My chest tightens.
“Hi,” he says.
Or maybe it was always there, and I’m just noticing it now.
“Ready?” he asks.
I open my mouth to respond. Nod instead.
“Good,” he says, stepping forward. Brushing past me into the house. “Let’s get this over with.”
And he walks inside.
eleven
chloe
Hiringsomeone to plan a couples shower they will also be attending as a guest is a lot like making a murder victim dig their own grave.
In hindsight, I probably didn’t do myself any favors.
Maya and Derek are in matching white wicker chairs—decorated withMr.andMrs.sashes that I burned my thumb hot-gluing this afternoon—finishing up their round of the newlywed game.
The room’s packed. Twenty-five people. Maybe thirty. Most of them guys Derek plays hockey with. I don’t recognize any of them, but they all fill the room with a sort of bravado and competition. And they’re all watching as Derek reveals his answer to the last question.
“Biceps,” he says, grinning as he holds up his whiteboard.
Maya flips hers. “His smile.”
The room erupts in laughter, and Maya doubles over. It’s a quick recovery, and she leans over to kiss Derek’s cheek, laughing.
“Close enough!” she declares. “How’d we do?”
There’s a chorus of wildly inaccurate scorekeeping. “Ten out of ten!” “Nailed it!”
I try my best to join in, but my heart is racing.
Because I know what’s coming. And maybe a week ago, after spending a day with Brody, I might have felt a little more confident that we could survive this. But today…there’s something off.
His words are still ringing in my ears from earlier.Let’s get this over with.
Over with. The way you do chores. Or hospital paperwork. Like I’m a dirty pot that you’ve just got to knuckle down and take care of before the fruit flies show up.
Very romantic.
Maya stands, smoothing down her dress. She’s got that mischievous look. The one that means she’s about to do something that will make me want to crawl under the furniture and die.
“Okay, okay!” She claps her hands and the chatter dies. “That was fun, right? But now”—she pauses for dramatic effect, because she’s Maya and everything must be done withflair—“we’re going to do something a little different.”
Here we go.
“Let’s see who’s got what it takes to become the next newlyweds!” She’s practically bouncing. I’d like to mention that this was all her idea, by the way. The whole dragging unwilling participants into the spotlight with you. Not my idea of fun. “We’re getting other couples in on this!”
The room goes wild. There’s cheering. And whooping. Actual whooping. Tyler’s girlfriend squeals so loud I think my eardrums might actually rupture.
Maya grabs the basket I prepped earlier and tucked under her seat—wicker, lined with tissue paper, filled with name cards of every couple here. She reaches in without looking. Dramatic pause.
Please not us. Please not us. Please not?—
