“I can’t believe this day has come,” her mother says with a nostalgic tilt.
“Our baby girl is all grown up,” her father adds, emotions clear in his voice.
Seeing all the white dresses makes me imagine things I have no business thinking about, such as my own wedding. Ian materializes in my vision, and I shut my eyes, not knowing if I’d like to preserve the image or force it away.
I open them when a gasp comes from my right side. My eyes turn glassy when I see my beautiful friend in a wedding dress. The emotional moment passes as she watches herself in the mirror, scrunching at the A-line, simple but elegant dress.
“Don’t like it.”
We burst into laughter. It goes on for four more dresses.
She either likes the top of one or the bottom of another. One dress is too fluffy, the other is too revealing. I know the fifth dress is “the one” when she cups her mouth, her eyes welling up. It’s an embroidered mermaid dress, a perfect combination of elegance and glamour, fitting my friend perfectly.
I let her parents have a moment with her before I stand up, hugging her.
“You look amazing,” I murmur.
“You think Theo will like it, because if he doesn’t cry when he sees me, I am leaving him standing at the altar,” she cries softly.
I take her hands, smiling. “We both know you’ll take his breath away.”
She spends the rest of the day with her parents, so I drive back to the shop. The manager greets me, telling me everything is going smoothly with the orders, and I busy myself by going through new drink ideas. With the help of my newest employee, Stephany, we tweak the recipe until we’re happy with the result.
It’s six by the time I leave for my cooking class, running a bit late. There are two men and three women, while our instructor says, “We’ll move to lunch ideas for the week.”
It’s a four-week class. The first week included learning the basics, and then we moved to various breakfast alternatives. For the next ninety minutes, we learn about the best heating temperature and how long it takes for chicken to fry, bake, or broil.
At the end of the class, we each present our dish. I can’t wait to bring this home and have Ian try it.
When the elevator doors ping open, I realize I use my apartment more as storage. The thought does nothing to penetrate the bubble of self-deception. I guess my rationality took a vacation, slurping a cocktail while leaving me to dive into insanity some more.
Self-preservation instinct.What is that?
Letting myself into his loft, I see him playing a video game. He looks cute with the headphones on, a frown of deep concentration lining his forehead. He’s dressed in my kryptonite: a T-shirt that clings to every plane of muscle and gray sweatpants.
I gulp and pray to the chastity god to keep my thoughts platonic and PG-related. I am pretty sure at this point I’d come with barely a touch from him.
He quits the game as soon as he notices me. This man ruins me for anyone else.
He cocks his head, a big smile on his face, flexing his muscles.
“Show off,” I breathe out, visibly affected.
The smirk teasing his face confirms he knows what he’s doing to me. “I work hard for it, baby.”
Our eyes widen at the endearment.
He grumbles, “Shit.”
I wave him off.
We both slip from time to time. I think we exited denial and are now full speed toward delusion.
He sniffs the air and notices the bag I carry.
I lift it, grinning. “Honey, I made dinner.”
He wiggles his brows. “Honey, I’m glad you stopped wanting to give me food poisoning.”
