Role Playing(65)
She felt like she could explode from emotions, like Mentos stuffed into a Diet Coke bottle. She was angry at Deb’s presumption. Embarrassed at needing to explain herself. Upset that she’d inadvertently made Kit sad and concerned. Most of all, she felt that weird, empty, achy feeling in her chest at the thought that she’d somehow fallen heavily in like with Aiden and that there was really no pathway that worked there, not without pressuring him or hurting him or losing his friendship.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to play video games until her mind shut off. But video games made her think of Aiden, and there was no way she was texting him to play when he was what she needed to forget right now.
She swallowed hard. Then she turned on the TV, and called out the big guns.
She played Encanto.
And she wept her damned eyes out until she felt a little better.
CHAPTER 27
CRAPSACCHARINE WORLD
“Thank you all for coming to our rehearsal dinner,” Jason said to the group of family in the hotel’s restaurant. Jason was beaming, as was his lovely bride-to-be. Their respective parents were also beaming. People were eating the food, drinking copious amounts of booze, enjoying themselves, and toasting in preparation for the joyous occasion to come the next day.
It’d be great if this wasn’t such a clusterfuck.
Aiden drank a glass of water, recognizing that it was, technically, only a clusterfuck for him.
“What did you do?” his mother had snapped when he had picked her up to go to Idaho that morning. “I thought you were asking Deb! I told her you should!”
“I changed my mind,” he admitted. “It’s not fair, Mom. She wants to be my girlfriend, and I am just not interested in her that way. At all. It’s a dick move.”
“Watch your mouth,” she’d sniped. Then she hadn’t talked to him for the rest of the ride. It should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t. It was more like sitting in the same room as a time bomb. He was waiting for the explosion.
Now, in the cordoned-off dining room of the restaurant, sitting at one of the four-tops sprinkled around the room, he felt the tension rising. He doubted his mother would make a scene in front of the rest of the family, simply because it would humiliate her and add even more gossip and questions. But he knew she was probably ready to chew nails at this point, and he wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold herself back.
To make matters worse, she’d insisted that they sit at the same table with Davy and Sheryl, the four of them uncomfortably close. He had Davy and his mother on either side of him, which meant Sheryl was sitting across from him, deliberately avoiding making eye contact. She ate the chicken with grim determination.
“I thought you were bringing a date to the wedding?” Davy said, with all the grace of a Sherman tank.
Aiden squirmed slightly, taking in his mother’s venomous look. Sheryl shot a matching one a beat later, finally looking at him.
“He didn’t ask anyone,” his mother said in a low voice, each word sharp as a scalpel. “If you can believe that.”
“Oh, I can,” Sheryl muttered, slicing off another piece of chicken. The chicken piccata was nice and tender, and there really was no reason for her to use quite so much force.
“And I know someone who was interested,” his mother added, glaring at him.
Davy looked startled. “What happened?”
“Long story,” Aiden said. “And it would’ve just been as friends anyway. I’m not interested in her that way.”
“Nice, churchgoing girl,” his mother all but spat under her breath. “Would’ve loved to get remarried, has a grown boy. A decent, community-centered woman!”
“Not your type, I take it?” Sheryl’s voice was almost imperceptible.
He tried not to glower.
“Now, hon,” Davy said, with a note of warning in his voice. She looked away again, so Davy turned his attention back to Aiden. “Well, it can’t be helped now. But if we just all stay calm—and be civil”—this seemed directed at his wife—“we should be able to get through this without any big deal.”
“People are going to talk!” his mother hissed.
Aiden couldn’t help a disgruntled sigh. “They talk anyway. I don’t give a fuck.”
Now, all three of them stared at him.
“What has gotten into you?” his mother said. “You’ve never cussed like this! You’re like a sailor!”
Surprisingly, he felt a smirk affix itself to his face.
No, like a Bogwitch.
He knew better than to say that aloud, though.
“I’m going to the restroom,” his mother said—almost snarled—and then got up.
He saw it first . . . the sudden unease, the way she instinctively grabbed for the table and the back of the chair. The way she swayed. He was on his feet and helping her in an instant.
“Mom?”
“I’m fine,” she said, stubbornly, closing her eyes and taking a few breaths. “I’m fine!”
When her eyes opened again, he studied her. “You got dizzy again,” he said, not asking.
“The wine,” she argued . . . but there was just an edge of uncertainty, of defensive posturing. “And I need to go to the bathroom.”