Happier

Chapter 1

-Natalie-

            I forgot how to be happy.
I forgot how to fake "happy".
I force a smile in the swanky backlit bathroom mirror before letting my lips fall back down after looking like I was constipated instead of elated. I wondered if the others knew I was acting weird while secretly hoping no one caught on to my misery. Misery did not love company; misery wanted to go back to the rental, cry over a bottle of wine, while watching some stupid rom-com with a stupid happy ending where we presume they die in each other's stupid arms when they're older, like in The Notebook.
I need to leave the holy confines of this bathroom before the group sends someone after me. Deep down, I knew they would send Rowen. I blot under my eyes with determination, making sure the few escaped tears don't smudge anything on their way out before letting my arms fall at my sides. I allow myself a long, loud, irritated sigh while looking at myself in the mirror.
"Stop stalling," I murmur, rolling my eyes at myself as I open the door and bravely step out. I straightened up a little, running a hand over my skinny jeans, glancing around the packed sushi restaurant before my eyes homed in on my group, still chatting away. None of the eight occupants at my table was looking at me except for one pair of stunning green eyes that held mine captive only for a moment before he quickly turned back to the group.
I couldn't help the little flip in my stomach that one look did to me, which was unfortunate.
He was too young.
Way too young to be the reason I was going to stare up at my shitty popcorn ceiling in the bedroom I was occupying with Lizzie, in Montreal, as one of the four singles on this group vacation. The entire group rented a whole house for two weeks to unwind, but I slowly regretted my choices because of the ole tummy-turning, green eyes residing next door. We even shared a bathroom.
Insert rom-com close proximity trope here.
"Rowen, liven up." I came close enough to catch the conversation again and instantly knew the object of my fascination was getting grilled by the couples.
Which meant my turn was quickly approaching.
"Oh, I'm alive; I'm just not interested in this conversation." His eyes dart to mine as I sit, my eyebrow unknowingly cocking up in question.
"We're interrogating Rowen about any girls he's crushing on," Allison said flippantly in my direction. She attempted to reach across the high-top table to grab Rowen's hand, but he moved them off the table before she could connect, his face a mask of indifference if not for the slightly clenched jaw under his neatly manicured beard.
Allison Reynolds was tall, long, thick, black curly hair piled up in a cute top knot I could never master. She is opinionated, a little crass, and very straightforward. Happily married her one major flaw is she also wanted others to be happily married.
Thus the interrogation.
I lift my wine glass up and sip.
"Ah." I could see why Rowen was over it; now I was over it. As one of the four singles in our group, I tended to team up to avoid questioning by changing the subject to one of the others kids, mother-in-law stories, or something other than why we're single. Which thankfully distracted me from my inner misery, so it was a road I was willing to travel for the sake of my fellow singles.
The conversation had a tiny lull, and I lifted my rose' and folded an arm on our empty table, gesturing towards Mary Allen.
Mary's entire identity was wrapped up in her three kids so she was the perfect target for Operation Subject Change. She was a great mother and wife; she cooked, sewed, cleaned, and held down a part-time job at a gym, where she got paid to work out, so she also looked like she hadn't spawned three hellions.
"Mary, I heard one of your brood won a spelling bee. Wow." I sip my wine, but Mary rolls her head toward me and wrinkles her nose.
"We're not changing subjects this time; we caught on to y'all's little game." She pointed us out, then focused on me by twirling her finger with sweet Southern sass. "You're next."
"Oh, joy, can't wait." My roll my eyes and cut the to Rowen, who looked at me like he desperately needed a lifeline but my rope ran out. I mouthed that I tried, and he mimed shooting himself under his chin while the others crane their necks towards the kitchen for a moment. I couldn't hold back my grin, so I countered by looking down at the water cup's condensation pooling on the dark wood in front of me instead of getting lost in his pretty eyes and complimentary sense of humor. I listened to the berating and tried not to let on that I was actually very interested in this specific line of conversation, even at the annoyance and expense of the very handsome green-eyed subject.
"I'm serious. No one's caught my eye." His voice was so close to monotone that the humor wasn't lost on me, nor was the sinking feeling inside. No one?
"Bullshit," Mike spoke up finally after pulling himself away from peeling a label off his French beer bottle, "that's not what you told me—"
"Come on, dude." Rowen executed the same head roll that Mary did but shook once, which was enough to raise Mike's eyebrows and snap his lips shut comically.
Mike Williams, also single, has a very noticeable crush on me, even though I tried to put him out of his romantic misery. He was what the Swifties lovingly call a Labrador and had the sweetest personality, but he needed someone that matched is energy.
The main issue was that we were polar opposites.
"No," Allison pipped up, two glasses of wine in, and she's wielding a red wine glass like a magic wand, brandishing it toward Mike. " What did you tell Mikey?"
Rowen was visibly irritated at this point, and the little crease between his eyes appeared. I couldn't help but focus on it before shaking myself out of that mental reprieve of using my thumb to smooth out the crease.
I take a bigger sip of wine and exhale this dumb tension and perk up suddenly with an idea.
