she moving?
Richie was wearing real pants. Not track pants or jeans. And dress shoes. Why would he wear that stupid fucking Beef shirt with real dress shoes?
Richie looked up and heaved a sigh, “Syd. I’m not gonna fuck you in Pete’s office. Sugar would kill me.”
Syd stiffened, “I wasn’t looking for you.”
“Sure.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Sydney,” Richie said, “I really don’t give a fuck.”
Syd’s grip was so tight on the doorknob it hurt, “I…I…Are you…” Syd took a half step forward. If you’d told her a year ago that she’d be shaking trying to talk to fucking Richie she never wouldn't have believed it.
“Why the fuck do you want?” Richie stood up, arms outstretched, “Go. Since you weren’t looking for me.”
Syd didn’t know what she wanted, or what she was doing, but she darted into the room suddenly, shutting the door behind her.
Richie’s expression shifted, eyes darkening, jaw tensing.
“Are you gonna…” Syd took another half step forward, and swallowed, “Last night you said you were gonna…I just wanna know—“
“If I’m gonna tell your precious Carmen we’ve been bumping uglies?” Richie spat out.
Syd’s heart was racing, “I wanna know if you’re gonna make a scene. Cause Nat wants this to be a nice day—“
“Oh please, you’re not worried about Nat.”
“Of course I am.”
“You’re worried Carmy’s gonna find out you’re not the Virgin Mary,” Richie said.
“Stop talking about Carmy,” Sydney hissed, automatically lowering her voice as his rose, “It’s not just about Carmy!” It’s about you, and all the shit you said, and did you mean it? Did you mean it? “It’s about everyone, everything! It’s about—”
“Fine Syd, I’m sorry I told you I love you and put your picture-perfect universe in jeopardy. I’ll take it to my grave,” Richie said, voice heavy with anger and sarcasm, “Is that what you wanna hear? Will you leave me the fuck alone now?”
Distantly, she heard the knock of Carmy’s tenderizer start up again. Bang bang bang.
Syd opened her mouth, but nothing came out, “I…”
“What Syd?” Richie raised his eyebrows, “What?”
Bang bang bang.
“Did you…” Did you mean it? She couldn't finish the sentence. She shut her mouth.
Syd hadn’t believed Richie last night when he’d said I love you the first time. Or maybe she just hadn’t grasped it. They’d just finished, and he’d collapsed on top of her, pressing kisses on her shoulder, up her throat, and then he’d mumbled it into her ear, breath hot and ragged. I love you. And Syd was still sort of floating, and she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, and it just seemed so unlikely, he didn’t even like her half the time. But then he said it again, pushed up on his arms so he was kneeling above her, warm hands stroking down her calves.
“I love you, Syd,” he’d repeated. And he was dead fucking serious. Cause Richie could be dead fucking serious, and it surprised her every time. To feel that shift in him, a sudden gravity that made her remember that Richie was a grown man who cared about shit, even if he spent 75% of his time goofing off. She felt that shift whenever he talked about his daughter, or Mikey, or plans he had for the Bear’s future, and now that energy was directed at her.
Syd had convinced herself she and Richie were just goofing off. That’s what she’d told herself every time she started to freak out. This was normal. Causal sex with a coworker. Casual sex with an older guy. People in their twenties did shit like this all the time. It was fine. The sex was good. More than good. And Richie was easy to be around, weird as that was. He made her laugh. Bought her food even if she said she was too tired to eat. Talked her down when she was near panic. Turned off her alarms on the off days she spent at his place even though she’d told him she hated it when he did that. Because he somehow knew she didn’t hate it, that it was just hard for her to let herself sleep in.
She’d said the wrong thing. She knew that. She’d stared at Richie, stunned, then pushed up on her arms and said, “Are you fucking serious?”
The change in Richie had been instantaneous. He’d shut down completely, like she’d flicked his off switch. Never in a million years would she have thought Richie had an off switch. Then he’d said things that hurt her in a way he’d never had before. Richie usually took wild swings when they fought, but the things he’d said last night hit the mark exactly. Maybe he’d been holding back. Or maybe he just knew her better now.
