Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(50)

“Okay…” I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Matthew in front of me. The outline of his glasses materializes in the darkness behind my eyelids. “Matthew. The thought of going on a date with you makes me want to throw up.”

Silence.

“Sandy?”

“I’m here.”

“That was bad, wasn’t it.”

“Let’s try again.”

“Okay.” I close my eyes, conjure the image of Matthew’s sweet face, and clear my throat. “Matthew. I have anxiety, and the thought of going out with you makes me nervous. I panicked when the time came to actually plan something, so I lied to you about canceling my trip, and I’m sorry.”

For the first time today, a small sense of relief floods my chest. I barely get a chance to revel in the feeling before it’s replaced by an avalanche of shame.

“How did saying that feel?” Sandy asks.

“Embarrassing.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Phoebe.”

I do, though. Being too nervous to go on a date at my age and then lying to cover it up? It’s objectively mortifying. I can’t tell him the truth. I just can’t.

The room fills with the sounds of various instruments tuning up as the band preps in the corner. Guests should start flooding in here any minute.

“Okay. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Sandy.”

“Please try and enjoy yourself tonight.”

“I’ll try. See you Monday.” I pause, looking at the doors, painfully aware of who’s on the other side. “If I live through this.”

“I’ll definitely see you Monday, Phoebe.”

I end the call and consider responding to my friends, but decide it’s best to put my phone away and try to enjoy the moment.



* * *



—

“Thank you sooo much.” I smile at the waiter while plucking what has to be my fourth flute of champagne off his tray. I take a gulp, keeping the liquid in my mouth for a few extra seconds so I can feel the fizz dance around on my tongue. “Yum,” I say to no one in particular. I sway to the band’s cover of “My Girl,” by the Temptations. To my right, Ethan dips Jamie so low that her hair brushes against the floor. Her giggles remind me of champagne bubbles. To my right, Dad spins Mom in circles until she insists that she’s going to have a vertigo episode. I smile into my glass as I take another sip.

“Peebee!” A breathless Aunt Carol comes running toward me. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

My mind quickly jumps to the worst-case scenario: that she’s about to ambush me with the boy I’ve managed to successfully avoid since the reception started an hour ago.

But then I remember: I’m a lesbian.

“This is Dee.” She claps, stepping aside to reveal a petite blond waitress with a pixie cut and high cheekbones. I’ll give it to Aunt Carol, Dee is gorgeous.

“Hello, Dee.” I stick out my hand and she shakes it.

“Hi!” She smiles sweetly, and Aunt Carol winks at me before backing away.

I cut right to the chase, grabbing Dee’s hand in an effort to let her down gently. She looks down at our clasped hands, brows raised.

“Dee,” I sigh. “I’m so sorry, but I’m not interested in women.”

“Oh.” She gently removes her hand from mine. “That’s okay. I’m not, either.”

“You’re not? Then why did my aunt bring you over here?”

“I have no idea.” She shrugs. “All she said was that she”—Dee lifts both hands to form air quotes with her fingers—“?‘loves my vibe.’ And that she wanted to introduce me to her niece.”

“Ah.” I nod. “Sorry about that. My aunt thinks everyone is gay. Myself included. It’s a whole thing.”

“It’s all right,” she says, chuckling, while tucking a small tuft of blond hair behind an ear full of perfectly curated tiny gold hoops. “For what it’s worth, I think we’d make a cute couple.”

I catch myself blushing, flattered that someone as effortlessly cool as Dee could feel that way about me.

I like her.

“So…you’re not even a little gay?” I joke, feeling emboldened by the alcohol. I close my eyes for a second, trying to picture what it would be like to kiss Dee. But my mind wanders.

Matthew’s hand caressing the bare skin of my back.

I try again, squeezing my eyes shut tighter.

Matthew pushing up his glasses with his index finger.

A silver ring.

Dee’s chuckle brings me back to reality. “Not since I last checked.” She glances over her shoulder and raises her eyebrows toward the back of the room. I follow her gaze to…Oh no. “I’m actually kind of feeling the photographer.”

Red-hot rage burns every inch of my skin.

I take a step back, blinking once, twice, three times, in rapid succession.

“You don’t think he’s cute?” she asks, noticing the shift in my demeanor.

I know that I have absolutely no right to feel this way. Like I have any claim on Matthew whatsoever, especially given the circumstances. But even so, the thought of Dee going anywhere near him makes me want to vomit. Especially because she is the type of girl Matthew should be with. The type of girl the Smiths wrote songs about.