I shake my head as my lip trembles, and tears fall down the side of my head. “No. Just . . . just let me get some sleep.”
“You think I’m going to leave you like this? You almost hit your head on the counter. There’s no way I’m leaving.” He sits right next to me and places his hand on my stomach. “Talk to me, Lia. What’s going on?”
“I just . . .” My lips tremble some more. “I’m just freaking out,” I say, not wanting to tell him the truth. Things are already weird between Brian and Breaker—that much is evident after the display in the living room—I don’t need to make Brian mad at Breaker for putting me in this mental state.
“Freaking out about the wedding?”
“About . . . us,” I say, which is partially true.
“What about us?” he asks.
“We can’t play Password. We’re getting married, Brian. We should be able to play Password. And . . . and the wedding planning is a nightmare. I’ve set things on fire and bloodied people and swatted your mother’s breast, and we can’t seem to agree on much. And you don’t care about the plans, which is fine. I know you’re busy, but . . . it doesn’t seem like we’re on the same wavelength.”
“We are,” he says. “That’s just a stupid game, which proves nothing. What we do in our everyday life, our thoughts, and our morals, that’s what matters. And we are on the same wavelength there. Right?”
“Yes,” I say quietly, even if he doesn’t get it. Maybe it’s from watching my parents as I grew up, but I just feel there needs to be a deeper connection. I want him to be able to guess what I’m going to say next. I want him to be able to understand me without even having to talk, and I don’t think we have that. “But . . . do you know everything about me?” I ask.
“Of course I do,” he says. “And what I don’t know, I’ll spend the rest of our lives finding out. Getting married to someone doesn’t mean you know a list of facts about your partner like some reality trivia game. I’m marrying you because you make me happy, because I can’t imagine a day when I don’t think about you in my life, and because I love you, Lia. I’m not marrying you because I happen to know what you like to order from the sandwich shop around the corner or because you can telepathically answer a stupid Password question. Those are all menial things when it comes to getting married. It doesn’t matter.” He moves his hand to my heart. “This matters. Our love matters.”
I hear the words he’s saying.
I’m nodding as I listen.
And when he curls into me, spooning me from behind so we both can get some sleep, I go along with it because I can’t do anything else to stop the sensation of feeling empty inside.
“Lia, hey,” I hear a voice say just as I enter Morning Perk for a quick coffee before heading to the dress shop.
I turn to the right just in time to catch Birdy approaching.
Great, just what I need.
Ever since my fight with Breaker, I haven’t felt like myself. I’ve been going through the motions of work, talking with Brian, even answering some emails from The Beave, and just saying yes to whatever asinine plan she presents. At this point, I don’t care.
I haven’t heard from Breaker since the fight, which in our world feels like decades.
I’m sad.
Depressed.
I miss my parents. God, I wish my mom was here. I wish I could ask her if Brian is right. If it took years for Dad to understand all her idiosyncrasies. If what Breaker and I have took years and is only good because we’ve had a decade together, and that I need to be confident that things will eventually click with Brian. “Those are all menial things when it comes to getting married. It doesn’t matter. Our love matters.” Is he right? I. Don’t. Know. My mom would know.
I really wish I could crawl into a hole and not deal with any of this. I just feel so . . . fragile, and that’s never a word I’ve associated with myself.
But right now? Birdy.
“Hey, Birdy,” I say, trying to tack on a smile.
“Oh wow, your hair looks so shiny,” she says while touching the ends. “It’s beautiful.”
“Oh, thanks. I went to the salon around the corner and got it blown out. I’m trying on dresses today, and my soon-to-be mother-in-law told me to make sure my hair resembled what I wanted on my wedding day.”
“Beautiful,” Birdy says, and I can’t tell if she’s genuine or not. “Is your color natural?”