Anna kicked my foot under the table. I looked up and she motioned for us to go talk outside.
I shook my head.
Brooklyn: What am I missing? I need a play-by-play.
Anna: I’m trying to get her to go to the bathroom so we can discuss it before she does something drastic.
Brooklyn: She’s got the “drastic” look in her eye? Uh oh.
Me: I’m fine. Stop overreacting.
My words must not have convinced Anna though because she “walked” her fingers toward the end of the table like a pair of legs and tipped her head in the direction of the exit.
Madden never noticed.
Me: I’d rather talk over text.
It would be easier if I didn’t have to look either of them in the eye.
Brooklyn: Break it down for us. We’ll figure it out together.
Me: Okay…
I inhaled, focusing on holding a breath and letting it out slowly.
Here goes everything.
Me: Married people have sex.
Me: And I don’t want to have sex.
I winced as I wrote the words. I glanced at my boyfriend…correction…my fiancé. He was tall and handsome. So many muscles. He had those cheekbones women fawned over. The kind that could “cut glass.” So why didn’t I want to do this?
Brooklyn: With Madden?
Brooklyn: Or anyone?
Me: That’s a good question.
There was a long pause. I looked up at Anna but she was glued to her screen as if rereading the words over and over.
I’m sure my friends were so confused. I’d been pregnant when they first met me. They probably thought I’d given my heart to someone I shouldn’t—the same way Anna’s mom had given her heart to the Italian exchange student who’d talked her out of her virginity. Back in high school, they’d tried to get me to open up about it a few times but I’d skirted around the topic. Being the good friends that they were, they hadn’t brought it up again. If I were going to tell anyone the truth, it would be them. But that part of my life was locked in a vault and for good reason.
Their texting had stopped.
My heart raced. My lungs tried to burst open from the overwhelming anxiety. I used the trick my therapist had taught me. Five things I could see: a fake fern in the corner, what was left of Anna’s green bean almondine on her plate, Lemon’s freckles, Persephone kissing Ashton on the cheek?—
My eyes shot to my lap, where of all things, they landed on my engagement ring. The noose around my future.
This was backfiring.
Brooklyn: So, you’re saying you can’t picture yourself in bed with him every night.
Me: I can picture it.
Brooklyn: Right. But how does that picture make you feel?
Me: Like a pair of hands are around my neck.
