My Favorite Souveni- Penelope Ward , Vi Keeland Page 0,101
of the photos of Matteo and picked it up. It was a picture I’d taken of him playing on stage in New Orleans.
“I saw this one first. But I’m so goddamned naïve that I just assumed you must’ve taken it the night we went on a double date at that café in the Village, even though I didn’t remember you having your camera. You know what I thought when I looked at this photo?” He waved the glossy print around in the air. When I didn’t answer, he asked again, this time louder. “I said, do you know what I thought when I saw this photo?”
I shook my head and whispered, “No.”
“I smiled and admired your work.” Brady laughed maniacally. “I was so fucking clueless that I sat there thinking how talented you are.”
Brady paused. The way his eyes flashed with anger made me really nervous. He looked down at the photo again, and with a pissed-off flick of his wrist, tossed it to the floor. Then he picked up a second photo—a close up of Matteo. He’d just finished playing a song and was looking at the camera with so much emotion in his eyes.
“You know what I thought of when I looked at this one?”
Again, he stared at me, waiting for an actual answer.
I shook my head and looked down, again whispering, no.
“I thought to myself, it’s a good thing this guy’s my best friend. Because damn, he’s one good-looking son of a bitch. I remember how he used to play his guitar and sing up on stage in college. A few strums and some lyrics, and the women were lining up to offer him their pussy. But I don’t have to worry about that. My girl is loyal, and my best friend? He always has my back.”
He snapped his wrist again and whipped the second photo at the floor. Picking up another, he flung them one by one to the ground with each staccato word he spoke.
“Not.” Toss.
“My.” Toss.
“Girl.” Toss.
“Or.” Toss
“My.” Toss.
“Best.” Toss.
“Friend.” Toss.
There were three photos left on the counter. He picked one up and waved it around.
“Then I got to this one. A photo of my best friend with a shit ton of snow in the background. It hasn’t snowed more than a few flurries in New York this year, at least that I’m aware of. But again, I assumed I must be wrong. There had to be some big pile of snow in a parking lot somewhere that I’m not remembering.” Brady flicked his wrist and added the image to the pile on the floor.
“Then I came to this one.” He held up the second-to-last photo from the counter and showed it to me before staring down at it himself. “Here’s my buddy wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and he’s standing in front of what looks like some sort of southern mansion or something.” Brady turned the photo to show it to me again. “This doesn’t look like New York City, does it, Hazel?”
I shook my head.
Brady tossed it to the floor and picked up the last photo. “But even then, after a dozen pictures staring me straight in the face, I still refused to believe it. There had to be some logical explanation as to why my girl would have all of these pictures of my best friend in her camera from what seemed like places that are not New York. So I kept going, in oblivious denial, until I got to this one.”
The photo was a selfie I’d taken of Matteo and me on the day before we left New Orleans. I was smiling broadly for the camera, and Matteo had his lips pressed to my cheek.
“Tell me, Hazel. How was I going to explain this one to myself?” He paused and laughed. “I’m seriously such a dumb fuck. A part of me was still holding on to hope that there was some reasonable explanation for all of this. It wasn’t until I saw you walk in the front door with guilt written all over your face that I actually knew.” Brady walked over to my suitcase and lifted the airline’s luggage tag, which I hadn’t thought to detach before wheeling it inside.
“SEA? If I’m not mistaken, that’s the airport code for Seattle.” His voice cracked as he continued, “How was your trip to fuck my best friend, Hazel?”
Tears streamed down my face. “Brady…” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”