Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(47)

“You look too beautiful to have that thing out today,” she says. “Imagine the photos, Phoebe. Do you really want to look back on this day and have that giant squid be the center of attention?”

I take a deep breath and firmly plant my heels into the carpeting, standing my ground. “First of all, it’s not a squid. It’s a giant Pacific octopus. Her name is Bev. She can solve a puzzle engineered for humans. Does that not inspire you?”

“No,” she answers without missing a beat.

“Well,” I sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that. And it’s not going to be the center of attention. It’s barely bigger than a quarter.”

“And can you imagine if I taped a quarter to my arm?”

“You would have my full support.”

She looks off into the distance, narrowing her eyes in thought.

“Fine. But I’m asking the photographer to edit it out of the photos.” She backs away through the door.

“No, you aren’t.” I follow her out of the room and down the hallway, in the direction of the outdoor garden where we’re gathering for photos.

“Yes I am.” She picks up the pace, and in response, I slip off my heels, gather them into my hand, and break into a full-on sprint.

“Phoebe!” I hear her shout from behind. I turn each corner of the hallway with expert precision, and fly down the stairs like I’m weightless. My hair flies behind me like Wonder Woman’s cape in the wind, and I feel like a superhero as I charge through the large wooden doors that open into the garden, stopping as I scan the crowd. I spy the photographer across the way, his back facing me as he fiddles with the lens of his camera. Through the open doors, I can make out the faint sound of my mother’s heels coming down the stairwell. I put my shoes back on and march to the other side of the garden with all the confidence in the world.

“Excuse me.” I tap the photographer on the shoulder, and he turns around to face me.

Time stops.

The jet-black hair that sweeps just below the rim of his glasses, the dark circles under his eyes that I find so inexplicably cute, the camera that’s always dangling around his neck…the features that I’ve spent almost a year studying through the screen of my phone have suddenly materialized in front of me. And they’re more perfect than I could have ever imagined. My mouth hangs open.

So does his. And then it closes.

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Phoebe?”

My mouth has gone dry.

“Matthew,” I croak. My stomach has turned to jelly.

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Adorable.

“What are you doing here?”

What am I doing here?

Steps approach from behind me.

“Phoebe Lorraine!”

My mother’s screech snaps me out of my fog. I remember now. I came here to talk to the photographer. Matthew is the photographer. And I am supposed to be in LA.

A cold sweat breaks out across my brow.

“Matthew, correct?” My mother reaches for his hand and shakes it. “I’m Jodi, we spoke on the phone. I don’t know what she’s told you….” She glares at me. I’m fighting with my mother in front of Matthew. Like a teenager. “But let’s move forward with editing the squid out of the final photos.”

She gestures to my tattoo.

His eyes wander to the small spot on my left arm. “It’s a giant Pacific octopus,” he says softly. He keeps his eyes focused on my arm. I keep my eyes focused on him.

Mom looks back and forth between the two of us. A small smile creeps across her face. “Do you two know each other?”

Matthew says, “Yes” at the same time I say, “Kind of.”

He frowns slightly.

“We went to high school together,” I add.

“Well, isn’t this a fun reunion! Did you know Jamie?” she asks. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t have overlapped. Jamie was still in elementary school when Phoebe started high school. Would you believe Jamie’s the one getting married today?”

I watch Matthew begin to put the pieces together as he squints in my direction.

“Your sister is…the bride?”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in trying to lie myself out of this. “My sister is the bride.”

“I’ll give you two a minute to catch up.” Mom turns toward me. “He is cute,” she mouths before she walks away.

It’s just the two of us now.

“I don’t know how I missed this,” Matthew mutters, looking pointedly at the ground before raising his eyes to meet mine. The hurt in his gaze makes my insides constrict.

“There are, like, a million Bermans on Long Island. There was no reason for you to think this one would be my sister.”

“I guess I just assumed you would have told me if your sister was getting married. We only text, like, every day.”

“I’m so sorry,” I start, my voice shaking. I try my best to avoid wiping the sweat from my palms onto my dress. “I don’t know why I didn’t mention it,” I say, though that’s not entirely the truth. I liked having one person who didn’t ask me questions about Jamie’s wedding, one person who didn’t know that my baby sister is light-years ahead of me.