My Favorite Bad Decision (The Favorites, #1)

by Elizabeth O'Roark

This is what Miller has always done: brought out my bad side, and somehow made it worse.

glance at my watch as if I’m in a hurry and veer toward the bathroom. “Well, it was as lovely as ever to see you, Miller, by which I mean it wasn’t, but I’ve got places to be.”

And I might be the reason she didn’t end up with him.

Thats horrid

I’d bumped into Maren over a drunken spring break. She was beautiful. I was twenty-two. That’s the entire reason we got together.

Or the way he’ll tell and retell the story about how Maren thought Cuba was the same size as the Bahamas, always hoping someone won’t have heard it and will marvel at her stupidity…except Maren isn’t stupid. At all. Harvey is just looking for weaknesses and exploiting them, crafting an image of her that will allow everyone to share his contempt.

For a long time I’ve felt as if I needed to have a very big life—that I needed to have the best clothes and go to the best parties and get a better seat at Fashion Week than other people; that I needed to have a job like my father’s, one that has everyone stopping by our table at Le Cirque to pay homage even though I loathe the way people stop by our table.

And then I watched each of those relationships implode, because it’s not real, all that seeming soul-mate-ry. Being at the same party as someone twenty years prior means nothing. Lots of people love Matisse. And lots of men will say they love Matisse or your favorite band, place, movie, or activity. They’ll say whatever it takes, and you’ll discover a couple months later that he actually was confusing Matisse with Monet, that he only knows one song by your favorite band, that he thinks your favorite city is overrated.

My jaw grinds with the effort to hold the words in. She isn’t actually encouraging him. She’s just being Kit—oblivious to the fact that she is the shiniest of objects, blinding everyone who passes by. She thinks her sharp words ward people off, but I’ve seen how they function in the real world—I’ve been victim to them myself—and all they are is something jagged you find yourself caught upon, leaving you to dangle like prey while she continues blinding you.

The truth was that I’d never wanted him gone for her sake. I wanted him gone because I couldn’t stand not having him for myself.

I was crazy about him from the moment he walked into my mother’s dining room and I went on the attack, the way I always did

“We’re not trading, Kitten,” he says, but his smile is slight. “I brought it all for you.” Those words could mean nothing, but they hit me hard. Blake and I trade. If one of us gets something, the other gives something. Miller is different. Miller doesn’t want to take a thing from me. He just wants to provide. He wants to comfort me when I’m sad, feed me chocolate to make me smile, share his phone so that I’m entertained, stay by my side so I don’t fall.

We are filthy and exhausted, but it’s our last night and the air is so warm and oxygen-rich that I’ve got more energy than I’ve had in days.

my friends Mallory and Lo sending memes; Blake sending me a couple of incredibly dumb videos of toddlers falling in the snow; Maren giving me the blow-by-blow of potty training her new puppy and sending designs for my condo,

One never saw these friends

We don’t say another word during the three-minute duration of the song, but I know even as it’s happening that I will replay these three minutes in my head for the rest of my natural life.

He tugs a lock of my hair. “No, Kitten. I wouldn’t dream of making you fly coach, and we were too likely to be seen at the airport if we flew commercial. We’re taking your dad’s plane.” I sigh, though I’m smiling. “He is such a meddler. And right now, he’s probably back at the party, acting just as shocked and surprised as everyone else that I’m not there.”

I guess I’ve felt like this all day because I’m more myself here than I’ve felt anywhere in a long time.

when was the last time I felt this way? When was the last time that I just felt good, and relaxed? That I wasn’t fatigued by my life or dreading the next thing?

He releases me, but it’s as if I’m still at high altitude and thinking some crazy, high-altitude thoughts. Like…we’re already here. This is already a secret…so what harm would another secret or two do?

With Blake, I didn’t object to sex. I enjoyed it, mostly, but didn’t especially seek it out. With Miller…I don’t want to do anything else. I want him to cover me, destroy me, and do it all again. I want him to tell me his filthiest fantasies so I can make each of them come true.

I’m stretched and a bit bruised from last night, because if he wasn’t waking me up to go again, I was waking him—but that only makes me crave it one more time.

Or I could be doing the shit that rich kids everywhere do: “exploring my art,” “developing my craft,” or turning a hobby into a business and letting everyone think it’s profitable when it’s not.

I’ve been trying to prove myself to people who don’t matter, in fields I don’t care about, for years. The person who matters is me. And I’m done.

“Then why have you had me jumping through all these hoops, year after year?” My father lifts his fork and knife. “Because you thought you wanted it. You were looking for an entirely new life after you left Charlottesville, and you’d pinned your hopes on mine. If this was what I believed you wanted, I’d happily have handed over the reins eventually.”

And if you don’t enjoy the small pieces of the pie, you’re not going to like it more when the entire pie is yours. The way to end up doing what you love isn’t by taking on even more of what you hate.”

in other words, nothing has changed in the last ten years: Maren and I both want Miller, and because of that, I’m going to insist that neither of us have him.

“Kit’s leaving Fischer-Harris,” he announces. “In fact, she’s already left.” There’s a cry from my mother’s end of the table, which is the sound one makes upon discovering you’ve lost your last bit of access to your ex’s billion-dollar company.

Too funny!!!

“I’m crazy about you, Kit,” he says. “I don’t think you have a clue. Please don’t do this.” “I love you, Miller,” I reply. “But don’t call me again.”

“You can’t lose me, idiot. I’m your sister.”

Miller was like...my crush on Henry Cavill. I can picture Henry Cavill being the perfect husband because I’m not married to him.

“Little Kitty Cat,” she coos. “You’ve had a really shitty couple of years. If you’ve found someone who makes you happy, I’m not going to ask you to give it up. Though it’s going to be really weird if it lasts. I mean, think about it. At Thanksgiving dinner, Mom will be the only female in the room who hasn’t slept with him.”

I can’t stand being apart from her. I can’t. Even if she’s about to dump me again. I close the distance, letting my hand rest on her hip, and pressing my mouth to the top of her head.

“Have I ever told you my grandfather built a library to get me into school? When the Wests do things, we don’t go halfway.” She laughs and presses her lips to mine. “Thank you for finally admitting that.”