I write him back.I should be able to find some time, yes. I’ll get back to you on it.
* * *
I sit gratefully underneath the umbrella Sophia somehow tied to the back of my chair with one of her many scarves. It’s not raining yet, but it could start any second, and I don’t relish the idea of being wet and cold.
June scampers past us with three boxes piled high in her arms. “I’ve got help coming!” she says. “I heard the county women’s shelter is sending a few volunteers over. So we’re going to need a lot of food.”
I shift my gaze to the sky, at the gray thick canvas broken only by pockets of darker clouds. “The colors are amazing.”
“What colors?” Sophia says. “It’s all gray!”
“But it’s different shades of gray. At least four.”
I’ve still got my face pointed to the sky when Phillip comes over. “You guys need any help setting up?” he says.
I force my gaze down to his face. I want to tell him about the shades of gray, but he looks too stressed out to care. “Nope. We’ve got it covered, honey. See Sophia’s nifty contraption?” I point at the umbrellas over our heads.
“Very smart.” Phillip nods at her, impressed. “I don’t like those umbrella patterns, though, Soph.”
I glance back at the umbrella protecting me. It’s painted a pretty shade of purple with interlocking pink flowers.
“Oh, Phillip, ease up.” Sophia laughs. “You hate anything beautiful, don’t you?”
He turns red. “That’s not true. I don’t like pastels is all.”
I wave him goodbye as Sophia taps my arm.
“Is your mom sad you won’t need a wedding dress?” she asks me.
“Why would she be sad? It’s not her wedding.”
“I don’t know. My mom’s a drunk. But isn’t wedding dress shopping like this big mother-daughter thing to do together? Like an event?”
I shrug. “My mom agrees that it’s a silly tradition. She says there are people starving in third world countries. Why would you spend your money on a dress you’ll wear once?”
Sophia stares at me. “Wow. No wonder you’re so serious. You probably picked it up in the womb and just popped out that way.”
I admire Sophia’s ability to be uncensored and fearless. The one time I acted like that, I got attacked.
But ever since I failed my dissertation, I’ve felt less and less certain about playing it safe.
I break down and tell Sophia about the dance class. And of course, she loves Phillip’s suggestion.
“Wow,” she says, her smile a mile wide. “I wish I could pat Phillip on the back. Your own fiancé is telling you to ask the hot guy at June’s store to dance with you? So freaking do it, Lei. Once you and Phillip marry, your chance to dance is over. Or to make sweaty, hot love.”
I let out a squeak.
“What?” Sophia studies my face. “You know I’m right. Your fiancé is the most serious man in existence. He doesn’t have time to dance, or play, or engage in mind-blowing sex.”
My face heats.
“Does that push a button?” she asks me. “Good. Because I don’t want to see my best friend saying, ‘I wish I’d just had fun when I could.’ You’re going to be a professor’s wife, Leleila. You’ll be expected to host dinner parties, attend conferences on his arm, and all this other crap I know you secretly hate doing but won’t admit to out loud. So accept this God-given—or Phillip-given—reprieve. Take some dance lessons, and let your hair down for the next month. Flirt with Brayden, or just friend him. But at least have some fun with a guy who sounds like he knows what the word means.”
When a blue pick-up truck pulls up, I immediately straighten in my chair.
Sophia pokes me. “Is that him?”
I don’t have to answer her because Brayden has hopped out of the driver’s side and is heading toward the gazebo. Wearing a deep green flannel shirt and dark jeans, he’s carrying a large box in his arms.
