How to Ruin a Wedding(93)
She smiles—and I feel the pieces of our friendship click back into place. When they do, it’s brighter and warmer than it was before.
30.
My hands ache from gripping the metal wrench—slick with the sweat from my palms—trying to turn the screw, under the water valve, to the left. At this point I’m sure, when I pull away, some of my flesh will remain on the tool.
Dainese, behind me, says, “I told you we should just call a plumber.”
“Do you have plumber money?” I say through gritted teeth, trying to turn the damn screw for the millionth time. We have three new dogs to groom, and the pipes decided this was the perfect time to stop working.
“I might if someone hadn’t purchased brand-new monitors for the cages,” Dainese counters.
“You can’t live without falling asleep to TV,” I shoot back. “The dogs deserve the same.”
“Touché.”
I suck in a breath and twist.
In a violent burst, the screw completely loosens, the pipes buckle, and water shoots from them, smacking into me. Dainese yelps, and we scramble to shove them back into place on the walls.
“Find the screw!” Dainese shouts, and I drop to the floor, feeling around for it.
We’re drenched by the time I find it, and nearly drowned by the time I position it back where it belongs and screw it shut. The water eases but still leaks from sporadic areas of the pipes.
Dainese, hair so matted it looks like a second skin, deadpans, “Should I call the plumber now?”
“I think that’s a great idea. I wish you had thought of it before.” She shakes her fist at me, then leaves me at the grooming station.
It was the only place we haven’t renovated since I purchased a share three months ago. Partly because it was the most expensive quote, and partly because I wanted to focus on the dogs’ living areas—extending the walls for more space, clear glass so it felt less like a prison and more like shared area, grade-A cushions for dogs with arthritis—then getting a new POS system, hiring a permanent assistant for when I wasn’t around, buying the supplies to onboard more dogs, and gathering quotes for potentially building an addition for private vet visits for dogs who don’t do well traveling, so we could have vet techs do what they needed here.
Business ownership is exactly what I thought it’d be: challenging, scary, overwhelming, and entirely rewarding. Though the rewarding part is the animals outside or watching HD dog TV, and not housekeeping work that tends to pop up each time I think we’re finally settled.
My phone buzzes in my overalls pocket.
I answer Valerie’s FaceTime, and she grimaces in rollers and an unfinished face of makeup. Taina peeks her head in and waves, then grimaces too. “Gross.”
“Thanks, you’re both so sweet,” I say to the girls, who have become incredibly close since Taina began visiting every other week in between traveling around, trying to find “what place calls to her; what place feels like home.” Close enough that Taina’s doing her wedding makeup tomorrow.
“You better get your ass dried and presentable, rehearsal starts in three hours.”
“Do you really need me there?” I ask.
Valerie narrows her eyes. “You’d have to see Anders at the wedding anyway, wouldn’t it be better to get it over with before then?”
I scoff. “That’s not what I meant.”
Taina snorts. “Sure it’s not.”
“Wow, betrayed by my own flesh and blood.”
“Be honest,” Valerie says, “have you really not heard from him all this time? Is this going to be your first time seeing him in months?”
“It is,” Taina answers. “Lucy, don’t forget to pluck your eyebrows. You can’t see him looking like that. Have some dignity.”
I slap the phone to my forehead.
It’s true, I haven’t spoken to Anders in months. Stalked online? Searching his social media every single day, waiting for a new post (he never posts), watching to see if he uploaded any stories? (He only did three times, all covers he was working on.) I typed up his name to call, then immediately turned off my phone, then immediately turned it on, and dialed from a private number to hear him say “Hello?” enough times that he thought it was spam and stopped answering. Drove by his house a couple of times trying to see if his car was there, pretending I had the courage to go up and knock on the door and say hello and sorry and bring up all the unresolved emotions that keep me up at night and raise my water bill when I’m in the shower for way too long—stuck on an endless cycle as permanent as day turning to night and night turning to day.
Yes, humiliating. Yes to all the above.
Has my heart stuttered every time my phone rang, hoping it was him, feeling endlessly disappointed when it wasn’t?
Also, embarrassingly, yes, of course.
So the thought of having to see him again is invigorating and terrifying and embarrassing because, even though I was the one who pulled away first, I can’t help but feel like he’s completely finished with whatever we were building. Which is totally fine, for him.
And yet I spend so much time thinking of ways to reach out, then finding reasons to pull away instead, and cycling these useless thoughts over and over again instead of facing it head-on.
“Earth to Lucy,” Valerie says.