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I lean forward and whisper, “Can I be your best woman at the wedding?”
He shakes his head in disgust and takes a big sip of his wine, nearly draining the glass before leaning down and picking up his briefcase. “You need anything else? I’m still behind on work—I should get back to my place and get started.”
“Wow, working on a Friday night,” I say. “You sure know how to live it up. At least take the wine with you.”
It’s the sort of dialogue that’s practically second nature to us, but the words feel false and hollow once they’re out there.
“I’m sorry I opened it,” he says. “I thought—”
Andrew clears his throat, and I jump on his hesitation. “You thought what?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I’ll return the key downstairs,” he says, heading toward the door. “No more unexpected visits.”
I’ve got no quippy comebacks for that, so I simply nod and smile.
Or at least I think I smile. Mostly I feel like a lump of nothingness.
I know. You’re frustrated with me right now. I’m frustrated with me too, because I’m usually honest to a fault, and here I am not telling this guy that I…like him. Really like him.
I’ve never had a problem telling a guy how I felt.
But I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before. Ever.
Georgie
SATURDAY NIGHT
Some days you do all the things and still worry you’re not doing crap with your life.
Some days you manage to wash and dry your hair and put on mascara and feel like a freaking boss.
Today’s the latter.
I’m feeling a hundred times better than I did yesterday, a million times better than I did on Thursday, although I’m still not in the mood to put myself out there in the world.
I take a rain check on dinner with my mom. I’ll see her tomorrow at brunch.
And I definitely don’t feel like going out with the group for my friend Jackie’s birthday shindig tonight, and duck out of that one as well.
You sure? Marley texts when I tell her. I haven’t seen you in forever—you were being a hermit even before you got sick. You okay?
What I want to say is, No, not okay. Not okay because the stupid lawyer in my building is asking out our friend. And because I was stupid enough to tell him to do it.
But what I really text back is, Totally. I’ll be better next week, just in a homebody mood lately.
She replies, I can stop by for drinks before I meet up with the group, if you want.
I’m tempted to take her up on it. Maybe I’ll feel better if I have a shoulder to cry on.
Then again, sometimes talking about things only makes them worse. You know how when you want to cry but you hold it together right up until the second some kind soul asks if you’re okay, and it’s like those simple words are all it takes to summon the tears?
I’m good. Go have fun. I’ve got a hot date with HBO.
Fine, be a turd. We’ll miss you anyway, Marley texts.
I have to set my phone aside to keep from asking who we includes—if Hailey’s going with the group tonight.
Jackie and Hailey are pretty close, right? Surely Hailey wouldn’t ditch her friend on her birthday just because a guy asked her out.
