“Shh, shh—it’s okay, it’s okay!” There’s Greg’s astonished face, and I fling my arms around him, on the brink of a sob.
Then, across the room, I actuallydosee Mark Winterson—and we lock eyes for a second as Greg tugs my hand and we sprint down the fake-cobblestone street to the parking garage.
My stomach drops, seeing the line for the pay machine, but Greg powers past it. “I already paid!” he exclaims, and my heart swells with pride.Greg is so practical! Good in a crisis!We hop into his car, and as we peel out, I see Mark Winterson behind us in the rearview mirror, tossing his jacket to the ground.
For a while, as the aging Acura speeds down the I-15 out of Las Vegas, we can’t stop laughing. Every time we start losing steam and the car gets quiet, we look at each other and burst out laughing again.
“Can’t believe you followed me,” I say, grinning like an idiot.
“Couldn’t let you be stranded with that guy,” Greg says as his car strains uphill through brown hills dotted with Joshua trees and cacti. “Don’t think I slept the whole time you were at that wedding.”
Another mock business card flashes in my mind:
Greg De Leon
Childhood Crush and Hot Accountant
Doesn’t Dream of Labor but Organized a Union
Actually the Most Reliable Man I Have Ever Known
For a while, we sit in silence—both shell-shocked, maybe, giddy from tearing out of a hilarious location, basking in the glow of speeding off into the desert as fast as this twenty-year-old car will take us.
But slowly it feels like the warmth drains out of this small bubble we’re in together (even though I’m sweating, and the AC is weak).
Greg’s eyes dart between my outfit and the road. “You’re dressed up?” he says finally.
My hands twist in my lap. How am I going to explain any of this? “He asked me to marry him.”
“Oh,”Greg says, looking at me sideways again. “So did you…do that?”
“No!” I shout, too loud, all my nervous energy spilling out. “Because I don’t love him! And he’s kind of terrible! By all the metrics that matter, and some of the ones that don’t too!”
Greg laughs at my outburst. “Okay?”
Some tears of frustration spring to my eyes, and I wipe them away while the words tumble out. “He just sprang it on me! And I thought, what if this is the thing that gets Mom out of Slack, finally? What if it is, and I never tried it? So I…I said yes, and…I got dressed up, but…I couldn’t go through with it.”
For an agonizing moment, the only sounds are the wind whistling outside the car and the rumbling of the engine. Greg sighs, wrestling with his own thoughts. Up ahead, the mountains look like streaks of muddy watercolor on the horizon, shades of brown fading to deep purple, the color of a bruise.
Greg checks his mirrors, like he’s trying to see if a black Mercedes might be following us. And when he’s satisfied with the empty highway behind us, he pulls over at a rest stop—a diner and a gas station, surrounded by desert scrub—and parks in front of the pump.
He kills the engine and turns to me. “You’ve had quite a day, huh?”
That makes me burst out laughing, but it quickly turns into sobbing. I almost wish I still had that veil to hide me.
Greg takes my face gently in his hands, wiping at my tears with his thumbs. “Shh, shh. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
Everything around us goes into soft focus. I’m sticky and sore and so thoroughly exhausted, but I’m so filled with affection for him and the absurd way he just came through for me.
I lean closer to kiss him, but Greg gently presses me back, hands on my shoulders.
“Ruby, hey,” he says, voice low, eyes roaming around my face. “I think maybe, by now, you know how long I’ve wanted this, but…you’re all dressed up to marry someone else. Can’t help feeling like a rebound?” A bitter little chuckle shakes his chest, and he glances away, out the window. “Maybe let’s cool off for a minute. See how you feel after sleeping on it.” He runs a hand over his face and sighs again. “Not wanting him…doesn’t mean you actually want me.”
I let myself fall back against the passenger seat, arms crossed. “Do you even realize how long I’ve wanted you? It’s humiliating! It’s completely ridiculous.”
Greg scoffs, but still doesn’t look back my way. “Maybe you should tell me.”
“For ten years, basically.” I glare at him. “Do you know how exhausting it is to be in love with someone for a fucking decade?”
