Chapter 11 Wednesday
Wednesday
(Twenty-One Days Left)
The harpist strums the familiar opening chords of “Here Comes the Bride” as I begin my descent down the middle aisle of my high school auditorium.
My cheeks burn from the heat of a hundred pointed gazes following my every move as I inch closer and closer to the stage-turned-altar.
A nondescript silhouette in a tuxedo stands there, waiting for…
Me.
I pause, attempting to shake off the dozens of flower petals that I’ve collected on my heels, when I spot Jamie toward the front of the room. She ushers me forward, frantically, pointing toward the altar at…at who?
I’m halfway down the aisle now, close enough to hear the sniffles from my father in the front row, but the tuxedoed figure still refuses to come into focus.
I mutter under my breath, “I hope it’s…”
Finn?
Jonathan?
Matthew?
I don’t know how to finish my own sentence.
No matter. My excitement over the prospect of my husband being any of those three men carries me forward.
The tempo of the music increases as I make my final few steps.
I smile as I take my position at the altar, ready to offer an enthusiastic “I do” to whichever of my three prospects stands beside me. Finally, I turn toward him.
And my stomach drops to the very bottom of my gut.
“Teacher Rob?” I squeak, my throat constricting as he reaches over to lift my veil. He curls a loose strand of my hair around his finger and tucks it behind my ear.
“I thought we talked about you starting to call me Rob, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, sending a toe-curling shiver down the length of my spine.
He runs a calloused hand along my bare arm as I look out to the crowd, searching for someone to save me from my fate.
But it’s no use. Dad dabs at his wet eyes with a handkerchief.
Mom beams with pride. Jamie smooths her hair in an animated gesture while locking eyes with me, a signal I’ve learned means that I should do the same.
I scan the room until I find Nora, Meg, Alex, and a glaringly empty spot where Jonathan should be. Eyes wide, Nora nods toward Teacher Rob.
“He’s so fucking hot,” she mouths while fanning herself with what I realize in horror is Rob’s and my wedding program.
I open my mouth to speak, to protest, but there it is: the lump in my throat. The telltale sign that I’m no longer in control. My only option is to silently suffer and watch as my fate seals in front of me.
“Today we celebrate the union of Phoebe Berman and Robert Housenstein,” Shannon’s voice booms across the wedding hall.
“If anyone has any reason as to why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
I flash one last desperate look to the crowd.
As if the universe has heard my plea, the large wooden doors at the back of the room burst open.
“I object!”
Looking like a Disney prince on a mission to rescue his ill-fated princess, Jonathan storms into the crowded hall, his green eyes wild as he marches toward me. My entire body goes limp with relief at the sight of him.
Jonathan.
Of course. It’s always been him. Friends to lovers. The only one who knows the real Phoebe and loves me all the same. My storybook ending.
I shove my sad excuse for a bouquet in Teacher Rob’s direction and prepare to run into the comfort of Jonathan’s arms.
“WAIT!”
Another strained plea echoes over Jonathan’s shoulder. The doors, having barely had the chance to shut, fly back open, and this time, it’s Finn who storms through them and barrels toward me, breathless.
I gasp.
“I object!” he bellows, racing to catch up to Jonathan. My relief is quickly replaced by a new but familiar type of panic.
Who will it be?
Jonathan reaches me first, followed only seconds later by Finn. I take in the sight of the two of them, side by side, panting and slightly red in the face.
“Well?” Jonathan asks, taking my right hand in his.
Finn reaches for my remaining hand. “You need to choose.”
A faint buzzing against my upper thigh saves me from having to make a decision. I glance down to find its source, only to discover that the bottom portion of my dress has been replaced by my black, pocketless athletic skort. I have no choice but to reach into its depths to fish out my phone.
“Sorry,” I mutter to the crowd as I root through the built-in underwear of my skort and grab my phone.
A notification from Words With Friends:
Matthew Baxter has played OBJECT for fifteen points.
I look back up at the two men in front of me, their eyes desperate for an answer. For a brief moment, and only as a way to avoid choosing, I consider moving forward with the marriage to Teacher Rob. But when I glance over to him, he’s gone.