Did he mean it?
Richie was still staring at her, exasperated.
Syd swallowed the urge to apologize. She couldn’t figure out if he deserved it. Either way, she couldn’t go down that road with Richie. Too messy, and she couldn’t see where it was headed.
Downstairs, Carmy tenderizing. Bang bang bang.
“I’m not trying to fight with you,” she said, “I just want to make sure you’re not gonna try to ruin Easter.”
“Yeah,” Richie said, “For Nat.”
“Yes!” Syd said.
“Right.”
“Fine! Yes! I also don’t want Carmy to know! I don’t want him to know I was fucking his cousin who works for us! I think he’d be pretty pissed!”
“Did you wear this for him?” Richie spat.
Syd was thrown by the non sequitur, “What?”
“Did you wear this shit for him?” Richie demanded, gesturing down her body, “This fucking skirt! Those fucking fuck-me heels?”
“Fuck me heels?”
“Were you hoping he’d see you dressed like that and realize what he’d been missing all along?” Richie’s voice was hard and mocking.
Syd’s face burned, “Fuck you, Richie, some people own clothes nicer than fucking dish rags!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Syd pointed to his outfit, “Why are you wearing a decade-old t-shirt with dress shoes!”
“Hey, this shirt is only five years old!”
“Some of us like to make an effort! Respect the hosts! This was the only appropriate outfit I had!”
“Appropriate? I can see your fucking vagina Sydney!”
“No, you cannot! This outfit is perfectly Easter-appropriate!”
Richie paused, holding up his hands, “Wait. What the fuck do you mean Easter appropriate?”
“It’s Easter,” she said, “You're supposed to wear pastels. Everyone knows that.”
The anger drained from Richie’s expression. He looked up at the ceiling, scrubbed his hands over his face, and groaned, “You are such a fucking nerd.”
Syd frowned, offended, “How is that nerdy?”
Richie dropped his hands, grabbed her shoulders, and kissed her.
Syd’s brain shut off. Richie could do that, either by pissing her off or kissing her like this—rough, aggressive, like he was starving for it, with far more skill than he should be allowed to have.
This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t goofing off. It was kind of crazy Syd had ever convinced herself it was. She should’ve trusted her freakouts. Freakouts never lied. Sometimes when she told herself it was casual, no big deal, and it would probably fade out soon, she’d get this sort of weird sad frantic feeling at the idea of Richie never fucking her again.
If they’d just been goofing off the shit he’d said last night wouldn’t have hurt so bad. She wouldn’t have ended up sobbing on Tina’s couch.
She should stop him. He was a fucking asshole, and this would ruin everything.
Richie slid a hand down her left thigh, going right for that soft spot behind her knee that always made her gasp. No one had ever touched her there before Richie. No one had done a lot of things to her before Richie.
He dragged her leg up to hook around his hip, and she found her arms looping around his neck, and her other leg rising, and she was off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist. She could feel him between her legs.
This wouldn’t be the first time Richie had fucked her against a door. The first time he’d picked her up like this, easy, like it was nothing, she’d gone breathless and hot all over. She’d never cared if a guy was strong before, it seemed like a stupid thing to care about. But Richie was strong, and Syd was weightless, surrounded, held.
Richie broke the kiss, “I’m leaving the skirt on when I fuck you.”
“Stop talking about the fucking skirt,” Syd said, grabbing a fistful of hair and dragging his mouth back down to hers.
“Where is Syd? Yo, Syd! Come taste my hors d’oeuvres! They’re getting cold!”
Tina. Syd started in Richie’s arms, yanking her head away.
They were in Nat’s house. They were in Pete’s fucking office.
Syd was staring up at him, eyes wide, frightened. Richie’s first impulse was to tell her it was okay. Nobody saw them. Everything was fine.
He shoved that impulse aside, and just stared back.
