Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(25)

“Phoebe, it’s great that you have a work crush. Those are always fun.”

He would know.

“You can have a crush on Finn and go on this date with Matthew,” Jonathan continues. “I know that’s scary for you. And I’m not saying that Finn won’t ask you out eventually; I just want you to respond to the guy who already did.”

“I don’t think I can.” My voice sounds small, and I taste the salt of tears rolling down my cheeks before I register that I’m crying.

I’ve done this before. This thing where, in a moment of courage like the one I had last night, I overestimate myself. But I always run in the other direction the moment it becomes real. And Matthew’s response has made this real.

Jonathan’s voice gets softer to match mine. “What changed between yesterday and today? You agreed: no backing out.”

“I’ll have a panic attack.”

“So?” Jonathan asks. “Is that really the worst thing?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “It’s one thing if it happens when I’m alone, or in front of you, but to totally lose it like that in front of someone else…” I shiver at the memory of Lucas’s horrified, vomit-covered face before he sprinted for the doors. “I can’t go through that again. Especially in front of Matthew. He’d never talk to me after that.”

I take a deep breath, willing the tears to stop. I think back to the first time I thought, There’s something really wrong with me. It’s hard to believe there was a time before that day when that thought was foreign to me. Because now, especially on days like this one, it feels like the only thing on my mind.

“There’s something wrong with me.” I echo my thoughts, turning back toward the TV screen, desperate to avoid eye contact with Jonathan.

He moves over to my side of the couch and puts his hand on my knee.

“Look at me,” he says, and I turn to him even though the last thing I need right now is for him to get a good look at my crying face.

It’s completely hideous.

“Did you know that the Greg McDaniels incident is one of my favorite memories of you?”

I cringe thinking back to sophomore year, when I dragged Jonathan along with me to the improv show of my latest crush, Greg from Writing 101. Greg was weird. He was obsessed with model trains and Archie comics, but I thought he was the perfect level of nerdy to put my anxiety at ease. Maybe being the cool one would give me the confidence I needed. After his improv show, which was so painful that Jonathan hid his face in his sweatshirt for the entire two hours, the three of us went out for drinks. Which is when Greg told me that he thought he was in love with me and asked if he could kiss me.

It was exactly what I had dreamed of.

“Excuse me for a second,” I had told him, and locked myself in the bar’s bathroom. Jonathan came knocking on the door ten minutes later, only to find me drenched in sweat, lying on the bathroom floor with a wet paper towel draped across my forehead, and “soothing ocean sounds” blasting from my iPhone speaker. I sent him back out to Greg, where I had him make up an elaborate family emergency, and then snuck out the back exit of the bar. The next morning, I switched out of Writing 101.

I never saw Greg again.

“That’s one of your favorite memories? Why?”

He smiles. “Because the fact that you could get yourself so worked up over a guy you just watched bomb his improv set while wearing a bald cap…it was endearing, Phoebe. I love how hard you feel your feelings.”

That’s one way to put it, I guess.

“And there’s nothing wrong with you. You just get anxious sometimes.”

There’s nothing wrong with you.

I wish I believed him.

I bury my face deep into the part of his neck that meets his shoulder and try not to think about all the snot I’m getting on his T-shirt as he holds me. Even after he’s showered, I can still smell his cologne. Musk and sandalwood. I take a deep breath in through my clogged nose. After a few minutes pass, my breathing starts to even out, and Jonathan’s grip on me loosens as I lift my head from his shoulder. I’ve made a decision.

I walk over to the other side of the couch to grab my phone. I hand it to Jonathan. He begins to type. “The wedding is next Friday, right? That means you’ll be free on Saturday?”

“Yes,” I offer hesitantly. “But don’t tell him that! Just say…” I pause while I weigh my options. “Say I’ll be free sometime next weekend and that I don’t know my exact schedule yet.”

Jonathan protests. “But that’s giving yourself a chance to back out.”

I nod in agreement. “Yeah, but this makes it harder to. Meet me halfway.”

He smiles softly and gets to work on crafting a message.

I look away as he presses send.



* * *



—

After I tuck myself into bed and before I put my phone away for the night, I send Matthew my Wordle score.

Matthew:

I’ll beat you one of these days, Phoebe Berman

Phoebe:

I’m sure you will, Matthew Baxter

But it might be a while

Matthew:

I have a while.





8


Friday

(Twenty-Six Days Left)