“For the unknown bride. Ask away.” She pushes her mostly eaten bowl of quinoa, tofu, and perfectly squishy avocado into the middle of the table.
I fish out a card and read the first question. But nope. Not going to ask that one. “Let me put this one aside,” I say, setting down the card.
She gives me a look. “C’mon. We have to do this fairly.”
“It’s a bad question.”
“I can handle it.”
She probably can but I’m selfish. I want today to go well. I want it to feel date-ish. “Remy.” It’s a warning.
“Lake,” she presses, more urgently, then reaches for the card I don’t want to read.
Ah hell. If I play keep-away, I’m a dick. With some reluctance, I let her take the card.
She reads it, her expression hardening. She swallows, looks up, and says, “What’s the most embarrassing thing to happen to you on a date?” She lowers the card, shoots me a sad smile and says, “I think you know. I think the world knows.”
My shoulders slump at the mention of the Jumbotron incident. “Does it still bother you?”
She screws up the corner of her lips, like she’s giving it some thought. “No. Not really.”
“Which one?”
“Well, both.” She blows out a breath. “I see a therapist pretty regularly. I saw her a few days ago when you were on the road trip. We talked about a bunch of things, but also that.”
I had no idea she was in therapy. “Did it help?”
“She talks about moving on, helping me practice self-compassion.”
“How do you do that?”
“I try to be nice to myself. Sometimes that means getting a face mask—standard self-care. Sometimes it’s time with friends. Other times it’s reminding myself that I’m not just the woman who got dumped. That I can learn from what happened.”
“What do you think you learned?”
She sighs, thoughtfully. “To be less controlling. To let things happen at their own pace.”
She’s suddenly an open book, and I can’t stop asking questions. “How were you controlling?”
She shrugs, maybe a little sheepishly. “I like things to go a certain way, to be right. For dates to go well—those that I plan of course. But also my own. For nights out to go well. Things with my family. I need to try to be okay with things not being perfect.”
There’s so much in there about Remy. That she wants to relax, but that it’s hard for her. Maybe even that she needs time to deal with her breakup.
“She sounds really smart,” I say.
“She is. I’m glad I see her.” She lifts her chin, all proud and tough. “So you didn’t have to protect me from that question.”
“I would have though. If you’d wanted me to.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then nods. “I know you would.”
“Glad you know that.” But I’m not ready to move on to another question yet. The door’s been pushed ajar by her truth card, so I kick it open farther. “Do I need to protect you from seeing him outside of the wedding events? Does it hurt when you do?”
“No,” she says, and the speed of her answer makes me want to kiss the sky. “I’m all good there. Sure, I’ve kind ofquestioned all my life choices because how was I ever with him? But seriously, it’s kind of amazing how something like that makes you realize you are better off without someone.”
Fuck yes. I fight off a shit-eating grin but can’t quite smother a small smile. “Good. You’re so much better off without him.”
“It only took a Jumbotron incident for me to learn that.” She digs for a card, shooting me a playful glance. “Now it’s my turn to ask you something.”