“Oh my god,” Syd started to scramble out of his arms. Richie let her go, let her slip down his body and onto the floor, “Oh my god. I can’t fucking believe this.”
Richie kept his mouth shut. He didn’t like when Syd freaked out. It made him twitchy. Made his chest feel tight.
“Fuck,” Syd paced away from him. Richie turned to watch her. She pressed her hands to her eyes, “Okay. Okay. Everything is fine. No one—“
The door opened, bumping into Richie, who automatically stepped back. It swung open the rest of the way. Marcus was standing on the other side.
For a moment, no one said anything. It almost felt right to Richie, that it would be this much of a shit show. It was his life after all.
Marcus's eyes darted back and forth between them. Richie didn’t even attempt an explanation. Syd didn’t either. The situation looked exactly like it was. Syd’s skirt was rucked up. Her braids crisscrossed in odd directions. Richie was sure whatever shit had been on her lips was smeared across his mouth.
Finally, Marcus pointed over his shoulder, “Uh. I was looking for the bathroom.”
“There’s one downstairs,” Syd said, sounding like she was on the verge of tears.
“Oh,” Marcus nodded, “Cool.”
They all stood in silence for another long moment, just to drive the point home.
“Well,” Marcus stepped back awkwardly, “Guess I’ll go back downstairs then.”
“Cool,” Syd said.
Marcus backed slowly out of the room, shutting the door as he went.
Syd made a choked noise. Tears started to fall down her cheeks.
Richie felt a surge of anger. It felt manipulative, like Syd must know he wouldn’t be able to stand it if she cried. But she didn’t know. She’d had no clue how he felt about her. He’d told her he loved her, yeah, but that didn’t really cover it. And then he’d said a bunch of horrible shit, maybe in some fucked up attempt to cancel the I love you out. Which was, obviously, not how it worked, inside or out.
“Look,” Richie said, “It’s fine. I’ll talk to him. Marcus is a good guy. He won’t say anything.”
But Syd didn’t look comforted by that.
“I always do this,” she said, voice distant, like she was talking to herself, “I always fuck everything up.”
Richie felt a surge of pain and resentment so strong his fists clenched. He knew he was a mistake to her. He’d always known she’d end up considering him a youthful fuck-up. It was still rough as shit to hear her say it.
He never should have fucked her. On his list of mistakes, fucking Sydney was pretty high up, way higher than you’d expect for someone who’d been fucking up as long as he had. But it had just been so stupid. He’d had this idea that it would get her out of his system, which he could admit now had been bullshit, childish bullshit he’d told himself because he couldn’t face that he was in love with her, that he had been for a long time. It was a hard thing to face. She was a baby. A brilliant, accomplished baby, who thought he was a fucking loser. Any respect he’d earned from her was begrudging and extremely hard-won. And she and Carmy fit together like Eva’s Ken and Barbie.
So he told himself he just really wanted to fuck her because that was simple. The twist in his gut when he saw her in the kitchen—in the zone, focused, masterful—surely that was generic animal attraction. The pang he felt when she left with Carmy to go cook at his place was only because it seemed likely Carmy would get to hit it and Richie had no chance. When she smiled at him or gave him the rare compliment, and he felt like Superman? Every guy felt like that when a girl they wanted seemed into him, even for just a second. Richie just wanted to fuck her. Who wouldn’t want to fuck her? She was gorgeous, and she had a mouth on her, which made her interesting, and she was a tense little nerd, which meant she probably needed it bad and would fall apart when she got it. Richie wanted to see Syd fall apart. He wanted to make it happen.
It had been a few months after opening, and they’d been included in a list in Food & Wine, “Ten Best New Restaurants in the US.” The whole crew went out after closing to celebrate. Syd had been so happy. She’d glowed with it. Richie couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It didn’t even bother him as much as it usually did when she touched Carmy. They were sitting next to each other in a booth, and she was practically tucked into Carmen’s side, and yeah, Richie was jealous as shit, but she was so happy.
