To Have and to Hate Read online

  “His…um…”

  I feel Walt’s gaze on the side of my face, and I fidget in my chair.

  “Butt.”

  The table erupts with laughter, and I glance over at Walt from beneath my lashes to find even he’s smiling slightly.

  “My butt?” he teases.

  I shrug playfully. “It’s nice. What can I say?”

  Camila scoots back from the table suddenly, shooting to her feet. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  Her napkin falls to her chair, and Walt and I stand at the same time, as if we’re both going to follow after her.

  It’s funny considering the two of us are likely the last people she wants to see right now.

  I sit back down after Walt shakes his head, just once, before excusing himself from the dining room.

  To say the tension around the table hits an all-time high after that is an understatement. It’s clear to everyone now that there’s something odd going on, and without Walt here, I’m left to endure the whispers and side conversations all on my own.

  I accept a third glass of champagne, because honestly, why not? It’s delicious and distracting. Truly the only thing making this entire ordeal bearable.

  “Jeez, is this what dinner parties are like when I’m not here?”

  We all glance up in unison to see a new arrival standing at the threshold of the dining room, a man I immediately recognize as Walt’s younger brother.

  Just like with Walt, I’ve been around Matthew Jennings at family gatherings a few times over the years. The two of them look so much alike I doubt anyone here could say whether one is more handsome than the other, though there are clear differences: Matthew’s hair is a lighter shade of brown, and he styles it in a more easygoing manner than Walt does. He wears glasses too, a brown pair that only seem to add to his charm. He has deep-set dimples, a feature I’m not sure Walt shares because…well, I’ve never seen Walt smile big enough to show them.

  Matthew walks further into the room, greeting people as he passes them by, clapping a few of the men on the shoulder. It’s clear he’s quite familiar with everyone except for me.

  He stops just short of the chair I’m sitting in, cocks his head to the side a bit, and smiles.

  “Elizabeth Brighton. My brother’s bride.”

  Eleven

  Without worrying about the pre-planned seating arrangement, Matthew grabs the back of Walt’s empty chair and tugs it out far enough to steal it. He sits down with an air of confidence I wish I could mimic, and then he scoots his chair closer to mine.

  “Where’s Walt?” he says, glancing around the table.

  “With Camila,” I reply before anyone else can. It feels like I’m stealing back some of the power I’ve lost throughout the evening. By saying her name aloud, by holding my chin up high as I announce to the room that my husband is currently speaking privately with his girlfriend, it’s as if I’m saying, I don’t care one bit.

  “Ah.” He nods in understanding just as a waiter appears from the kitchen with a dinner plate and a full glass of wine for Matthew.

  He thanks them and unfolds the new set of cutlery.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he says to the table before turning back to me. “I got held up after class.”

  “Class?”

  “I’m an associate professor of photography at NYU.”

  My jaw drops. How did I not know that?

  “Are you really? I just graduated with my MFA from RISD.”

  He smiles and nods. “I heard. Congratulations.” He must read the confusion on my face because he continues, “Walt told me.”

  The party planner steps into the doorway of the dining room and declares that desserts and drinks will be served in the great room. Then her gaze falls on Matthew, and she blanches.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t informed a guest was still eating,” she says, clearly embarrassed by her blunder.

  Matthew waves his hand. “No. Don’t worry on my account. You all go ahead. I eat fast.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” I say, wanting to ensure he won’t have to eat alone.

  That seems to convince the others that it’s okay to stand and leave the table. They filter out as Matthew and I stay seated. He eats and I sip my champagne until we’re the only two left in the dining room.

  “I take it Camila had a hard time tonight?” he asks gently, as if he’s testing the waters.

  I smile, glad he seems to be interested in dropping the pretense between us.

  “Yes. Something about having to be confronted by her boyfriend’s fake wife just really didn’t sit well with her.”

  Matthew laughs hard, obviously taken aback by my candor.

  I shrug to let him know there are no hard feelings.

  “It’s such an odd arrangement,” I continue.

  “I tried to talk Walt out of it,” he admits with a rueful smile. “But he’s impossible to sway once he’s made up his mind.”

  “You know it wasn’t purely for his sake. The marriage, I mean—it helped my family too.”

  Matthew nods in understanding. “I don’t know the full story, but I understand your parents were in dire straits.”

  “That’s a polite way of saying it, but yes, they had spent recklessly for years and it finally caught up to them.”

  “Did you know?”

  “Not an inkling until the night before I married Walt.”

  Matthew’s eyes widen. “And you agreed that quickly?”

  “What choice did I have?”

  He looks at me almost like he’s frustrated by my reply.

  “It’s my family,” I say, defending myself.

  Matthew picks up his wine glass and drinks deep.

  “Are you extremely close with them then?”

  “Not very. No.”

  He shoots me a look of pure frustration.

  “But it helps me too,” I add, to make him understand. “I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently it’s hard to lease an apartment on your own when you’re technically unemployed. I think Walt will cosign on a place for me soon. So see? I’m not completely selfless.”

