Jocelyn
Your walls don’t have to come down all at once. Maybe you could just add some doors and windows.
—My Therapist
Two days after The Kiss, I’m almost certain Asher is avoiding me. I could have chalked yesterday up to chance—we don’t see
each other at work every day—but today? Today I witnessed him about-face and scamper off in the opposite direction as soon as I turned the corner onto L&D.
The little weasel.
I slink into the dictation room and plop into a chair.
Are you avoiding me?
Maybe
Why?
I am preserving my dignity.
By running away like the chick who dies first in a horror movie?
Yes.
Asher! Talk to me. This doesn’t have to be weird.
To what are you referring?
We kissed! It’s not a big deal.
Can’t talk. I’m training my dragon.
I laugh loud enough that the nurse beside me shoots me a weird look.
I hold up my phone. “Doctor Foley’s making jokes.”
She nods like of course, dawning a smile and a little twinkle in her eye.
See? Everyone loves the guy. But he will not distract me with humor. At my next break between cases, I march outside and snap
a few pictures of the ducks on the pond, sending one his way.
Let’s see you avoid this, Foley.
Unfair
My kryptonite.
I took more. I’ll send them if you stop being awkward.
On a scale of 1–10, how cute are they?
13
Ughhhhh
Fine
I kissed you. You rejected me. I’ll forget it happened.
Happy?
I send him the rest of the photos as a reward, but something about the word rejected leaves an acidic tang on the back of my tongue. Is that what he thinks I did?
Is that what I did?
By the simplest definition, yes, I did reject him, but . . . it’s more complicated than that. He understands why I did it,
right?
I didn’t reject you. I was trying to protect you.
I don’t need an explanation, Joss.
It’s over and done. Let’s move on.
Okay.
Let’s move on.
That night, close to 2:00 a.m., I wake in my bed from a nightmare about Asher. I was stuck in the attic of my childhood home,
unable to do anything but watch as the rising gray water threatened to drown my family. But instead of my parents, it was
Asher trying to save the couple across the street. And instead of elderly strangers, the couple was Geoff and Yayoi.
Miraculously, he saved them.
Then Cassie appeared. Asher reached for her.
They both disappeared.
I woke hating her more than I already do.
Wide awake, heart still throbbing in my chest, I snatch my phone from my nightstand, only to find a few texts from Asher.
So
Funny story
I waited a little too long to book the hotel rooms
Had to get us a suite to share
2 bedroom
Hope that’s okay?
Of course it is. It’ll be just like Pool Party Saturday. Sleepover where we sleep in two rooms.
I imagine he’ll be asleep and will reply in the morning, but the three dots pop up almost instantly.
You know
When you didn’t answer earlier, I had a minor freak out that I’d ducked up.
So naturally I went into panic mode
Then I had a fun time imagining you calling the hotel and going full Karen to get us two rooms.
But I should warn you that they are very stingy with their rooms at the Ritz
Titty
Why are you awake?
Can’t sleep. Why are you?
Nightmare
Oh. Who was it this time?
Yayoi and the baby
I’m not sure why I lie. Maybe the haunting reality that my nightmares now seem to deal exclusively with losing him has me
a tad rattled. Who could say?
He takes a while to reply. Did he fall asleep? My finger taps on the side of my phone until the three dots finally appear.
Must have been hard.
Need anything?
You. I need you.
I can’t say that, obviously, but the fact that the sentiment pops into my head at all is worrisome. I’m trying so hard not
to need him. Why am I failing?
Just wish the nightmares would stop.
Let’s talk about something else.
What are we going to do about this suite situation when you find a bridesmaid to bang?
Even typed out, I hate those words. Hate the sentiment. Hate what they could mean. Why did I even type them?
. . .
Are you joking?
Yes. Obviously.
That wasn’t obvious
In my defense, text lacks tone.
Can get confusing.
Just so we’re clear, there will be no bridesmaids.
Got it. How much do I owe you for the room?
What? It’s on me. You’re doing me a favor.
Uh
Hate to break it to you, but you could get any girl to go with you on a free trip to Florida.
You should be taking a real girl
It takes a couple of minutes before he answers. My stomach flutters with nerves I try to wash away with a huge gulp of water from the bottle at my bedside. Why am I nervous? This is Asher.
YOU’RE NOT A REAL GIRL?
When did the robots take over?
I haven’t fully trained my dragon yet!
You know what I mean.