Carmy went home pretty early, in one of those contemplative moods he was famous for. But Syd stayed. Stayed and kept drinking, kept laughing, kept dancing even though this wasn’t that kind of bar. And Richie kept drinking too, 'cause his heart was in his throat, and he couldn’t stop soaking her happiness in, couldn’t stop feeling it echo in his chest, and that wasn’t something you had to deal with when you just wanted to fuck someone, and soon he was blasted, and she was blasted, and when some perv tried to hit on her Richie found himself shoving said perv to the ground and hustling Syd out of the bar.
“I’m taking you home,” he’d said.
“Nope,” she’d yanked her arm out of his grasp, swaying backward, “Don’t wanna go home! I’m having fun!”
“You’re drunk,” Richie said drunkenly.
“I know,” she giggled, “It’s so great! I never get drunk! It’s fun!”
“You’re bad at it,” Richie said, eyeing the way she kept swaying back and forth on her feet.
“Please,” she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, “I’m fantastic.”
Richie smiled. Syd smiled back. He swayed forward. She swayed forward.
It was less of a kiss and more of a collision. Their noses smashed into each other hard and it was sloppy as hell, all tongues and spit and too hard breathing, and the next thing Richie knew they were in a cab and he was slurring out his address to the driver, and Syd was in his lap and her ass felt incredible even through all the layers of fabric and the driver barked at them to cool it or he’d dump their horny asses on the curb.
But Richie had sobered up by the time he was unlocking his front door, not by much, but enough, and now that Syd wasn’t touching him he could think straight, or straighter. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t even have whisky dick, and he couldn’t do this. It would be straight-up evil.
It didn’t matter anyway. Syd was half asleep against the wall he’d leaned her on. He walked her inside, arm wrapped around her waist, and got her to the bedroom. He took off her shoes and socks and laid her down in his bed, where she immediately turned on her side, curling in on herself a bit. Richie sighed.
He went to lie on the couch. It should be easy for him to fall asleep like this, but it wasn’t. He stared at the ceiling for a long while before sleep overtook him.
When she woke him up, it was early morning.
“Richie.”
Her hand was shaking his arm.
“Richie.”
Richie opened his eyes. She was standing above, face soft in the grey light.
“I’m not drunk anymore,” she said, voice level enough to be convincing, “Are you?”
Richie sat up. He wasn’t drunk.
“No,” he said.
“Cool,” she said, “Are you hungover?”
Richie shrugged. His head kind of hurt, of course, but he’d stopped being a bitch about hangovers twenty years ago, “Not really. Are you?”
“Not really,” she said, “I hydrated properly.”
Richie smiled. What a fucking dork.
“Okay well,” Syd glanced away, then looked back, “If you’re not drunk or hungover do you still wanna fuck me?”
That was the exact moment Richie screwed himself. It was rare that he could pinpoint it with such accuracy. Instead of admitting to himself that he spent the night drinking cause he was in love with this girl, he thought, finally, I can get this over with.
She outdid him like she always did. Knocked him on his fucking ass, and this time it wasn’t with her talent or skill or huge brain full of knowledge, she wasn’t even aware that she was doing it, she was just reacting, feeling, being Syd, and it was killing him. The way she held onto him, arms looped tight around his neck like she was afraid to let go. The sounds she was making—high, wounded, confused by her own pleasure. The way she said his name, pleading and resentful at once, and over and over and over, she just kept saying his name, kept acknowledging that it was him doing this to her, making her feel this good.
He was done for. Richie knew it the second his brain could form thoughts again. He was in love with Syd. Not in the beginning stages of love either. This was deep, entrenched love shit. The type of shit that could only wreck you.
Richie should’ve known better. He did know better. He’d been through all this with Tiff. The love and the loss and the grief for the life you wouldn’t get to have. He never should’ve put himself in this situation again.
But he kept fucking her. Why not? She kept wanting it, and he was already screwed. Sure, it made every second he wasn’t fucking her worse, because he was just falling more and more in love with her, realizing every day exactly what he wouldn’t ever get to have. What Carmen, his fucking kid brother, already had locked down and didn’t even appreciate.
