Glad one of us is feeling better.
chapter
sixteen
Pen supplementsthe wedding to-do list bullet ofCurate wedding musicwith additional thoughts over text.Something classically romantic for the first dance, and reception entrance to “We Found Love in a Hopeless Place.”Josh and I really bonded over Calvin Harris.Also,Josh’s mom is insisting we have a traditional Jewish processional, so please pick an arrangement that isn’t too depressing.
I itch to type out,Out of luck there. Depressing is Jewish music’s middle name,just to be spiteful. Yes, our music is somber. At the same time, it’s beautiful.
Ruby, she texts thirty minutes later.
Yes?I respond.
Good, you’re seeing this. Saul is insisting on meeting us tomorrow. He needs to ‘get to know us’ and said he can help with picking the first dance song. Can you also make sure he can actually play the cello?
I rake my hands through my hair. Normally I try not to do this because it makes me look like a poodle, but lately it’s been hard to avoid.
Eitan will go with you, Pen adds, like this is some kind of consolation.
I can go by myself!I say. The last thing I need is more time with Eitan. It’s too confusing for my over-excitable heart.I don’t want to complicate things.
Saul is in Northbrook, it’s impossible to get there without a car.
I’ll Uber.
Thanks, Rubes!
Apparently my last text went completely unread (or ignored altogether), because a minute later, Eitan texts,Heard we’re going to meet Saul tomorrow.
I can Uber,I say to him, in case someone at some point decides to listen to me.
It’s not a problem. I have a car.
I grasp for any excuse I can find.It’s really okay,I try.
I’ll pick you up at 3 tomorrow, Eitan says, ending the short but disastrous conversation.
Google Maps saysthe drive will take an hour, since it’s the beginning of rush hour. Eitan has the radio on when he pulls up to my building, which is just as well. Talking to him always ends badly. We can listen to Top 40 in silence.
“Hey,” Eitan says, a few minutes into the drive.
I grunt. Maybe if I commit to being non-verbal, my wish for silence will come true.
“I feel like you’re mad about something,” Eitan continues, not getting the hint.
“Why would I be mad?” I ask, mad. About what, I’m not entirely sure. That Eitan thinks I’m complicated? Or that he’sright to avoid me, my feelings, and the many complications tied up with them.
“Not sure. Maybe I said something?”
I glance at him, and his last words ring out like it hasn’t been two weeks since we saw each other.I don’t want to complicate things.I blink. “Nope. All good over here.”
“Okay,” Eitan says, sounding unconvinced. “If youaremad about something, you can tell me.”
I stare straight out the window and give him one curt nod. “Noted.”
“How bout this.” He pokes my thigh. “You can pick the music for the rest of the drive.”
Handing over the aux is a brave act. It’s a peace offering. I run my teeth over my bottom lip, trying to reorganize my thoughts. Eitan is extending an olive branch of friendship, and I have no (legitimate) reason not to accept. I hold out my hand, avoiding eye contact. “Aux?”
