His eyes roam over my face, like he’s trying to read me. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
“I’mfine.”
“Jordan—”
“I’m fine, Matt. Promise.”
“Alright then. Let’s get this day over with,” he mutters.
We walk toward the church hand in hand, the warmth of the sun beating down on my skin, one small mercy keeping me from bursting into tears. Two of Nate’s friends are standing off to the side, just outside the entrance, with who I assume is the funeral director.
Matt stops and turns to me. “I think this is where I need to be. Meet you inside?”
“Of course. I’ll save you a seat.”
He leans down and kisses my cheek. “Thanks, babe.”
Inside, an usher greets me and leads me toward the front pews, directing me to the reserved family section. I take a seat in the third row.
Organ music plays a familiar song, but I can’t quite place what it is. I look around, noticing all the tiny details: the intricate carvings traced with gold, the stained glass casting soft streams of yellow across the room. The elaborate paintings and how they somehow manage to reflect whatever you’re feeling back at you: hope, sadness, joy, guilt, peace.
I reach for that feeling of peace, buried somewhere beneath the grief and anxiety that I’m feeling now.
But it’s out of reach.
It’s just me and my overstimulated nervous system. Me and all my thoughts.
It’s been a long time since I’ve attended a Catholic Mass. Probably high school, with Matt and his mother. I haven’t even attended my own church in years. The last time I was even in one was a few months ago. The day I was supposed to get married.
The day I left Richard.
My breath sharpens, and a pang of panic zips through me at the memory. All I could think about the minute I left was how I needed to talk to Matt.
Matt, my fiancé…for today, anyway.
My gaze flicks to the ring on my finger, the diamond suddenly feeling heavier than before, like a weight pressing into the delicate bone beneath it.
My next breath is a struggle, short and constricted.Shit. This is not the time to panic.I bring my lips into an O-shape and inhale a deep rigid breath, forcing myself to calm down.
Twisting, I peer behind me, searching for Matt, like having him close might calm my nerves, even though he’s partly to blame for making them misfire.
Can I actually do this?
Can I marry Matt?
The fake engagement today? No problem. I can cling to Matt and pretend he’s mine for the day. I know how to do that. I would have been here and held his hand regardless. People would assume we’re together anyway. They always do.
I can go back to New York tomorrow morning a single woman and pretend none of this ever happened.
Butmarryhim?
Move in?
Matt and I have never lived together. We almost did. Once. Ten years ago, on my birthday, when he wanted to play rock, paper, scissors and letfatedecide.
I stare down at the diamond, lost in the thought.
Matt flashed a wicked grin, confident as hell he was going to win.