But when he was fucking her, she was his. He got all of her. Her mind and her body were completely focused on him, what he could do for her, what nobody else had ever done for her.
He would’ve fucked her in Pete’s office, easy. It was worth Sugar killing him. It was worth anything.
“Don’t cry,” Richie said. He heard how flat his voice sounded. How mean.
“I’m not,” Syd said, visibly trying to pull herself together, fists clenched, mouth tight. She squeezed her eyes shut like she could seal her tear ducts. Richie hated himself.
“Marcus is the only one who knows, and he won’t say anything,” he said, “There’s no reason to get upset.”
Syd said something too low for him to hear.
“What?” he stepped forward.
“He’s not the only one who knows,” Syd said, “Tina knows.”
“What?” Richie frowned, “You told Tina?”
Syd opened her eyes and glared at him, “I didn’t tell her. She saw us.”
“When?”
Syd turned away, “On Thursday. At the Bear. In your car.”
Oh shit.
“But it was like two in the morning,” Richie said.
“She forgot her phone,” Syd threw out her hands, “What does it matter? I’m just saying two people know.”
“Damn,” Richie shook his head, “Well, it's out there now.”
“No, it's not!’ Syd said.
“Yeah it is,” Richie said, “Conspiracies always leak.”
“Us fucking is not a conspiracy!”
“Sure seems like one.”
“It’s just private!”
Richie shrugged, “Then I guess you shouldn’t have begged me to finger you in the parking lot.”
Syd gasped in outrage, “I did not beg.”
Richie just raised his eyebrows.
“Whatever, just talk to Marcus,” she said, turning away, “And wipe your face.”
“Where are you going?” he asked as she opened the door.
“To find the fucking bathroom!” She said. Her heels clicked as she walked away. Those fucking heels. That fucking skirt. When he first saw her in that getup he felt like he was on fire, like he needed to find them a room, and fast. But then he remembered Carmy right beside him. Carmy who was also looking at Syd as she pretended not to notice them both, head stuck in the fridge. And then it occurred to Richie that Syd might’ve listened to what he said last night, and decided today was the day to shoot her shot. That she was wearing that scrap of pretty prink fabric that barely covered her crotch for Carmy.
Richie had regretted every word he said last night besides telling her he loved her. Weirdly, he didn’t regret that. He hadn’t been able to stop it. The words had felt like a physical thing in his chest, and it felt like her body, her breath, was drawing them up out of him and into the open air. He’d breathed out the words the first time. It felt as natural as that, as breathing. And then he’d said it again. Why not? The words had already escaped.
And then she’d said, “Are you fucking serious?” with all the disdain of the first days they’d know each other, like his I love you was the dumbest shit she’d ever heard, and Richie was so overwhelmed by pain and humiliation it exhausted him. They hadn’t even fought. Richie had just sat on the foot of the bed, staring at his feet while Syd tried to get him to talk. Are you serious though? Are you being for real? Like are you messing with me? Richie? What the fuck? You can’t just say shit like that then ignore me.
Finally, he’d looked up at her, at her big, confused eyes, at the irritated twist of her mouth, sighed, and said, “Syd. Go home.”
“Go home?” She was incredulous, “Richie—”
“Yes,” Richie said, “Go home. This is done, alright? Your little phase of fucking an old dude because you’re too scared to go after your dream guy is over.”
Syd’s lips parted in surprise, but he didn’t let her get a word in.
“We’re done,” Richie said, voice coming out monotone, “I get it, don’t worry. I know you have your precious dream of Syd and Carmy’s empire and you’re afraid that you’ll fuck it up if you tell Carmy how bad you wanna suck him off, so you’re using me as a dildo in the meantime. And you probably will fuck it up, cause you have no goddamn clue what you’re doing, and neither does he. Yeah you’re smart, but you can’t see more than two fucking feet in front of you. Neither of you. You miss obvious shit, cause you’re both so fucking sure you know what you’re doing. You’re fucking arrogant for no fucking reason. All you know about it slicing and frying. This life shit? You’re a fucking baby.”
