I open my mouth again, but what comes out is: “Uh, yes, I did connect with him. And everything worked out.”
Not really. But it might. If I could make up my mind.
“O-k-a-y.” She searches my features. “So why do you seem so stressed?”
She’s too perceptive. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to call her.
I paste on a smile. “Uh, you know, it’s coming up to the wedding. And I’m realizing it’s going to be such a big life change. And our parents are flying down. I love that, of course, but?—”
“Mom can be a handful. I know. But don’t worry. I’ll be there to manage them and take the heat off you.”
I feel terrible for not being able to tell Raya the truth. And when she’s being so sweet.
“You’re an amazing sister,” I say softly.
“Of course. I need to make up for all the times I was an annoying brat and made your life hell, right?” She sticks her tongue out at me.
I roll my eyes. “Why do you constantly act like you're five when we speak?”
“Because you constantly sound so grown-up. Someone has to lighten the tone, otherwise I worry it’ll catch, and I’ll be forced to grow up before my time.”
I chuckle. “Brat.”
She grins. “So, you’re good, right?” She peers into the screen.
I can hear the concern in her voice.
“Of course. I’m good.” I flash her a more genuine smile. “Are you coming for the bridesmaid’s dress fittings later this week? Harper will be there too.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Someone calls her off screen.
“Gotta go, Sis.” She disconnects the call.
I lower my phone. That was difficult. And I didn’t even tell her the real reason why I called.
And no way, can I dial my mom’s phone number to give her the news.
As for Harper, well… She’s my BFF, but I’m not ready to be emotionally vulnerable with her either.
Or maybe, I’m too proud to admit I’m flailing?
Why is it so much easier to resolve someone else’s mess than face my own?
If I continue to portray the illusion that I have my life together, then I won’t have to face the fact that it’s currently held together by caffeine, spreadsheets, and sheer denial.
I’ve built an entire persona around looking like I know what I’m doing, that I know where I’m going, and that I have everything under control. Can’t drop the act now, can I?
Thank God for the extreme busyness of my job. At least, I’m in control there. Unlike in my personal life.
‘Course, I could email everyone.
The thought of it makes my skin shrivel. And my stomach lurch. And bile coats my tongue.
I stare at my phone like it’s going to turn into a monster and swallow me up. Oh God. This is horrible.
I toss the device aside, and switch on the TV. I click through different viewing options; nothing holds my attention.
