Chapter 22
Liz, May 11
Plans are set, RSVPs are in, Candy is annoying me pretending we are friends, there is no stopping this reunion now. I feel like I am spending an unhealthy amount of time agonizing over every detail. Three weeks ago I didn’t really care that West High was even having a reunion and now I find myself helping with stupid details like caterers.
“What are you working on over there?” Matt asks.
We’re sitting on my couch, watching some stupid action movie, and I am on my laptop staring at an email from Candy. Apparently, the hotel we are having the reunion at will not have the pool construction finished and Candy is “very concerned” that people will not be happy. I’ve already responded to explain that whatever amenities the hotel will offer will be fine, but I’ve spaced out slipping down memory lane.
“Nothing,” I answer, “just reunion stuff.”
“My ten-year reunion certainly didn’t seem like the kind of thing someone put this much effort into.” His voice sounds playful, but there’s annoyance under the surface.
“Maybe they didn’t.”
“Why are you doing all of this?”
Good question. “I like being helpful.” I shrug.
“Or maybe it’s because Ben —” I stop, my throat closing around the name.
Matt glances at me, eyebrows pulled tight. “Because who?”
“Because Candy,” I correct quickly, laughing a little too loudly. “She’s a lunatic about this thing. Someone has to keep her from losing her mind.”
He watches me for a beat too long before nodding. “Right. Candy.”
Matt stands up and kisses me on the head as he moves into my adjoining dining room. “I’m gonna go home and sleep.” He returns, keys in hand. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t work too hard being helpful.”
I smile at him, feeling strangely guilty, as he slips out the front door. Irrationally, I want to yell out “I’m not really helpful!” but I can’t explain why I’m suddenly throwing myself into this stupid party planning any more than I could move a brick wall. And I definitely can’t explain why, in the moment his lips brush my hair, I feel distracted instead of warm. Why the thought that I should be content only makes me restless.
I also can’t explain why I keep checking my email 50 times a day or why I have made that one email address a favorite. Every time I refresh, I half-hope there’s a name waiting for me. Every time there isn’t, I promise myself I won’t look again. And then I do.
Actually, I could explain that last stuff, I’m just not sure I would be happy with the explanation.