Richie stopped talking then, but Syd didn’t leave. She just kept standing there, staring at him. Not loving him. So Richie kept talking.
“You know what’s fucked?” Richie asked, “I can tell me saying I love you means nothing more to you than a complication. I can see your brain is working overtime to figure out how my inconvenient feelings for you won’t fuck up your bright future. We’ve been fucking for eight months, Syd. Eight months. You sleep in my fucking arms half the fucking week. And I tell you I love you and you look fucking disgusted, and you know what? I’m not even surprised. You’re fucking careless. And shallow. You don’t care about anything but the restaurant and fame and reviews and your goddamn Michelin star. Carmy is careless with people who love him too. You two assholes deserve each other. Maybe I’ll tell him we’ve been fucking so he finally gets off his ass and does something. We’ve figured out you're too much of a coward to shoot your shot. Why else would you be bothering with me?”
Syd did say something then. Richie. Just his name. She’d sounded young and lost, and Richie had never hated himself more.
“Just go home Syd,” his voice rose, “Go! I got nothing more to give you! You fucking used me up and spit me out, all according to plan! We’re done! Go!”
Syd did leave then, quickly and silently finding her clothes and leaving his bedroom. He listened to her dress in a hurry. She didn’t slam his door when she left, and for some reason that was the thing that made Richie start to cry.
When Riche got downstairs Syd was in the living room tasting Tina’s hors d'oeuvres and providing approving feedback. He didn’t look directly at her, instead turning down the hall to look for Marcus. He ran into Fak, literally.
“Ow,” Fak said, even though it definitely didn’t hurt.
“You seen Marcus?” Richie asked.
“I’m sorry for running into you Fak, I didn’t see you there, Fak.”
“Sorry,” Richie said for expediency, “You seen Marcus?”
“Yeah, he just stepped outside, he said he needed some air,” Fak said, “He looked kind of upset.”
Damn, upset? Really?
“I hope he’s alright, he’s had a difficult year.”
“Yeah,” Richie agreed, sighing heavily.
Fak gave a sudden, dramatic gasp.
“What?” Richie asked, frowning.
“Ohhhh,” Fak lowered his voice, “Do you think Marcus found about…you know…”
“About what?”
Fak inched closer to him. Too close. Lowered his voice so it was barely audible, “About…you know…you and Syd…your…shall we say intimacy…”
Richie was too stunned to formulate a denial. He stared at Fak, “How the fuck do you know about that?”
Fak shrugged, “I saw you two macking on each other outside that bar months ago.”
Holy shit.
“At first I was shocked,” Fak said, “But then everything started to make sense. It explains everything when you think about it. You two have this charge between you that—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Richie pinched between his eyebrows, “Who else knows?”
Fak shrugged again. “I dunno. I didn’t tell anyone. But it’s a small restaurant.”
Syd was going to freak the fuck out.
“Poor Marcus,” Fak said, shaking his head, “He has a lot to process right now.”
“What do you mean poor Marcus?”
Fak looked confused, “Marcus had a thing for Syd. You didn’t know that?”
What the fuck?
“No! Obviously not!” Richie needed to keep his voice down.
“He asked her out last year, and she said no,” Fak made an expression of sympathy, “He’s probably over it by now but still. You. Syd. It’s a lot to take in.”
Richie shut his eyes. Somehow the shitshow kept getting shittier.
“You really didn’t know?” Fak asked, “How are you so out of the loop?”
“How are you so in the loop!”
The doorbell rang, and Richie started. Great, now he was being scared by doorbells.
Pete walked past Fak and Richie in the hallways, and went to open the door, “Welcome welcome!”
Manny and his wife came in, and Marcus was walking in behind them. He made eye contact with Richie and nodded. Richie knew what the nod meant, and appreciated it. He knew Marcus was a good guy, and wouldn’t say anything, even if he had a reason to be upset.
