He beams, leaning in and quickly kissing my temple. “But I’myouridiot.”
But even as the air feels lighter… Idon’t.My stomach still feels nauseous, my knee is bouncing uncontrollably, and I can’t stop thinking about anything other than the fact I might not make rent next month.
It’s my fault. I’m the problem.
And even more so because I can’t keep my mouth shut, like my boyfriend would probably prefer.
“I just think that,” I start before I can stop, “that maybe the problem wasn’t them? That maybe I… can’t cut it? Maybe I’m always going to fail.”
He goes still, then shakes his head and laughs. “Wow.Wow. Okay. Babe, you can’t talk like that. You’ll manifest it right into being. You might really become what you say.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t think the universe is going to punish me for having a bad day.”
He gives a shrug, his expression nonchalant. “Maybe you were just too sensitive for that kind of place. Some people are like that.”
I stare at the dashboard. “Some people?”
He lets out a hum, raking his fingers through his hair. “You know. Not everyone is cut out for… office politics? Knowing who to work with and how. That’s not a flaw, babe. You’re just too sweet sometimes.”
He says it like he’s all-freaking-knowing, even though his own job involves designing website banners for artisanal beer companies that are mostly just clip art and stupid puns. I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Right,” I say. My fingers twist the strap of my purse until the leather looks like it might break.
He smiles, probably thinking the crisis is over, and that he’s fixed me with the power of positive thinking with a side of backhanded compliments.
Or whatever the hell that was.
My heart starts to race as he pulls into the parking lot, because no matter how much I want it to be, this conversation isstillnot over.
I still need to ask him if I can move in with him.
And not because it’s cute or romantic, but because my next rent payment is basically going to be the death of me. But if I say that now, after he’s called me too sensitive and implied that I should justmanifesta new life for myself, I think I might actually implode with humiliation.
So I just sit there, trying to gather my courage. He parks the car and just as I turn in the seat to ask, a fist lands on the car window. I jar sideways, startled, but instantly recognize the hideous shades of coral and brown we’re all required to march around in today.
“Hey, man,” Jared says. “They really need you inside for something with the sound system? I don’t know how to adjust that shit, but apparently you do.”
Wes perks up. “Fuck yeah, I love that stuff. I’ll be right there.” He then looks over at me, a weird sympathetic expression on his face. “You cool?”
I nod. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
He’s out the door before I can finish the sentence, striding toward the church like he’s been cast as himself in the movie adaptation of his own life. But that’s Wes for you, always confident and cocky like he owns the air around him.
I sit alone in the car for one minute, then two, then three. I practice my smile in the rearview. I try to picture a version of myself that is competent and poised and ready to face a room full of people who all have jobs, who all have plans that extend beyond next Tuesday.
Must be nice.
After five minutes, I pop the trunk, haul out the gift bag with Elizabeth’s emergency flats, the backup veil, and a bunch of pastries she requested. The box immediately dumps half its contents onto the sidewalk.
Ugh. Why am I alwaysthe clumsiest girl in the room?
I drop down in an awkward squat as I try to sweep them up, and I’m still wrestling with boxes and my own deep sense of personal failure, when I hear my name from the doorway. Riley, my best friend and co-bridesmaid, wearing the same ugly-ass coral dress as me, comes rushing out.
“Maddy! Come on! They’re lining up!”
“Sorry, sorry.” I scoop up a rogue muffin, brushing off what I hope is only a little dirt. “This day…”
“Is going to be just fine.” Riley takes the box from me as I stand up straight. “Come on. We’ll survive it together. I promise.”
