Page 47 of Something like Desire

“Yeah,” I answer. “Exactly like that. We fell into a rut, and it just didn’t feel exciting anymore.”

“Do you get bored easily?”

“No,” I answer honestly and take a sip of my wine. “I don’t really think I get bored often. Maybe it was more like we grew apart.” Is the reason why Jayden and I ended a red flag to Zach? Maybe I should tell him how long we were together. People grow apart and after nine and a half years, I wanted to be a different version of myself.

“I have one more thing to show you before we leave.” Zach stands and gives me a hand to help me to my feet. He guides me behind the building toward a pond. “It seems like you feel inspired when you’re close to water,” he says. “I thought I’d show you this area and see if you feel like writing anything.”

My heart’s fluttering against my ribs. It’s a simple gesture, but it means more than I can put into words. Zach’s here, supporting my hobby, thinking of me.

Zach takes a notebook and pen out of the picnic basket and offers them to me. “Do you want to have a few minutes?” he asks.

After a moment, I nod. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

Zach lays the picnic blanket down by the edge of the pond and I sit there, staring across the water with the pen in my hand and notebook spread open on my lap.

After a few minutes, the ideas start to swarm around in my mind, and I can’t get them down on paper fast enough.

Later, as Zach drives us home, I make sure to take extra-long breaths and truly enjoy how at ease I feel because I’m sure that’s all about to change. Gia’s wedding is Saturday and I need to prepare myself to be swept up in the day, which is guaranteed to be full of excitement—one kind or another.

TWENTY-ONE

Gia’s calm streak lasted about a week, but the moment she woke up in the hotel room we booked for getting ready on the wedding day, all the jitters and cold feet came rushing back with full force. Right now, she’s pacing the room in her white satin robe, eyes practically bulging out of her head as she mutters to herself under her breath.

The idea of the bridal party getting their hair and makeup done in a hotel room suite was supposed to reduce the stress. There’s no worry about Mark bringing bad luck to their wedding by catching a glimpse of her gown before she walks down the aisle. No stress caused by the chaos of the disaster zone that used to be her living room, which currently looks like a wedding magazine puked all over her table and floor.

Gia would have felt a heck of a lot better if she hadn’t announced she wouldn’t be coming to her rehearsal dinner at the eleventh hour, causing our family to decide not to attend either. Gia could have faced Mom and Dad and ironed out all of the issues but instead she opted to have an early night and hope for the best, claiming that if someone needed practicewalkingthey wouldn’t be her friend to begin with. It’s a good thing Mark’s parents are as chill as he is—they accepted her cancellation gracefully and said they’d still have a nice dinner.

Gia’s other bridesmaids—Liv, Cara, and Arlene—are perched on the stools in the kitchenette, dressed in matching blush-pink robes with their names embroidered on the backs in delicate gold cursive. Their laughter mingles with the soft hum of hairdryers and the faint clinking of makeup brushes. The scents of hairspray and fresh orange juice mingle in the air.

Gia heads for her stool and plunks down on the edge, wringing her hands so hard that they’re practically going white.

“Honey,” Gia’s makeup artist, our mutual friend, Nora, says, “you need more than just makeup, you need a massage. Your muscles are so tense, I can see it in your whole posture.”

Gia glances uncertainly at her reflection in the mirror set up across from her. “Is it that obvious?”

Nora leans in closer and whispers, “I’m sorry for asking this but are you sure you’re marrying the right man?”

I make a little noise that’s halfway between a snort and a gasp, and Gia glares at me.

“I’msure,” she says with a hint of attitude. “I’m more worried about my family making my special day, a day I’ve dreamed about my whole life, a frickin’ disaster.”

Nora shoots me a dirty look. “Be nice to your sister. Poor dear has got the worst dark circles I’ve seen in months.” She pats Gia’s arm. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“Yeah, Lexi,” Gia says and sticks her tongue out at me. “Be nice to me.”

I don’t really think I could be any more helpful to Gia. My life for the last year has been completely absorbed by her wedding, and I for one am excited to have some free time back when I don’t have to worry about cake tastings, dress fittings, and my sister calling me asking for advice until the early hours of the morning. In twenty-four hours, this will all be over. Then I can talk to her about number six onmylist:Set new boundaries with Gia.

I circle the room with a tray of mimosas, careful not to spill as I navigate around the scattered styling products and curling irons.

“Hey,” I say softly, handing Gia a glass with a gentle smile. She takes a slow sip, her eyes still tense. “You’ve been dreaming about this day since you were a little kid. Don’t let anything ruin it for you.”

“It’s going to be a disaster,” she mutters, taking a sip. “I can feel it brewing.”

Gia didn’t have any heart-to-hearts with Mom or Dad before today, which I keep telling her is a big mistake. If this is how she’s feeling now, we’re in for a lot of outbursts today when she gets up close and personal with all the situations she’s been reluctant to face. Though, honestly? I’m kind of glad Gia didn’t invite Mom to the hotel room for this part. It gives me some breathing room to get our energy back on track.

Time to try another approach. Kill the negative energy and replace it with something like acceptance. “It probablywillbe a disaster in some ways,” I say quietly. “And you’re going to say, ‘fuck it,’ and you’re going to smile and you’re going to make the best of it. That way, when you look back, there will be a few things that you hated but also a whole lot more stuff that made you happy.”

Gia tilts her head to look at me and then smiles. “Yeah,” she says. “You’re right. Fuck it.”