But Richie had a feeling the cat was out of the bag anyhow.
Something was definitely wrong with Syd. Nat could see her straining to be cheerful, which was weird, cause Syd hardly ever bothered to pretend she was happy when she wasn’t. Natalie admired that about her.
Nat was gonna leave it alone, she really was. If Syd wanted to come to her, she would. She knew Nat was here for her, and she hadn’t yet. But then, when she went to ask when they could expect to eat, she saw Syd’s whole face change, collapsing in on itself, suddenly on the verge of tears. Seemingly nothing had happened. Syd had been standing at the counter, prepping salad ingredients, and Richie, who’d been lifting a heavy dish from the oven for Tina, had brushed past her as he left, hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the way. Sure it was annoying and kinda creepy when Richie did that, but not tears-inducing, surely.
Before Natalie could say anything, Syd rushed from the kitchen with a choked, “Sorry, be right back.” Carmy and Tina were deep in conversation about whatever they were cooking and didn’t hear. Nat went after her.
She found Syd standing in the narrow paved alleyway between their house and the neighbors, arms wrapped around her middle, tight and defensive, shoulders shaking. She was crying. Had Nat ever seen Syd cry before?
“Hey,” Nat said softly as she came up behind her. Syd jumped and whirled around.
“Sorry,” Natalie cringed and held up her hands, “Sorry, sorry.”
“Oh,” Syd let out a hard breath, “It’s you.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” Syd shook her head, “You kind of snapped me out of my, like, misery spiral. So. Thanks.”
“Why were you in a misery spiral?” Natalie asked, placing a hand on Syd’s shoulder, “What’s wrong?”
Syd swallowed, and shook her again, “Honestly Nat, I don’t think you want to know.”
Natalie frowned, “Of course, I wanna know, I wanna help,” she rubbed Syd’s arm, “If it would help you to tell me I’m all ears.”
Syd pressed her lips flat. Her eyes swelled with tears. She squeezed them shut, and the tears rolled down her face.
“I uh,” Syd let out a harsh laugh, “I’ve been sleeping with Richie.”
No sentence in the entire universe could have shocked Natalie more.
“For eight months,” Syd went on, “I’ve been fucking Richie for eight months. But who’s counting? Well, him. Cause he threw that eight months in my face because apparently, it’s not okay to be surprised when the guy you thought you were just having casual sex with tells you he loves you!”
Nat was wrong before. That was the most shocking sentence in the universe.
“The sex is really good though,” Syd grimaced, eyes still closed, pressing a hand to her forehead, “Really fucking good. Like I don’t have the biggest sample size or whatever, but sometimes afterwards I literally feel like my bones are gone. Like I am bone-free. Without bones. So. I would imagine that's a good sign. And he holds me afterward. Like fully cuddles with me. So maybe that was a sign that it was less casual than I might have assumed. But we literally never talked about it! We talked about everything else! Literally everything else! He knows my middle name! He asked! Who bothers to ask what someone’s middle name is? Who bothers to ask that and not ask, hey do you consider us more than casual? Would you respond poorly to a post-coital declaration of love?”
Syd dropped her hand, opened her eyes and looked at Nat, “I said, “Are you fucking serious?” after he told me he loved me.”
Natalie winced.
“You winced! Oh my god, you winced! It really was that fucking bad! Tina said it was understandable but she also winced!”
“It was a completely involuntary wince!” Natalie said, shoving aside her miffed feelings that Tina got to hear about this first.
Syd shook her head miserably, “It’s bad, it’s really fucking bad. And I kept saying it too, like I didn’t know what else to say! I fucking babbled it! And he just kept sitting there, saying nothing! Which freaked me out because it’s Richie! He never says nothing! So I kept trying to get him to talk to me but he just wouldn’t! And then he just sort of snapped, I guess? Cause he was so fucking calm. Freaky calm, like weird calm. And he said all this shit! Like he basically told me he loved me then immediately dumped me! Like he keeps fucking insisting I’m in love with Carmy even though I’ve never said that! Like obviously Carmy is important to me like I need Carmy, Carmy is—he’s whatever! But I never said I was in love with him! And he said I was fucking blind, and careless, and he basically called me myopic and cruel and stupid and it fucking—it fucking hurt, cause he’s Richie, and sure he likes to yell at me and talk shit, but he’s fucking Richie man, he—he fucking loves me.”
