Just don’t share it, please, I had requested when Penelope took that photo.Of course not, babe, she had said with a shoulder squeeze.
“It is.” I sniffle. “It just took me by surprise.”
“I wanted to talk to you about this, actually.”
I take a few centering breaths, make sure all tears and other signs of emotional breakage are mitigated. “About what?”
“You’re good at this wedding planning thing.” He grimaces. “I’m not. I was—it took some convincing to make sure Josh felt confident about me being his best man. I need to not screw it up.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” I know the wedding is important for Reasons, but right now I’m having trouble remembering why I care at all.
He shakes his head. “I’m trying really hard. I wasn’t in a good place for a while, and Josh—” A flighty breath shakes out of him. “Josh was a really good friend to me. And I haven’t been able to repay him. Until now. And…You saw how that’s going. Which is where you come in.”
“Me?” I ask indelicately.
“You can help me not completely mess this up.” Eitan leans on my counter, looking chagrined.
I squint at him. It’s cute that this friend group interloper, bathroom hooker-upper thinks I’m going to helphimlook good. Little busy here trying to do the same thing for myself.
“But I can help you too.” He steps closer. Danger sirens are going off somewhere in the distance. “I take it you haven’t been out that much since…everything happened?” He takes the liberty of scanning over my space, and then my body, slowly, as if to prove his point.
The floor is littered with popcorn kernels and used tissues as I ask, “What makes you say that?”
He cocks his head.
Have you seen yourself?his seaglass eyes ask.
I have and I don’t know to what you are referring, I blink back.
We war silently for a moment, unspoken volleys passing between us in the silence of my studio loft.
“Fine,” I relent. “I know what you mean.”
Eitan nods, pleased. “Here’s the deal: You can help me make sure my best friend’s wedding goes off without a hitch. And I can help you with getting back out there.” He nudges my shoulder, like he’s my Little League coach. “I’ve been in your shoes.”
“Iseriouslydoubt that,” I cut back.
“When you assume you make an ass of you and me, Bathroom Girl.”
I roll my eyes so hard they are in danger of getting stuck. “Where’d you read that? Your dad’s facebook page?”
“You wound me,” he says flatly. “Regardless of what youassume, I’ve had my fair share of hard things I’ve had to move on from. I can help you. You’re clearly struggling.”
“Am not!” I parrot, regressing about twenty years in maturity.
Again, for some reason, he looks at the used tissues and popcorn kernels. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help.”
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. I’ve had help. I lived with my parents for a year, under the extreme and intense watch of my mother. I have added six new doctors to my care team. I was even able to wean off my antidepressants six months ago, because my psychiatrist agreed that my depression symptoms were abated.
I’ve had a year and a half to come to terms with this! I should be good. Or if not good, then at least better.
“You can think of me like a coach,” Eitan says softly, like he can sense the depths of the water I am treading.
“I’m not looking for suggestions on how to hook up with strangers in public bathrooms.”
His eyes narrow, the arrow hitting its target. “You need to figure out how to exist in the world without being hurt by it. And the part you’re clearly not seeing is that helping me will also help Penelope.”
Penelope’s offer flashes through my mind, buried beneath nightmares about Grant’s perfect teeth.I could share your query with her.Seven words that could make or break my writing career.After the wedding has goneperfectly, I’d totally owe you one.