I don’t
You’re as real as they come.
Prickles cascade over my skin. It’s not even a compliment, but for some reason, it resonates.
You’re as real as they come.
I meant a girl with potential
A girlfriend
Another long pause follows my answer, and I pull the covers over my head. Why did I say that? I’m making things infinitely
worse, but I can’t seem to stop.
Jocelyn
Please stop.
I get it.
My fingers freeze over my screen. He gets what?
If you don’t want to go, it’s really fine. I don’t mind going alone.
Why wouldn’t I want to go?
I think we’ll have fun
Ten minutes pass before he responds.
I won’t kiss you again, okay?
I’m really sorry
A weight sinks low in my stomach, but I’m not sure why. Is it the unnecessary apology? The sadness I sense, even through the
toneless text? The idea that he’s assuming blame, like we did something wrong? The fact that he just declared, in no uncertain
terms, that I’ll never get another kiss like that again?
Stop apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong.
It was just a kiss.
Maybe for you
My heart jolts with a sudden surge of adrenaline, tingling in the tips of my fingers.
What does that mean?
Never mind.
Good night, Joss.
Before I can reply, the little blue crescent moon pops up.
Asher Foley has notifications silenced.
Argh! He ends the conversation with that? How rude is that? Leave a girl hanging, why don’t you?
I think back to his weight on top of me, his desire pressing into my leg right before I pushed him off me. I don’t really
have room to complain here. We’re both a couple of teases, in vastly different ways.
And maybe I don’t want to know the answer anyway. If we’re ever going to get back to normal, we need to reestablish boundaries.
Boundaries, like walls, are good. They’re safe. They will keep us both sheltered from pain.
Sheltered from each other.
“What about gold?” Yayoi holds up a satiny number with a low, square bodice. The warm track lighting of the department store
shimmers over folds of gleaming fabric.
It’s pretty.
Really pretty.
“Is it too much, though?” My hand curls around the whisper of silk.
Yayoi shrugs and sips her Tropical Tango smoothie from Orange Julius. “Didn’t you say you wanted to one-up the bride?”
“I wasn’t serious. It’s still her wedding. I don’t want to be a total bitch. Just, like . . . half bitch.”
“Okay.” Yayoi hangs up the gold dress and glances at the others around us, all different cuts, colors, fabrics. She takes
another long draw on the smoothie, then stares at her cup. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. The baby loves this.”
I laugh. “What about pink?”
Her nose puckers. “Are you really a pink sort of girl?”
A teenager nearby snorts, then slinks off when we glare at her.
“No,” I say, “but I’m also not a wedding date sort of girl.”
She scoffs. “You are for the guy who asked you to go.”
“He didn’t ask.” I yank out an electric purple thing—halter top, silver shimmer over the skirt. “I invited myself.”
She hums, her hand drifting over green, blue and black options before she turns to me. “Did I tell you I put up the engagement
photos? I’ve already gotten a couple calls to schedule sessions.”
“Really?” I throw my hands in the air in celebration. “Yayoi! That’s awesome. You didn’t even tell me you finished editing
them.”
She smiles, the crests of her cheeks reddening. “You want to see them?”
“Sure.” I weave through a rainbow of dresses to reach her side.
She pulls up her website and scrolls to the photos of me and Asher. “I haven’t finished the ones of you and your sister yet,
but I wanted to get these up as soon as possible. I’m really proud of them.”
She hands me the phone, and my brain short-circuits. This isn’t me, is it? This is not me. Definitely not Asher. Because I’m not looking at a photo of two friends acting. I’m looking at two people who have capital
F Feelings. These people care for each other. Deeply.
That’s . . . not us.
The first photo is the Pride & Prejudice one. His forehead rests on mine, and the sun behind us gilds every curve and line of our faces. His hand is grazing my chin,
as if he wants to angle my face up for a kiss.
The next is the one in the grass, where we stare at each other with blatant longing. Gah, do I always look at him like that? How embarrassing . . .
The one after, I stand with my face resting against his chest, gently smiling like no place on earth is better than his arms.
Photo after photo of joy and yearning and harmony. These people are so happy, so—my mind unhelpfully supplies the obvious—in love.
No. I hightail it in the opposite direction.
They’re just pictures with really great editing.
“These look amazing,” I say, my voice somehow faint and thick at the same time. I hand the phone back.