Suddenly, the buzzing from my phone transitions into a deafening emergency alert that blares throughout the entire room. In perfect unison, every member of the crowd throws their hands over their ears, protecting themselves from the shrill sound bouncing off the walls.
I’m getting a FaceTime.
From Matthew.
I look to Jamie for guidance, because of course, she’ll know what to do. She always does. But she’s gone.
In fact, everyone in the crowd has disappeared, leaving me alone with Jonathan, Finn, and a phone that won’t stop ringing….
—
The turbulence jolts me awake. My plastic cup of apple juice spills all over my tray table and onto my lap, soaking the pages of my newly purchased book of three hundred crossword puzzles with sticky yellow liquid.
“Shit.”
I had spent thirty minutes in the Hudson News at LAX weighing the pros and cons of investing in a crossword puzzle book rather than playing on my phone.
Pros: Less screen time, I can use my freshly sharpened pencils, and it’s something new.
Cons: My time won’t be recorded, the book is quite cumbersome, and I shouldn’t spend the money.
In the end, I had deemed the purchase a necessity—a vital distraction from this morning’s discovery of Jonathan’s empty bed. Unslept in. For the second night in a row.
Just as I had the previous morning, I tracked his location on Find My Friends. Both times, I was led to the same address.
Sweetzer Avenue.
Sydney.
I shake my head viciously in an effort to expel the image of her and Jonathan, probably still asleep, bodies tangled together in her bed, while I sit in the last row of the ten a.m. Virgin Atlantic flight to JFK.
In the middle seat. Covered in apple juice.
I direct my mind back to the only other place it’s been capable of going for the past thirty-six hours: Monday night at Jeffery’s.
I’ve been poring over every detail: adding my number to Finn’s phone, the far-off look in Jonathan’s eyes as he watched, Matthew texting me a playlist he made for my plane ride. All evidence that I may be in far over my head.
Finn and Noah left Jeffery’s shortly after trivia wrapped up, right after Meg and Noah had exchanged numbers. He had texted her the invitation to his party on the spot.
I’m still waiting on my invite from Finn.
He had liked my It’s Phoebe:) text, but other than that, nothing.
“Don’t worry,” Meg had said yesterday over the phone as I spiraled about not receiving my own invitation. “We already know he’s not a phone guy! And he already asked you to come in person. He knows I have the invite, which means you have it, too! I’m texting it to you right now.”
“No, don’t,” I said. “I want it from him.”
I remind myself of Meg’s mantra she drunkenly cited on the night of the list’s conception: A watched pot never blows up.
Constantly checking to see if there’s a message from Finn won’t make him text any sooner.
So I’ve been doing my best to take space from my phone.
Except when it comes to talking to Matthew, in which case, I can’t seem to stay away.
I scroll through the playlist he sent over.
“In case you feel like taking a break from the Hamilton soundtrack,” he had texted along with the link. And then, “Let me know when you’re free this weekend.”
Who, who, who?
That’s been the sound of my racing heartbeat since Monday night, and by the time I woke up this morning, I had had enough of it. I couldn’t hear myself think. I decided that the only way to quiet the noise was by choosing only one man to invest all my energy in.
It’s time to pick a lane and stick with it.
Whatever’s been going on with Jonathan, he has Sydney. Thinking about him as anything other than my best friend is nothing but a distraction, and it stops now.
And Matthew…we live across the country from each other. It just wouldn’t make sense. Plus, all the anticipation…it’s another Lucas Johnson situation waiting to happen.
Finn and I live in the same city. With the exception of him not texting me, things are going great. And most importantly, I’ve experienced zero puke-inducing Finn-related panic attacks.
I can’t say the same about Matthew. I had every intention of going through with seeing him this weekend, but every time I tried to picture it, the beginning stages of panic started to appear: my palms would sweat, my mouth would dry up, and the dreaded lump in my throat would form.
Which is exactly why, right before putting my phone in airplane mode, I texted him to tell him that I had canceled my trip.
I haven’t even mentioned Jamie’s wedding to him, so he has no reason to think this trip was more than a casual visit home, a completely acceptable thing to cancel because I wasn’t thinking when I booked this trip during the second week of school.
So that’s exactly what I said to him. I just hope that he’s not too upset with me.
Finn makes the most sense, I remind myself. This is the right decision. It’s for the best.