Prologue
Alex
“Eliza and I broke up,” I said flatly, scanning the wine list over even though I’ve already ordered my drink. I didn’t realize that the restaurant had a 2008 Didier Dagueneau Silex sitting in reserve. I loved a good Sauvignon Blanc. But then again, I did order the steak, so it didn’t make sense to call the waiter back to change my order. There was no sense in pairing a white wine with red meat.
My sister sat across from me, too preoccupied with whatever app she had on her phone to look up. Molly continued to scroll through her feed, the bright image of her screen reflecting off her dark brown eyes.
“That’s too bad,” she muttered absentmindedly. “You better not start hooking up with my friends again. I don’t want to deal with another Holly incident.”
“Holly incident,” I echoed, a smug little grin stretched across my face. “You make it sound so official.”
Finally, Molly looked up and sighed, placing her phone screen-side down on the table. There was a soft and smooth silk cloth draped over the table, two dining sets arranged neatly on its surface.
“I’m serious,” she complained, scrunching her face up in annoyance. “Don’t date any of my friends anymore. It’s a giant headache for me when they eventually break up with you.”
“Break up with me?” I snorted. “Other way around, kiddo.”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped. “I’m two years older than you.”
I threw my hands up in mock surrender. “Excuse me, Miss I-just-turned-thirty. Thought you’d be happy pretending you’re younger than you are.”
Molly rolled her eyes, fiddling with a loose strand of her long, strawberry blonde hair. She tucked it behind her ear, clearly unimpressed with my antics. She wore long, dangling earrings with purple crystals attached to the ends.
Amethyst, she had once explained. It’s supposed to improve emotional intelligence.
“Alex,” she stressed, eyes dark and thoughtful.
“Fine,” I gave in, “fine. I won’t ask any of your friends out.”
“Good.”
Molly slumped back in her chair, fiddling with the fringe of her golden-brown leather jacket. She’s wore her high-waisted black jeans up with a braided leather belt, along with a deliberately worn-down Nirvana shirt. I knew my sister well enough to know that this was just her style, something laid back and effortless. One with the universe, and all that nonsense. But I didn’t know who she was trying to kid. The black riding boots she had on cost at minimum a grand.
“What about your yoga buddies?” I added quickly. “They’re not really friends, so they’re not off limits, right?”
Molly shot me a smirk. “Hell no.”
“Come on, sis. Don’t be such a prude. I’m sure you’ve got one of their numbers logged away somewhere in there.” I tossed my head in her phone’s direction. “Know any pretty single ladies?”
I had never had a girlfriend who was super into yoga before. I thought it might be worth a try. Lean bodies, beautiful curves, unimaginable flexibility… Girls who were into yoga probably had a lot of endurance, too, which was never a turnoff.
“When did we become those siblings that talked to each other about their love lives?” she grumbled, plucking at one of the jade beads on the bracelet she wore.
“Always? We’re very close.”
“Maybe a little too close.”
The waiter returned with a black serving tray, our drinks balanced perfectly on top. He placed down two circular coasters before setting our drinks down. He smiled politely at Molly before turning on his heels, needed elsewhere in the restaurant. As he walked away, my sister leaned to keep him in perfect view. I shook my head, smirking.
“What?” she asked defensively. “He’s got a cute butt.”
“You know who else probably has a cute butt?”
“One of my yoga friends?”
I clicked my tongue and winked. “You read my mind.”
Molly picked up her drink –it’s a Bellini, because she’s not that adventurous– and took a sip. “Yeah, there’s a girl in mind. She just moved to the city, now that I remember. But she’s not your type.”
I picked up my own glass, staring into the bottom of my Scotch. The dark liquid reflected the dim, warm lighting of the restaurant back at me.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, a little incredulous. “I don’t have a type.”
“Yes, you do,” she corrected immediately.
“Nah.” I took a sip. After I while, curiosity got the better of me. “What’s her name?”
“Don’t worry about it?”
“I’m just asking you for her name. Would you relax?”
“Tia. Her name is Tia.”
Tia, I echoed in my mind. It was a cute name. Short, but sweet. Easy to remember. I tried to imagine what she looked like. She was probably short, like her name, but adorably so. I imagined her with long red hair, with beautiful green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. She was probably curvaceous, but proud and unashamed of her figure. I imagined her with a sweet voice, with nothing to say but kind words.