23. Addison
Addison
Tuesday, I took the afternoon off to meet the girls for bridal errands.
The boutique sat on a quiet street lined with flower boxes and carefully chosen signage, everything designed to feel charming without trying too hard.
Inside, the air smelled like fresh blooms and money.
Lace curtains filtered the light, and every display was arranged as if chaos had never existed there.
“Addison!” Marissa called, waving me over. “We’re talking Charleston logistics.”
Of course they were.
I joined them at the long display table, where tumblers, sashes, and novelty accessories were spread out like offerings. Everyone talked at once while I nodded, made notes, suggested quantities, and approved fonts.
“These are cute,” Jenna said, holding up a glittery tumbler.
“They are.” I wrote it down. “Let’s grab enough for everyone.”
We moved through the afternoon like that. Store to store. Decision to decision.
I stayed present, even when my mind kept drifting to Sawyer. To the way she listened without waiting for her turn to speak. To the way she touched me without urgency or expectation. To the feeling of being wanted without being assessed.
While we waited in line at a café, I pulled out my phone and typed a message.
Me: I miss you.
I stared at the words, my thumb hovering over send.
“Who is that?” Marissa teased, leaning toward my screen.
I locked my phone and slipped it into my bag. “Just work.”
The lie came easily. That bothered me.
Dinner came later. Pasta, wine, and conversation that flowed because it always had. I laughed, joined in at the right moments, I still felt slightly removed, like I was watching myself play a role I knew too well, but also I was having a good time.
When I finally got home, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch. My feet ached, my shoulders were tight, and my apartment felt almost unnaturally quiet after spending hours surrounded by voices.
I poured a glass of wine and reached for my phone.
Me: How was your day?
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
Sawyer: Productive. Finished up a railing and spent most of the day in the shop. You?
Just seeing her name loosened something in my chest. I tucked my legs beneath me and sank deeper into the cushions.
Me: Work this morning was good. Took a half day to go bridal shopping. Completely exhausting. Now watching something mindless and pretending this is recovery.
Sawyer: Sounds like you need a break.
I smiled as the tension in my shoulders eased.
Me: I kept wishing I was somewhere else today.
Me: With you.
When my screen lit up again, I grabbed it quickly.
Sawyer: Funny. I’ve been thinking about stealing you away this weekend.
My eyebrows lifted.
Me: Stealing me where?
Sawyer: Mystic, maybe. Somewhere quiet near the water. Just us.
I leaned my head against the couch and let the idea settle.
Me: That sounds perfect.
I set my phone on my knee and looked around the apartment.
I loved Lilly. I wanted her wedding to be everything she had dreamed of, and I would survive every glittery tumbler and Charleston itinerary if it made her happy.
Today had made the divide impossible to ignore. With my friends, I locked my phone and lied. With Sawyer, I could be barefoot, exhausted, messy, and honest. I didn’t have to smile at the right time or offer the version of myself everyone expected.
I didn’t want less of my friends.
I wanted more of myself.
And I wanted my friends to know me.
With three weeks until Charleston, there was finally a small opening in the wedding calendar. One weekend that could belong to me.
To us.
For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.
* * *
Wednesday morning came with a quiet kind of clarity.
I stayed in bed a few minutes longer than usual, scrolling through Airbnb listings in Mystic. I bookmarked three places: a minimalist cottage on the water, a cozy house with a fireplace and hot tub, and a converted loft filled with local art.
All of them felt possible.
By five forty-five, I was at the gym, running six miles while Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga pounded through my headphones.
By seven thirty, I was at my desk. Cassidy walked in with a Starbucks cold brew and set it beside me without a word.
“Bless you.” I said looking up.
“Your seven-twelve frantic text tipped me off.”
“Can you block my weekends for the next couple of months?” I asked. “No new appointments unless they’re already booked.”
She raised an eyebrow. “All of them?”
“Please. Starting with this one.”
“Wow, okay. What’s going on?”
“I want to have time for someone important,” I told her. “I need to stop treating every open hour like it belongs to work.”
Cassidy’s other eyebrow joined the first. “I love that for you, someone important?”
I paused. “Someone new. It’s early, but this weekend matters.”
She smiled. “When you’re ready to spill, I’m ready to listen.” She picked up a folder from my desk. “You seem happy, though.”
“I am.” The answer came easier than I expected.
I reached for my phone, copied the three Airbnb links, and sent them to Sawyer.
Me: Good morning. I may have done some Mystic research. Thoughts?
I spun my pen between my fingers while I waited.
Sawyer: These all look incredible. The ocean one is perfect.
I opened the cottage listing again and studied the photos of the water.
Me: Perfect. I’ll book it.
Sawyer: I can Venmo you half.
I snorted.
Me: Absolutely not.
Another message appeared.
Sawyer: Then I’m paying for everything else.
I smiled and tapped my pen against the desk.
Me: We’ll see about that.
The day moved along with meetings, calls, and deals. By twelve forty-five, I was back at my desk with a granola bar and my second cold brew sweating onto a stack of paperwork.
Me: Granola bar and caffeine. Thriving.
I unwrapped the bar and took a bite.
Sawyer: Your brother and I are having Mexican food. Be jealous.
I laughed under my breath.
Me: You’re both monsters.
Me: Where was my invite?
Sawyer: You’re always invited baby. I’ll text next time.
Cassidy glanced over from her computer. “Good news?”
“Something like that.”
By five fifteen, my last client was gone and the office had fallen quiet. I opened the cottage listing one more time before clicking book.
When the confirmation appeared, I sent Sawyer a message.
Me: Booked. Friday to Sunday. Just us.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Sawyer: I can’t wait.
Neither could I. And for the first time in a long while, that felt like the truth.
* * *