Syd looked at the ground, eyes welling again, “He said he loves me and then he was like. Pretty fucking mean. And he sounded like he really meant it. Which like—how could he love me? How could he mean that and mean all the shit he said? Like if he meant it, if all that’s shits true doesn’t that mean I’m a fucking horrible person? If he meant it why does he ever fucking talk to me? Do all the. Shit he does,” Syd’s eyes went distant, “Oh my god. What if I love him? I don’t even know. I don’t even know. Like. It might just be that the sex is that good and I really am using him as a dildo and I’m a horrible bitch. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to him. Maybe I feel this shitty because I’m so used to him being around and. Taking care of me. Fuck. What if I love him? What if I love him and I already fucking ruined it? Or he did by being a massive fucking prick? What if I love him and it’s already over?”
Syd looked up at Nat, who could only stare back, who was also baffled and dismayed by the possibility that Syd might love Richie.
Nat pulled Syd into a hug because she didn’t know what else to do.
Dinner was ready early, to everyone's surprise.
“Okay everyone,” Natalie called, “Angel and a few others are gonna stop by for dessert, but we can start the feasting now!”
Louie practically ran for the dining room. That boy insisted on acting like she didn’t feed him. They all trailed after him, crowding inside, shuffling to their seats. The smell of Marcus’s fresh rolls filled the room, a delicious smell, Tina could admit.
Tina was very observant, and she knew all these motherfuckers like the back of her hand. She noticed how Natalie hovered protectively over Syd, and made sure she sat between her and Pete. She noticed how Syd’s eyes were faintly red. She noticed Richie noticing Syd’s eyes were red and watched his visible discomfort. It took her a bit longer to notice that Marcus was unusually quiet, not his usual self, and that his eyes kept darting over to Syd. Fak made himself conspicuous by leaning over to whisper to Richie, who looked deeply disturbed by their seating arrangements.
Tina sighed inwardly and sipped at her wine. This was gonna be a shit show. Maybe not today, but eventually.
About halfway through the meal, Carmy stood up, wine glass in hand. Carmy was not observant. He hadn’t noticed any of the things Tina had.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Carmy said with a chagrined smile.
“A toast?” Natalie’s brows shot up.
“Oh, a speech from our fearless leader,” Ebra extended a generous hand.
“Booooo,” Richie went, without any of his usual Carmy harassing enthusiasm. Carmy smiled at him anyway.
“Yeah, it's cringy or whatever, I just wanted to say that I really, really fucking appreciate each and every one of you guys. I look around, and I’m just overwhelmed with how fucking grateful I am. A little over a year ago I was in the worst possible place, and now,” Carmy shook his head. His eyes were bright, “I just can’t believe it. I really can’t. You guys have changed my life.”
Carmy turned and gestured in Syd’s direction, “And I think we can all agree that Syd has changed all of our lives. If she hadn’t come along and whipped all our asses into shape none of this would’ve happened.”
Everyone laughed, except Richie, and Syd, who smiled weakly.
Carmy looked back at Syd, “I’m serious Syd. I’m not trying to embarrass you or anything, even though, well, I am. But I just gotta say, in front of everyone, that I know how fucking lucky I am to have you.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Syd stared up at Carmy, lips slightly parted.
“I’m sorry,” Richie shoved back from the table, and stood up, “I’m sorry. I—Great toast, cousin, really, I just gotta—sorry.”
Richie strode rapidly out of the dining room. The only one who watched him go was Carmy, brow knit in confusion.
“What’s his deal?” Carmy asked.
Nobody answered him.