  He seems to appreciate my self-deprecating tone because his features soften. “What’s it like living here with my brother?”

  “Like living here absolutely alone, really.”

  “Is he gone that often?”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen him more than a handful of minutes since I moved in. Before, I thought it was just because of work, but I imagine he’s been spending time with Camila too.”

  He nods in agreement.

  “Do you know her well?” I ask, my stomach squeezing tight with anxiety.

  “She’s a professor at NYU with me.”

  I rear back. “Is she really? So is that how you all know each other?”

  “Yeah. She’s been faculty longer than I have, over in the department of Latin American Studies.”

  “But aren’t you at Tisch?”

  He nods, finishing another bite of his food. Then he wipes his mouth with his napkin before replying, “NYU had invited Francisco Rodríguez, the Venezuelan economist, for a faculty lecture series. Walt and I were both interested in attending, so I invited him as my guest. We ended up sitting beside Camila, and they got to talking before the lecture began. Afterward, we all went for drinks.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  He thinks it over with a squint. “Six months, I guess, give or take? The lecture was last fall.”

  I’m leaning toward him now, eager for more tiny morsels of information—information Walt would never divulge himself.

  “So are they really in love?”

  He chuckles. “Let’s put it this way…I don’t think you marry someone else, even pretend to, if you’re really in love with someone else.” Then he glances over at me curiously. “Haven’t you talked with Walt about all this?”

  I lean back in my chair. “Like I said, we barely see each other.”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  He goes back
to eating and I sip my champagne, a shallow silence falling over us before he picks up the conversation, turning it toward my art.

  “What are your plans now that you’ve graduated? Are you taking a break?”

  “Not at all. I’m working more now than ever. In fact, I spent the majority of my day today camped out at Hauser & Wirth, trying to meet with one of their directors.”

  “Did you really?” He seems delighted by the idea. “That’s so…”

  “Insane? I know. Don’t worry, they agreed with you. They turned me away pretty fast.”

  He frowns sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that, though it seems surprising. If you graduated from RISD, you have to be pretty good at what you do. What excuse did they give you?”

  “Oh, it’s complicated.”

  I can’t bring myself to utter the words “coffee shop art”, so I give him a watered-down version of the truth. “The art world is a shifty beast. It’s like fashion in the sense that there are always perpetually changing trends. I mean, sure, your classic Picassos and Monets will always sell, just like with Louis Vuitton and Chanel, but modern artists have a trickier time. It’s all so dependent on what gallerists want to display. A lot of them are bored with paint on canvas.”

  “Who could be bored by that?”

  “Thank you!” I say, shoving his shoulder playfully.

  He laughs. “Well, I’d like to see what you do. I know a few people who might be able to point you in the right direction.”

  “Are you serious? You’d do that?”

  “Sure. You’re my sister-in-law now, aren’t you?”

  A great relieved laugh pours out of me. Finally, someone willing to poke fun at this odd set of circumstances.

  “I’m completely kidding, by the way,” he says, with a sheepish smile. “I can’t look at you like that. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to find your sister-in-law attractive.”

  “Oh.” The sound falls past my lips, forming a surprised O.

  “Was that not smooth? Damn. Sorry. I just got out of a relationship before the holidays, so I haven’t really been in the dating scene for a while. Here, let me try again.” He shakes out his shoulders as if trying to relax, then he glances at me with full-on sincerity and says simply, “Elizabeth, you’re hot.”

  I can’t help but laugh as he shrugs in resignation.

  “Now this is the point, I think, when you’re supposed to tell me I’m hot too.”

  I’m laughing harder now, like he’s tapped into some deep well of happiness I haven’t felt in as long as I can remember.

  I don’t immediately catch sight of Walt paused at the threshold of the dining room, watching us. Watching me, rather. I glance up and my laughter freezes, smile in place, to find he’s wearing one of his own. A small one. Just the right side of his mouth is lifted up. His dimples are there, the ones that match his brother’s.

  “How’s Camila?” I ask, checking to see if she’s behind him.

  I immediately regret my question when it steals away his small smile.

  He walks into the dining room and takes the spot on the other side of his brother, the seat where Camila was sitting a little while ago.

  “She went home.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  His dark eyes catch mine, and there’s a flare of something there. “Don’t apologize. You had nothing to do with it.”

  Then he reaches for a bottle of wine that was left in the middle of the table and tips the merlot straight into his mouth.

  Matthew laughs. “Rough night?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Did the two of you break up?” I ask, jumping into their conversation.

  Walt shrugs. “Sure felt like it.”

  “Honestly, I never saw you together for the long haul,” Matthew says.

  Walt shoots him a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Seems like something you should have mentioned before. Maybe pulled me aside and given me some brotherly advice.”

  Matthew shrugs. “Eh, I would have if I thought your relationship was really going somewhere.”

  I like seeing Walt like this. He’s more relaxed with his brother here, and it’s clear they have a friendly relationship with one another.

  “Matthew told me she’s a professor?” I ask, longing for even more information.

  Walt nods.

  “So is that your type?”

  His brows furrow as he tilts his head, studying me.

