Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I squint in confusion. “That’s … literally eight days.”
“Eight very long, very intensive days … of soul-searching, self-reflection, and probably licensed therapy, too.”
I eye him. “Sounds like overkill to me.”
He crosses his arms smartly. “Aren’t I worth it?”
Boy, he’s really loving this. “Samuel.”
“What? Am I … annoying … you?”
“You’re beginning to.”
“Good.” He stares at me hard—then finally cracks a smile.
I sigh. “Are you done torturing me yet? Can we move on now? I said I’m sorry a hundred times. Want me to apologize for tearing off your sweatpants, too? For the blowjob last night? For the—”
He rushes up to me and presses a hand to my mouth, instantly mortified. “Malcolm!” he hisses. “We’re in a church for Christ’s sake!”
With his hand pressed over my lips, only my eyes show. They lock on his. He stares back at me, wide-eyed, breathing heavily.
Something between us clicks back in place right then.
A special kind of intimacy from last night.
And the night before that.
Our faces are so close right now, standing together in this tiny lobby, everyone else in the chapel chatting away, excited, waiting for the big thing to happen.
His hand loosens over my mouth, then drops to his side. His eyes never leave mine. They turn soft as he stares back at me, lost in his mind, from the look of it. I’m not entirely sure whether he’s truly forgiven me, or if he’s giving in to a moment of weakness, or if he’s just a few words from turning me away again.
He’s mastered the art of disarming me with his eyes.
I wonder if I’ve acquired a similar power.
“My offer … still stands.”
I lift my eyebrows, barely having heard him. “Offer …?”
He lifts his chin. “It … It might not be the thirteenth time yet. Might not even be the tenth time, or the fifth.” He averts his eyes, licks his lips, then squints at me. “But if you still need someone by your side to make it through these tortuous festivities with … you can still accept my offer to be your sidekick.”
Despite all my resolve to keep punishing myself and removing myself from the wedding entirely, I find the last brick of my wall removed by Samuel’s act of kindness.
I crack a smile. “Yes, I acce—”
“But there will be rules,” he cuts me off, lifting a finger.
My smile falters. “Rules?”
“First, there shall be no consumption of wine whatsoever.” He gives me a stern look. “No ifs, ands, or my tight butts.”
My eyes roll back. “Dumb joke.”
“Alcohol consumption is no joke,” he states in a faux serious voice. He holds up another finger. “Second, my obligation as your sidekick also includes activities for both Christmas Eve tomorrow as well as Christmas Day. If you can barely make it through this wedding alone, there’s no way you’ll survive Christmas itself.” He flicks up another finger. “Thirdly …”
“Really, Samuel?”
“Thirdly,” he repeats a touch firmer. Then he drops his hand and puts it on my shoulder. “Despite how forceful and assertive and flirtatious I’ve been … you, my adoring Malcolm Tucci, are in no way obligated to be my date to any of these events. We can be just buddies. Just pals. Just friends.” He pauses. “With maybe just a teensy bit of hope for something more. You know …” he adds more softly with a casual shrug, “whenever you’ve finished with your big mountain of self-work and are finally good enough for me.”
I crossed my arms halfway through that ghastly long spiel. “A teensy bit of hope?”
He nods, then pinches his fingers together. “Teensy.”
My lips twist into a smile I can no longer hold back. “Alright. I think I can live with that.”
Samuel smirks, satisfied, then reaches for my hand.
In the moment he takes my hand, something ends, and a very, very different thing begins. I can’t even properly explain it as we head into the chapel, nearly unnoticed in the loud crowd of happy attendants, and find ourselves a spot to sit. When Samuel gazes at me and flashes one of his silly, lopsided smiles, I experience a very powerful sense of belonging. Just like that, at the snap of a finger and the drop of a cowboy hat, I know I’m exactly where I should be in the universe: right in the middle of this loud, crowded chapel awaiting the marriage of the town’s two biggest sweethearts.
Did my mom have these same feelings when she left home?
These overpowering feelings of resisting, then giving in to her own wanderlust?
I wonder why it upsets me less to think about her right now.
She had her reasons for leaving. There is a side to the story I don’t know, a side I may never know. But I can find some comfort now in the fact that despite not knowing the whole truth, I know she did what she had to do to find herself. And I may unknowingly have had to do the same. I guess I just didn’t expect to find this missing part of me in a town I’ve spent most of my life resenting.