Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(52)

“I do!” He pulls me closer toward him. “This is just…not how I imagined kissing you.”

I can’t fight the grin that breaks out across my face. “You’ve imagined it.”

He looks down at his feet. “Yeah.” When he looks back up, his cheeks are slightly red. “I have.”

“I have, too,” I confess. “And if we both want this…” I lean closer to him. “We should do it now.”

While I still have the courage.

I move to kiss him again, and for the second time, he pulls away. He stares at me, wide-eyed and blinking.

I think…I think I want to die.

“I think we should go get some water,” he suggests.

I do want to die.

“Okay,” I agree quickly, pushing past him to open the door. I can’t bring myself to look at him. Unwanted visuals of him backing away from me not once but twice play on repeat in my mind.

I open the door, prepared to run as far away from this closet as I can get, only to come face-to-face with Ethan as he steps out of the men’s restroom.

“I was looking for y—” he starts, but cuts himself off abruptly when he notices the second party emerging from the closet.

His jaw hits the floor. The door shuts behind me.

“Uh,” I hear Matthew mumble. “Be right back with the water.” I listen closely to the sound of his footsteps shuffling in the direction of the bar.

Ethan stares at me in stunned silence, breaking his personal record for the longest he’s ever gone without speaking.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I tell him, and although I’ve always wanted to be able to say that, it does nothing to make me feel better about this moment.

“You have a hickey on your neck.”

“Huh?” I reach to the spot Ethan’s pointing at, just above my right collarbone, and that’s when I feel it. A raised patch of skin that begins to itch as soon as I make contact with it. And I must’ve been too busy making a fool of myself to notice the same itching sensation breaking out across my legs, too.

“There you are!” Dad shouts as he rounds the corner. “Your mother sent me to find you. Speeches are starting soon.”

Against my best interests, I begin to scratch. First at my neck, and then at my legs. I can’t help it. Over the course of the past minute, since I discovered the first spot, the itching has become unbearable.

“Phoebe?” Dad looks down at me, at the spot on my neck. “Ah.” He nods. “Ethan, would you mind telling Jodi we’ll be there in a few minutes?” Ethan nods and disappears.

This is not the first time this has happened. I’ve been known to break out in hives when I’m under extreme stress. Usually, all it takes is some time away from whatever situation is causing me distress, and the hives go away on their own. But I don’t have time. I have a speech to give, and I can feel the bumps beginning to spread up my neck and onto my jawline. Jamie cannot have a maid of honor who looks like she just got stung by thousands of bees. Although that would be strikingly close to a particularly thrilling scene from Beauty and the Beekeeper. But now is not the time for that.

“Let’s step in here for a second.” Dad opens the door to the janitor’s closet and drags me back into the last place I want to be. He leans against the shelf of supplies and crosses his arms. “What’s going on, Pheebs?”

I’m not sure if it’s the worry in his soft brown eyes that look so much like my own, the comforting smell of his aftershave covering up the smell of bleach, or maybe just the fact that it’s been a long time coming, but I unleash.

“There is something wrong with me, Dad.” I can already taste the salt from my tears. “I’m going to be thirty in less than twenty days and I have the romantic experience of a middle schooler. Jamie is married and I’m over here panicking and vomiting at the thought of going on a date with Matthew.”

He looks at me questioningly.

“The photographer. We know each other, and have actually planned to meet up a few times before, but…” I look down at my feet.

Dad finishes my sentence for me. “You panicked?”

I nod. “And I’m pretty sure I just ruined any chance I had with him, which is a shame because…I really like him.”

I take a breath for the first time, and Dad hands me a handful of toilet paper to wipe away my tears.

“And things aren’t great back in LA, either,” I continue. “Jonathan might have a girlfriend.” I hiccup. “And he’s being kind of weird. I don’t know what’s going on with him. I know you thought we’d end up together. Maybe I thought that, too. I don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing.”

Dad presses a fresh wad of toilet paper against my nose.

“Blow,” he says with a mixture of kindness and firmness. I do as he says.

“And—” I fight off another hiccup. “The guy I was telling everyone about yesterday, at the rehearsal dinner? Finn? I don’t even know how old he is!”

I plop down onto an upside-down crate and place my head in my hands, having thoroughly exhausted myself. Dad crouches next to me, placing a reassuring hand on my back. He doesn’t say anything right away, but he doesn’t have to. His presence is soothing enough.