Chapter 14
The ceremony passes by in a blur of I dos and happy tears, and the moment is simply too joyful for me to focus on anything besides the lovefest happening right in front of my eyes.
But as I make my way back down the aisle, exiting the ceremony and catching a glimpse of Matthew on the way out, it becomes impossible to ignore the looming conversation that’s been brewing.
And so when I ask Jamie and Ethan if they want to break away from the cocktail hour and sneak into the empty ballroom for some celebratory shots before the reception officially begins, it isn’t entirely without an agenda.
The tequila burns my throat as Ethan waterfalls the liquid into my mouth. I bite into a slice of lime before I have the chance to gag.
“So are you gonna tell us what’s happening with you and the photographer?” Jamie asks.
My entire face twists into a grimace from the sour taste.
“I’m not even feeling buzzed.” I avoid answering her question and instead gesture toward the bottle Ethan stole from behind the unmanned bar. “I need another.”
“Are you sure?” Jamie asks, wiping a dribble of tequila from her mouth with the back of her hand. “You said that about the last one. And the one before that.”
“Of course.” I grab the bottle from Ethan, who, up until this point, has been the sole dispenser of the shots. “I can handle my alcohol. I’ve been doing this much longer than you two have.”
I take a giant swig, at least double the size of Ethan’s tiny pours, schooling my expression into one of indifference. “I’m actually starting to appreciate the taste of alcohol as I get older.”
I bend down to rub an imaginary scuff off my heel, using my hair as a blanket to hide behind as I try not to vomit up all the crab cakes I housed a few minutes ago.
“I need everyone to have a good time tonight.” Ethan throws his arm around Jamie. “And if that means Phoebe knocking back five shots within a minute, so be it.”
Jamie nods but takes the bottle from my hands and puts it back in its spot behind the bar nonetheless. She grabs Ethan’s hand.
“We should go back out.” She pulls Ethan toward the doorway that leads to the hall where everyone’s gathered in the interim. “I want fifteen more of those tuna tartare cones.”
“You guys go ahead.” I usher them forward. “I’m just going to play around with the table settings for a second before everyone floods in here.”
I force myself to take three deep breaths as the door closes behind them, and then quickly grab my phone from the empty janitor’s closet, where I stashed it before the ceremony.
I have a missed call from Jonathan, followed by a few texts from him.
Jonathan:
Just checking in
Wanted to hear your voice
Miss you
I skim through some of the messages from the group chat, too.
Meg:
Noah and I have been texting:)
Alex:
If it can’t be me I’m glad it’s you.
Meg:
I think I really like him!
Phoebe, has Finn said anything?
And can you please send us some wedding pictures?
Nora:
Ugh, so excited for you, Meg
And so jealous
Dog Dad was a complete dud
Meg:
No!
Nora:
Phoebe, please send pictures of you in your dress to cheer me up
Front and back
Jonathan:
Phoebe??
How’s it going??
Alex:
Earth to Phoebe?
No matter the occasion, it’s highly unlike me not to answer my friends.
Especially Jonathan. Ever since I somehow managed to text him a selfie in the middle of getting my wisdom teeth removed, it’s been a running joke that there’s no event big enough to keep me from my phone.
But in this moment, I find myself too overwhelmed to respond.
I’ll be sure to check in with them later.
As for now, there’s only one text I’m capable of sending.
Phoebe:
Can I call you?
My phone starts ringing within seconds, and I pick up on the first ring.
“Hi, Sandy.”
“Phoebe. Is everything okay?”
I’ve made it clear to Sandy that I’ll only ever call in the case of a true emergency, so the edge of concern in her voice is warranted.
The last time I requested a phone call was from the ER waiting room, after taking an edible, looking at my reflection under fluorescent lighting, and diagnosing myself with yellow fever.
My head starts to swim from the tequila, and I will myself to focus on the crisis at hand.
“Matthew is here.”
“Wordle Matthew?”
“Yes.”
“He’s where?”
“Here! At the wedding!”
“Wordle Matthew is at your sister’s wedding?”
“Wordle Matthew is at my sister’s wedding.”
“Did you invite him?”
“He’s the photographer. My mom hired him. She had no idea. I had no idea. He had no idea.”
“Wow. This sounds like the beginning of a beautiful—”
“Sandy,” I cut her off. “I was supposed to see him this weekend. But I told him I had to cancel my trip. I lied. And now he’s here,” I say with a sigh, thinking about the way he looked at me earlier. “And I think he’s upset.”
“I can understand that.”
“What do I do?”