  Boy has that champagne really kicked in.

  “I mean, do you normally go for smarty-pants?” I ask after clearing my throat.

  His smile is gentle when he shakes his head. “I don’t really have a type.”

  “Not true!” Matthew interjects quickly. “Not true at all and you know it, man.”

  He jostles his brother’s shoulder and Walt glances down, taking the side of his bottom lip between his teeth in a sheepish grin.

  My stomach squeezes tight as I watch him. The sight of him looking so boyishly handsome is something I never thought I’d see. I wish I could freeze time. Grab a camera. A paintbrush. Something.

  “Brunette.” Matthew starts listing, ticking qualities off on his fingers. “Long legs. Smoking hot.”

  I’m grinning until he turns and points to me.

  “Take Elizabeth, for example.”

  If I had champagne in my mouth, I would spit it out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, just…it’s true,” Matthew laughs.

  Walt glances up at me and narrows his eyes. I do the same right back, filled with liquid courage.

  We have a stare-off for a long moment until I finally cave and roll my eyes, trying to lighten the mood. It’s obvious Matthew is only teasing.

  “Well that’s not fair. Now you know his type. What’s yours?” Matthew asks teasingly.

  Walt.

  That’s what my brain thinks before anything else. Just one word. One name. Walt.

  I shake the thought right out of my head and instead deflect with a joke. “Petite. Beefy muscles. Loads of tattoos. Affinity for motorcycles.”

  “What about a slightly dorky guy with glasses and a quick wit?” Matthew asks, drawing my attention back to him.

  “Are you hitting on my wife?”

  Walt’s joke is just that—a joke—and yet my body reacts as if he’s being serious. My breath temporarily bottles up in my chest until Matthew laughs.

  “I do think the glasses are cute,” I quip, trying to move the conversation along.

  The two brothers glance over, and it’s like the heat of two suns aimed right at me.

  Jeez, let a girl catch her breath for a second, will you?

  “Shouldn’t we be joining the others soon?” I ask, trying to change the subject as I nod toward the great room.

  Walt sighs then pushes to stand up.

  “Oh joy,” Matthew quips, grabbing his wine glass.

  I do the same with my champagne flute.

  Fortunately for us, Walt’s guests don’t stay too much longer. Thank god. After another half hour of forced conversations, Walt escorts his last guest to the door, and then he walks back into the great room to find me with my heels kicked off, lying back on the couch. The champagne has taken full effect.

  Matthew is sipping his drink—having moved on from wine—and looking out over the Manhattan skyline. I suggest we play the windows game.

  “What’s that?” Walt asks as he walks over to join Matthew at the window, slightly obscuring my view with his butt. Obviously, I don’t mind.

  “It’s part I Spy, part voyeurism,” I tell him. “Look outside and try to spot someone doing something in a window. Then describe them to us and we’ll try to find them too. You go first, Walt.”

  He hums and stuffs his hands into his pockets as he scans the view. After a minute of searching, he still comes up short.

  “It’s obviously easier to play when you aren’t up here in the clouds,” I point out. “But there are still enough buildings nea
rby that we should be able to find somebody.”

  “There,” he says suddenly. “I’ve got one. It’s a woman watering her plant in the window. I think it’s an orchid.”

  “Yeah, I see her too,” Matthew confirms.

  I force myself up off the couch, giving myself a moment to let the dizziness settle before I step in line beside them at the window. I start looking around, searching for the woman.

  “Is she on this side?” I ask, pointing to the right.

  “No. Over there,” Walt says, tapping the glass.

  “I still don’t see her.”

  “That’s because you’re drunk.” Matthew laughs.

  “Yes, yes. Well help me out then.”

  Walt takes my hand and leads it to the left, pressing my finger to the window. “There. Do you see her?”

  I follow the line of my finger and sure enough, there’s the woman watering her orchids.

  I laugh in delight.

  “My turn,” I declare, shaking off Walt’s grip and then immediately regretting it.

  Too late. I can’t ask him to take my hand again. What on earth would my excuse be? Uh…I like how it feels when you touch me?

  I’d rather die than admit that, so instead, I turn my focus to my search.

  I start with the building to our right, a gleaming high-rise just as luxurious as the one we’re standing in. Most of the apartments glow with light, but the majority of them are concealed by window treatments. I scan the few that aren’t. Empty. Empty. Empty.

  Then…

  “There!” I say, tapping my finger on the glass. “Oh my god.”

  Maybe if I’d had less to drink, I would have skipped over the couple in the apartment across from ours clearly having sex, but now it’s too late. Both Walt and Matthew are looking at where I’m pointing.

  “What’s the person doing?” Matthew asks.

  “It’s two people,” I clarify, my voice barely above a whisper.

  We’re too far away for me to make out specific body parts, but wow, they’re really going at it.

  Oh god. Quick—find someone else to point out.

  But when that proves fruitless, I lie.

  “Oh, never mind. They’re gone. Yeah. Oh well.”

  “What were they doing?” Walt asks, following me with his gaze as I walk away from the window.