Tapas and Confessions

**Bonus post, enjoy your weekend!**

"Have you seen that black lace bra?" I asked Dylan, hunting around his room for the missing garment. 

"Which one?" he asked from where he laid in bed. It was nearly 2 p.m. and we had yet to leave the cocoon of his room, except to sneak out to Manhattan Bagel for breakfast around 9. 

"The one I had on Friday night," I replied, bending down to check under his bed. 

"Haven't seen it," he answered, and I heard the crowd go wild on TV. He was engrossed in the Eagles game, being of absolutely no help in my packing. My bus back left in less than an hour and I was still modeling his tshirt and day old sex hair. 

I gave up on the bra and turned to gather up my makeup and products from his dresser, dumping them into my suitcase. I heard a commercial for Taco Bell come on the TV just as Dylan finally returned his attention to me. 

"Don't go," he said, finally leaving his bed and coming to stand behind me. I looked up in the mirror to see his perfectly sculpted body standing behind me. I leaned back, resting my weight on him. 

"I don't want to," I said with a sigh. "What are you doing next weekend? You should come up to the city."

"I wish," he said, nuzzling my neck. "But we have Ryan's bachelor party."

"Oh?" I said, surprised. This was the first time he had mentioned it. 

"Yeah so we leave Thursday night and I won't be back until Monday morning." 

"Wait, it's not in Philly?" I asked, pulling away to finish gathering my things.

"No, Vegas," he said, leaping back into bed as the game returned.

"What?!" I yelled. "You're going to Vegas next weekend?" Call me crazy, but finding out that your boyfriend is traipsing off to Sin City four days before he leaves seemed a little negligent. 

"Yeah, is that okay?" he asked, looking at me with a puzzled expression.

"I don't know, just would have been nice to have some warning. I mean if I hadn't asked you to come up to New York, would you have just like.. sent me a snapchat from a stripclub?" 

"Don't be ridiculous," he said with a small laugh. "It just hadn't come up yet, obviously I was going to tell you." 

I had a horrible flashback to Big telling Carrie he was leaving for Paris as she sat, blindsided on his bed. Only obviously on a much smaller scale.

"Whatever," I said, stomping across his room to pick up my jeans. I shimmied them on and tossed the shirt I had been wearing in his direction, pulling on my own tank top. "We have to go though, my bus leaves soon. Unless you just want me to take a cab." 

"Danielle," he said, turning the TV off and rifling in his closet for a shirt. "You can't be mad at me for going to my buddy's bachelor party." He gave me an amused grin like I was a petulant child who was throwing a fit over missing candy.

"I'm not mad at you for going, I'm mad that you casually threw into conversation that you're heading - in four days - to the stripper capital of the world," I snapped. 

He tried to wrap his arms around me, and when I pushed him off he let out a loud, playful laugh which only fueled my anger. 

"Woman," he said, trying to stifle his laughter. "You're cute when you're jealous." 

"I'm not jealous," I clarified. "I'm simply mad at your complete lack of knowing how a relationship works. When one party is leaving the tri-state area, it is proper etiquette to inform the second party about said departure." 

"Noted," he said, kissing my cheek and grabbing his wallet, keys and phone off of his desk. 

Once we pulled up to 30th street, my anger at him had been overridden by the familiar ache I felt every time we parted. I willed the tears that were prickling at my eyes to stay put, at least until he was gone. 

"Come here," he said, pulling me into him as he leaned against his car. "Have a safe trip." 

I nodded into his chest and gave him one last, long kiss. 

"Text me when you're home," he said. I nodded, my hand slipping further out of his with each step I took away.


A few exhausting hours later I unlocked the door to our glorious apartment. "Hello?" I called, my voice echoing off the walls of the living room.

"In my room!" I heard Ashley's response. I dumped my bag in the hall and headed into her bedroom. 

"Hey!" she greeted me cheerfully. 

"Hey yourself," I replied, shocked at her attitude change. This was a completely different Ashley than the one I had left on Friday night. "Have a good weekend?" 

She nodded vigorously. "Try great weekend."

"Wow," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Tim?" 

"Um, yeah," she said, typing away on her mac. "Want to go grab dinner?" she asked, without elaborating further on Tim.

"Yeah, let me just change," I said, heading into my room to throw on a maxi skirt and crop top. I sprayed some dry shampoo into my hair, trying to remember the last time I had washed it. Wednesday? Thursday? Regardless, ew. 

Ten minutes later, Ash and I were settled into a small table at Alta. 

"Two of the red sangrias," I said as the waiter approached. He nodded his head and scurried off towards the bar. 

"The lamb meatballs look good," Ashley said, scanning the menu. "Do you want to just split a bunch of things?" 

"Sure," I said, my mouth watering at the description of the shrimp and chorizo skewer. The waiter returned with our drinks and we ordered six tapas to split.

"So," I said once he had left to put in our order. "Tell me about your weekend."

Ash blushed a bit, looking uncomfortable. "Oh come on," I said with a laugh at her silence. "You're the last person who follows the 'don't kiss and tell rule'."

"Okay, I'm going to tell you something, and you're not going to get judgey on me," she prefaced, piquing my interest. 

I narrowed my eyes, "I make no promises."

"Okay," she sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. "Tim came over Friday and it was.. fine. We just stayed in and watched a movie, and he slept over. But I didn't do anything but make out with him."

"Why not?" I asked. 

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I couldn't.. I couldn't stop thinking about that annoying wedding invitation. So when he left on Saturday morning I called Steve." 

I was shocked by this, but nodded my head encouraging her to continue. 

"So I asked him, point blank, why he sent the invite. And get this- he had no clue about it. Like, he knew that they went out, but he said he simply gave her his list of people to invite and that I wasn't on it." 

I furrowed my brow. "So what, the fiancée some how found our address and sent you one?" 

"Apparently," Ash continued. "So first off, psycho. But anyway, I guess this got Steve all worked up, and he asked if he could come over to see it. I don't know why, maybe he thought I was lying or something? Anyway, I told him I had thrown it out." 

"Did he believe you?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, nodding slowly. "I mean how else would I possibly know about them? So he just apologized and then we hung up." 

"Wow," I said, stunned. "So have you talked to him since?" 

"Um.. yeah," she said, avoiding my gaze. 

"He confronted the girlfriend?" I asked. 

"I guess so," she replied. "But he drunk dialed me that night. And I was just at our place, drinking wine and watching a Modern Family marathon. He said he was at a bar by our house and invited me to meet him."

"Did you go?!" I asked, floored that all of this had gone down in my absence. 

"Yeah, I went," she said. "He was alone and we just sat at the bar for like, three hours talking. It was nice. But then they did last call, and he didn't want to go home since I guess him and the fiancée are in a fight over the invitation thing. We didn't get into the details, but I told him he could sleep on our couch."

"Ash.." I said. Drinks with your ex is one thing, but inviting him back at 2 a.m. was another. "Did he sleep over?"

"Yeah," she said avoiding my gaze again.

"On the couch?" I prodded. 

Her silence told me everything.