“The only thing you can do.”
“Call an Uber?”
“No.” She chuckles. “Tell him the truth.”
“What’s the truth?” I’m so used to lying as a means to conceal my anxiety that I’m not even sure what being honest about this would look like.
“You tell me,” she says. “Pretend I’m Matthew. I’m upset and confused about why you lied to avoid seeing me. Tell me the truth about what happened.”
“Okay…” I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Matthew in front of me. The outline of his glasses materializes in the darkness behind my eyelids. “Matthew. The thought of going on a date with you makes me want to throw up.”
Silence.
“Sandy?”
“I’m here.”
“That was bad, wasn’t it.”
“Let’s try again.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes, conjure the image of Matthew’s sweet face, and clear my throat. “Matthew. I have anxiety, and the thought of going out with you makes me nervous. I panicked when the time came to actually plan something, so I lied to you about canceling my trip, and I’m sorry.”
For the first time today, a small sense of relief floods my chest. I barely get a chance to revel in the feeling before it’s replaced by an avalanche of shame.
“How did saying that feel?” Sandy asks.
“Embarrassing.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Phoebe.”
I do, though. Being too nervous to go on a date at my age and then lying to cover it up? It’s objectively mortifying. I can’t tell him the truth. I just can’t.
The room fills with the sounds of various instruments tuning up as the band preps in the corner. Guests should start flooding in here any minute.
“Okay. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Sandy.”
“Please try and enjoy yourself tonight.”
“I’ll try. See you Monday.” I pause, looking at the doors, painfully aware of who’s on the other side. “If I live through this.”
“I’ll definitely see you Monday, Phoebe.”
I end the call and consider responding to my friends, but decide it’s best to put my phone away and try to enjoy the moment.
—
“Thank you sooo much.” I smile at the waiter while plucking what has to be my fourth flute of champagne off his tray.
I take a gulp, keeping the liquid in my mouth for a few extra seconds so I can feel the fizz dance around on my tongue.
“Yum,” I say to no one in particular. I sway to the band’s cover of “My Girl,” by the Temptations.
To my right, Ethan dips Jamie so low that her hair brushes against the floor.
Her giggles remind me of champagne bubbles.
To my right, Dad spins Mom in circles until she insists that she’s going to have a vertigo episode.
I smile into my glass as I take another sip.
“Peebee!” A breathless Aunt Carol comes running toward me. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
My mind quickly jumps to the worst-case scenario: that she’s about to ambush me with the boy I’ve managed to successfully avoid since the reception started an hour ago.
But then I remember: I’m a lesbian.
“This is Dee.” She claps, stepping aside to reveal a petite blond waitress with a pixie cut and high cheekbones. I’ll give it to Aunt Carol, Dee is gorgeous.
“Hello, Dee.” I stick out my hand and she shakes it.
“Hi!” She smiles sweetly, and Aunt Carol winks at me before backing away.
I cut right to the chase, grabbing Dee’s hand in an effort to let her down gently. She looks down at our clasped hands, brows raised.
“Dee,” I sigh. “I’m so sorry, but I’m not interested in women.”
“Oh.” She gently removes her hand from mine. “That’s okay. I’m not, either.”
“You’re not? Then why did my aunt bring you over here?”
“I have no idea.” She shrugs. “All she said was that she”—Dee lifts both hands to form air quotes with her fingers—“ ‘loves my vibe.’ And that she wanted to introduce me to her niece.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Sorry about that. My aunt thinks everyone is gay. Myself included. It’s a whole thing.”
“It’s all right,” she says, chuckling, while tucking a small tuft of blond hair behind an ear full of perfectly curated tiny gold hoops. “For what it’s worth, I think we’d make a cute couple.”
I catch myself blushing, flattered that someone as effortlessly cool as Dee could feel that way about me.
I like her.
“So…you’re not even a little gay?” I joke, feeling emboldened by the alcohol. I close my eyes for a second, trying to picture what it would be like to kiss Dee. But my mind wanders.
Matthew’s hand caressing the bare skin of my back.
I try again, squeezing my eyes shut tighter.
Matthew pushing up his glasses with his index finger.
A silver ring.
Dee’s chuckle brings me back to reality. “Not since I last checked.” She glances over her shoulder and raises her eyebrows toward the back of the room. I follow her gaze to…Oh no. “I’m actually kind of feeling the photographer.”
Red-hot rage burns every inch of my skin.
I take a step back, blinking once, twice, three times, in rapid succession.
“You don’t think he’s cute?” she asks, noticing the shift in my demeanor.