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I opened the envelope and pulled out the plain sheet of hotel stationery.
Dear Parker,
Do you remember back in college when I thought I wanted a career in fashion? I sewed you a pleather suit with faux fur trim for your birthday, and you actually wore it out to dinner, bless you. But then the pleather of the suit stuck to the pleather of the restaurant booth when you tried to get up, and the pants ripped apart at every single seam, and you stood there beside the table, wearing nothing but boxers and those weird scraps of fur around your ankles, laughing your ass off while we sang Happy Birthday. I remember you said, “So maybe your talent’s not sewing, babe. You’ll figure it out.”
It’s one of my favorite memories because that was you at your most Parker. It was me at my most Erin. And we haven’t changed all that much since then, have we? You’re still the king of stability, the guy who’ll do anything to help and support a friend. I’m still the girl who’s trying to figure her life out.
And for a minute there, Parks, I swear I thought I had. I thought, if I just have Parker, marry Parker, I can be calm and steady like Parker. But it turns out I’m no better at settling down than I am at sewing. And honestly? I’m tired of being calm and steady.
Last night, I was talking with a friend, and I realized that I’ve spent years trying to be someone I’m not. I want to try new things. I want the butterflies in my stomach that the heroines in my grandma’s romance novels got. I don’t want to be held back by my parents’ expectations or repressive social constructs. I need to set myself on the right life path, expand my consciousness, and truly examine my life before I make any decisions.
I love you, Parker. I really love you.
And that’s why I can’t marry you.
I’m sorry that I’m doing this on what was supposed to be our wedding day. And I’m really sorry that I am too much of a coward to tell you or my parents about this in person, but I’m afraid if I see you, I’ll remember how much I love you and think that’s enough when it’s not.
I want adventure. I want to find something I can’t live without.
I want you to have that too.
Be happy. Please forgive me.
~Erin
I stared at it before reading it again. And again. I scrutinized the handwriting to make absolutely sure it wasn’t some kind of wedding-day prank. Finally, I tried calling her, but it went to voicemail.
My hands shook as I texted her. She wanted adventure? That was what this was about? We’d been each other’s first everything. First fumbling kiss during a spin-the-bottle party in middle school. First blow job after prom. First over-too-fast fuck in the back of my shitty pickup truck the following summer.
The only reason she hadn’t been the first non-family member I’d said “I love you” to was because I’d already said it to Julian a million times by then. He’d been my best friend even longer than we’d known Erin and Hazel, so of course I’d told him I loved him first.
The thing was… I thought Erin and I had already had our adventures. Over the years, we’d gone on dates with other people—Erin way more than me—and tried new things. Hell, I’d even kissed Tiller one night after Julian had come out to me, as a kind of half-assed gay experiment, because I’d loved Julian Thick so much I’d wondered if maybe we could be more than just best friends, but I’d been terrified of fucking things up between us. (And it was a good thing I’d tried it on Tiller first because I’d felt absolutely nothing.) Sure, things with Erin weren’t exciting, exactly, but they were easy. Comfortable. Good. I followed her lead and tried to make her happy.
And I thought I had.
I tried to call her again. When it went to voicemail, I sent a text.
Parker: It’s okay. I just want to make sure you’re alright.
After a few minutes, she responded.
Erin: I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Parker: If you want to sleep with other people, or whatever, we can talk about it.
Erin: That’s not what this is about.
Parker: Plenty of people have an open relationship. At least… that’s what Julian says.
Erin: That’s not the kind of relationship you want, and I don’t know that it’s what I want either.
She was right, of course. I wasn’t a possessive or jealous person, but my parents had treated their marriage like a joke, and I had no interest in doing the same. To be honest, I hadn’t even wanted a marriage at all until Erin had suggested how great it would be.
