Page 94 of Wedding or Not

That’s the problem with anxiety. No matter how successfully you try to force it back in its corner, it will rise again like a whirlwind to overwhelm you as soon as it senses the smallest crack.

“Ella,” Wes says after taking an audible breath.

“Yes.” My attempt to sound light and breezy fails utterly.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“I can see that. What is it?”

“I’m… I can’t settle. With this. With us.”

My mouth is too dry now to swallow easily. “I… I guess maybe I kind of feel the same.”

“I figured you must. You’ve been back and forth in your… mood. So have I. And I still think it’s because we have this… this block. This false relationship dropped right on top of our real one. And it’s messed everything up. It’s made it impossible for us to be… be real.”

“Y-yeah.”

I know what’s coming now.

I know.

I know.

I know.

It’s the low rumble in the distance. The dark line on the horizon. The one that signals the approach of the apocalypse.

He’s been looking in my direction, but I can’t meet his eyes. I’m staring down at my phone in my lap.

Now he turns away too—focused out the windshield. “And I can’t do it anymore.”

So now it’s here.

The outcome all my brewing anxiety has been pointed toward.

The end of everything.

“Ooookay,” I manage to get out.

He shoots me a sharp look. “I’m sorry, Ella. I know you wanted this. But I… I can’t anymore.”

I wanted it more than anything, but of course he can’t.

We were doomed from the very beginning.

“Okay.” This time I get the word out without a break. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure you do. I’m not saying I don’t want… I mean, you know how I… It’s just that I can’t go through with this pretending anymore. It’s too much.” He’s been stumbling over words, but now he’s hit his stride. The words are pouring out. “I thought I could detach enough to go through the motions, but I’m not made for that kind of thing. I feel what I feel. I am who I am. I’m not the cool, popular guy I pretended to be those years in high school. And kept pretending to be all these years after. I’m the skinny nerd in Grace’s sweater-vest who’s incapable of playing the game, and I always will be.”

“Okay.” I’m almost in tears now. They’re pushing and shuddering against my eyes, my throat, my cheekbones. Because I know the truth now.

I don’t want the cool, sardonic, detached man he’s been showing to the world. I want the sweet, earnest nerd he’s always been.

I want him for real. I want him for always.

But I can’t have him.

My need for escape is so overwhelming that I push through the block in my throat. “I understand. I do. Thanks for telling me.” I fumble for the handle of the door.