“I know.” She stares at the last photo—the one of me on Asher’s back, laughing. “You guys play off each other so well.” She
laughs. “You know, it’s funny. Geoff said—”
Her abrupt stop has my eyebrow lifting. “Geoff said what?”
She waves her hand. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
Well, now I desperately want to know what Geoff said, but Yayoi is already wandering off, pulling out dresses for consideration.
“Thanks again for doing that, by the way,” she says, “even if you wouldn’t kiss him for me.”
Aaaand now I’m remembering The Kiss. Fuck, the man knows how to kiss. I’ve been so disciplined in not thinking about it, no
matter where I am. Joking around at work this week, texting at night, accompanying him to the gym, lying alone and cold in
bed—I’ve avoided thinking about it.
But I’m thinking about it now.
I pretend to scan the closest rack—an entire menagerie of white. Choosing white would definitely be evil. But it doesn’t matter
because I’m not seeing dresses. I’m seeing Asher.
Mouthwatering, tempting, dangerous Asher.
“Kiss him? Yucky,” I say in a teasing tone. “No way.”
“Ha. Right? You would destroy him anyway.”
That catches my attention. I look over while she holds up a pale blue number I veto with a quick shake of my head. “Destroy
him?”
“Yeah.” She hangs up the dress and slurps more of her smoothie. “That boy is not fling material.”
Confusion washes over me, alongside a fair bit of insult. “And I am fling material?”
Her head cocks, and a little line forms between the delicate wings of her eyebrows. “Isn’t that what you prefer to be?” She
moves quickly to my side. “I didn’t mean that you’re, like . . . worse in some way. I just meant that you only do flings,
and he doesn’t do them at all. So he’d end up getting hurt. You wouldn’t actually destroy him.”
My hackles lower. “Oh.”
“Shit. I feel like I messed up.” Her voice grows panicky. “It’s all theoretical anyway. You guys are just friends. I shouldn’t
have said anything.”
I laugh, though I think an invisible band has wrapped around my chest because it’s getting harder to breathe. “It’s okay,
Yayoi. Chill.”
“You’re any kind of material you want to be, Joss. You’re the best. You can be that fancy wool that’s only made from sheep
in the Andes or whatever.”
“Yayoi.” I grip her other arm to stop the spiral. “It’s okay.”
She takes a deep breath and sticks the straw in her mouth, sucking deep. “Sorry. I know you’re a little sensitive about that
stuff.”
“About what stuff?”
She motions her cup toward my general person. “The anti-relationship stuff.”
The tension releases completely from my shoulders. “Ah. Yes. That.”
“It’s okay to want to be single. You know I support you one hundred percent, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” A smile tugs at my mouth. Affection, deep and true, dawns inside me.
Oh, no. Is this another wall crumbling to pieces? How much should I panic that they’re falling at such an alarming rate? Because
my gut instinct says a lot. All the panic. Infinity panic.
She returns the smile. “Good.”
“I think I’ll try on the gold dress.” I step away from her to grab my size, ignoring the thick feeling in my throat like it
wants to close and never reopen.
She gives me a thumbs-up. “Good choice.”
In the dressing room, I twist back and forth before the mirror. The flattering overhead lamps play like fairy lights against
the gold. In this dress, I’m magical. Ethereal.
My phone buzzes in my purse. An EverX notification lights up my screen—a message from a new match. I sigh and throw the device
back into my purse, message unread.
It isn’t fun anymore. I don’t want these meaningless men, and that in itself is enough to raise the alarm. Because it only
means I want something different. Something deeper. Deep enough to drown if I’m not careful.
I can’t traverse these waters. Not safely. I’ve been wading in the shallows so long, I’ve forgotten how to swim, and there’s
no life raft in the ocean of life. It’s sink or swim. I’m a little peeved that one kiss from Asher Foley has thrown all my
long-held beliefs into disarray.
What do I have to do to reassemble them?
I stare at the dress. This perfect golden dress with its perfect golden shimmer that I’ll wear for the perfect golden man.
Why am I going to this wedding? We need space to undo the damage of that kiss, not more time together. Since the night he sent that text—Maybe for you—everything in me is screaming this is a mistake, but I can’t ghost him now. He’s counting on me, and that matters more than
my own psychological hang-ups.
I will go to this wedding with Asher, and I’ll wear this lovely, stupid gold dress, but I refuse to allow it to blur the lines
of our friendship any more than they already are.
I can maintain boundaries. I’ve been doing it for years. What harm could a single weekend do?