That last one takes some getting used to and it can be daunting at first, but when you get there, it’s like a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying is suddenly lifted.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder if Matthew’s idea of his self-declared “all over the place, temperamental” personality that didn’t mesh well with my “togetherness” might just be translated as “lazy” and “often selfish.” If you propose to someone and then spend the next year pondering “What if I could be happier? What if I’ve missed out?,” while the person to whom you’ve proposed is putting all their spare time and effort into organizing the celebration of your marriage, who would be considered the more “emotional” of the couple?
He said he was in love. I was busy proving I was.
So, here’s to only worrying about myself at a wedding. Here’s to only worrying about what I want to do in my life, regardless of what he’s doing in his. Here’s to me putting one foot in front of the other.
Here’s to feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I never thought I’d say this, but here goes: my boss inspired me.
There’s no denying that Phil is a nice guy, I just never thought he’d be the sort of person to influence me in any part of my life that wasn’t a client meeting or whatever.
Here’s how it happened.
Ruby recently reminded me that I had yet to invite an unexpected plus-one to Andy and Roshni’s wedding, which is fast approaching. There was someone who instantly came to mind.
Jamie.
He’d never want to come. Asking him would have been a nice excuse to speak to him, though. But I wasn’t going to humiliate myself even further by asking an impossible question, and forcing him to turn me down.
Still, I do wonder what he’s up to.
During a work lunch break, I went through my contacts on my phone, hoping one would jump out at me, but other than Jamie, not one person would be appropriate. Not one. I started at the top again and then, when the second time through didn’t prove helpful, I went onto dreaded Facebook to go through the hundreds of friends I apparently am connected with, the majority of whom I no longer even recognize.
I typed “who to invite to a wedding” into my work computer. Mortifyingly, the list of results that came up was all to do withguidance for a bride and groom agonizing over the guest list etiquette. I’ve already been there, done that.
I tried again: “Who should I invite as a plus-one to a wedding?”
A similar selection of results popped up. Third’s time a charm, right? “I have a plus-one for a wedding. Who should I invite?”
Again, all these websites came up promising that they could help with how to address an invitation to a guest with a plus-one.
“For fuck’s sake!” I hissed irritably.
Without thinking, I typed in, “I need someone to escort me to a wedding. Who shall I ask?”
I should have thought a bit more about my wording, but I was so caught up in how annoying the whole process was that I was genuinely shocked when a list of escort services was provided. I stared at my computer screen, my jaw hanging open.
There was a cough behind me.
I spun round to see Phil there with his eyebrows furrowed. He glanced at my screen.
Bollocks.
“Phil! Hi!”
I turned back to my computer and, fumbling for my mouse in such a rush that I knocked my hand against it, clicked something, and somehow caused the screen tozoom inon a search result titled, “Male and Female Escorts for Weddings.”
“Oh god,” I squeaked, closing the browser window and then looking up at him, my whole face on fire. “I can explain.”
“Um,” he began, looking more awkward and tense than ever, “I don’t think—”
“IswearI was not just looking at escorts,” I told him in a hushed tone, checking to make sure that most of my team were still, thankfully, out grabbing lunch. “I typed in something else and those results came up, but they werenotwhat I was lookingfor. I especially would not be looking up those kinds of things on work time. Or any time, to be honest.”
He held up his hands. “That’s all right, Freya.”