"I like someone." I pipe up, hoping that my outburst would cause a stir. No one cared because they all hushed me; all the attention hung on Rowen's poor, muscular shoulders, with his dark brown hair and neatly groomed beard.
"Not your turn." A few grumbled in my direction, so I sat back and continued drinking so maybe I could call upon my two glasses of wine to save my ass later when it was my turn for interrogation.
"Just now? I told him to shut up." Mike shrugged but grabbed the beer bottle and took a long drink, by attempting to avoid questioning with a full mouth.
"No, what did you tell him about a girl."
"Or boy, no judgment." Steven, Mary's husband, spoke up.
Steven Allen was a good guy, funny, doting husband, and the best father to his sons. He was the quintessential man's man. He liked sports, played golf, and had a library of novels by John Grissom.
"I like girls," Rowen muttered under his breath before flicking his water cup straw. Like a lady, I snorted into my wine glass, which prompted him to glare at me squint-eyed before turning it on Allison.
"What's her name? Age? Is she at your college or work? Details!" Rowen was spared a few minutes as our server appeared with a line of others to pile food on any available surface, causing a small catastrophic event where we played musical plates, looking for our sushi combos while slowly asking for things in French as a collective unit. As a whole, we might be able to form one fluent-speaking Quebecois even though we speak full English with each other.
"She's at my college," he grumbled grumpily as he stabbed a sushi piece with a chopstick, and my stomach did another flip. I wondered if this was normal or if food poisoning was imminent from our Poutine lunch adventure.
I was also enrolled at his, well, our local college. I didn't look up as I maneuvered a piece of sushi into my mouth to avoid being an idiot.
"Name?"
"No way am I giving you her name." he sat up straighter and stuffed a bite into his mouth to have a moment of peace. He wasn't so lucky; he also never learned to lie appropriately in these situations. This was one of those times when lying came in handy. I was ready to play ball with my made-up dream man, who definitely didn't exist.
"Age?"
"A few years older." I looked up, and his eyes barely glanced at mine before he returned to overconcentrating on his sushi pieces.
"Like, how much older?" Allison was on him, but he pointed over at me with his chopsticks
"Jesus, Allison, ask Natalie these questions; she's practically biting at the bit to speak. I'd like to eat." All I did was grin at him, leaning forward and preparing myself to lie my ass off, mouth open and about to give the crowd a show.
"Well since You asked—"
"No one asked." Mary glares.
"You're a liar, and no one trusts you to play fair," Allison also grumbled, flipping me off in the process of taking a long swig of wine.
"Who is it this year, Liam Neeson?" Mary quipped with sarcasm.
"Isn't it always Liam Neeson?" Mike glanced at me and I rolled my eyes.
"Oh, come on. It's like a celebrity guessing game with limited information. It's pleasant, less intrusive." I lift my hand toward Rowen, who rolls his eyes now, mouth full. "And it's always secretly Liam."
"You're perpetually single; I rather hear about Mikey's love life if Rowen's going clam up like a party pooper."
We all turn our attention to Labrador Mikey, mid-sip of his beer. He wasn't prepared. He paused, darted a quick look at me, and then my smile fell.
"Natalie and I went on a date."
The group turns toward me in unison, and I shoot Mike an irritated look. I didn't like it when people used my real name except for one particular person. And I definitely didn't appreciate his spilling his guts when we had a thirty-minute conversation about why we shouldn't talk about our singular mistake of a date.
"One date," I lifted my wine glass and chugged the rest because God help me. " So much for keeping that one to ourselves."
What a narc.
"The literal fuck, Nat!" Allison all but slammed down her wine glass, sloshing wine onto the table, leaving me surprised that the glass didn't shatter, while Rowen leans forward to slap a napkin on the puddle with a sigh.
"What? We had dinner, that was it." I looked Mike in the eye, and he sat straighter, too, realizing he had messed up. Big time. "Right?"
"Yeah, one time. It wouldn't work anyways; she's too dark for me."
God. Fucking. Damnit, Mike.
"Too dark? What does that even mean." Mary said aghast.
"You know what I mean. She likes weird shit." He shoved a sushi piece in his mouth, which effectively rendered him verbally useless for a few minutes as he waved for me to continue.
Even with the slight twinge of recurrent sadness, I cleared my throat.
"I told him what I liked to read." I lean and pluck up the bottle of roses in the center of the table, pouring myself another glass, knowing I needed it.
Desperately.
"And, what she likes to read is depressing. Then she started explaining how both of her favorite authors died of suicide and proceeded, in great detail, with how they managed their deaths." He was back to picking at the rest of the beer bottle paper. He needed a labradoodle girlfriend, and I was not that girl. I liked weird shit.
"Yeah, so, there's that." My sip of wine was accompanied by awkward murmurs about food getting cold. The fact that it was sushi and sushi was served cold didn't make sense in the current socially awkward climate.
The table was finally blissfully quiet for a few bites, and I was elated at being the one to squash the romance bug the couples tried to force on us—points for Mike and me for putting out the fire for now. Our other, quieter single, Lizzie, was safe for now. She knew she had dodged a bullet because she slowly put her hands together and smiled at me.
I lift another piece to my lips, salute her with it before I glance around the table as small talk between the couples starts back up. From the opposite side of the table, Rowen smiles at me with his head slightly ducked, and I can't help the tilt of my lips or the butterflies taking flight.
Ugh.
Feelings.