Head Over Feels

“I’ve become such a sap,” Cammie replies, sniffling along with a smile. Dabbing her eyes with a tissue she pulls from her pocket, she laughs. “Remind me to wear waterproof mascara for the wedding.”

Huddling in again, I not only adore my friends but also love my sisters by choice. I say, “We have your back.”

I lied. I do know why I’m on the verge of crying. With Cammie getting married, her priorities will shift, as they should, and we might not see each other as much. Then if she starts a family, things will be totally different.

I suspect we’ve all had similar thoughts. We’re smack dab in the middle of major life changes that are personal and unique to each of us.

Although both of them appear to be in a hurry, I ask, “Has anything been decided about the venue?”

Cammie touches my arm. “You know, I’m really thinking about taking Amanda up on her offer.”

“You should,” I say. “It’s so beautiful there, and she’s thrown a million parties. She’d have this planned in a week.”

Marlow primps her hair. “Prepare for the wind, but nothing a great hairspray can’t handle.”

Nodding, Cammie says, “So I should do it?”

Excited for my friend, I take her hand. “You should. It’s going to be perfect in the Hamptons.”

“Yeah, maybe this is meant to be. And since we had to use the hotel for our vendors, we lost everything from the caterer to the florist. They’ve returned our money, which frees it up to spend again.” Her phone rings. “Speaking of, it’s Amanda. Gotta run. Thank you for everything and the gifts.”

Marlow says, “Enjoy the gravy boat.”

I’m not sure if Marlow’s being sarcastic, but Cammie laughs as she walks away. Turning back to face us, she says, “I will. Gravy for every occasion.”

“I can’t wait,” I reply, laughing.

Marlow says, “I don’t like gravy.”

“We’ve had this discussion before. It’s gelatinous to you, but I could eat a vat of cream gravy. So good.”

“And so Southern of you.”

I shrug unapologetically. Now that I’m thinking about it, I should cook chicken fried steak with cream gravy for dinner. I bet Rad would love it.

When we start for the curb, Marlow checks her phone. From where I stand at her side, I can read the message on the screen: Wear the red.

“Wear the red? Sounds sexy,” I say, pursing my lips to the side, trying to figure out who she’s going to see. “Hot date?”

“It’s nothing.” The phone is quickly dropped into her purse, and suddenly, everything is way more interesting than me. She’s great at avoiding topics that make her uncomfortable, but I still see right through her.

I’d love to give her a hard time and dig for more details, but even in five-inch heels, she’s taking the lead. She hails a cab, and of course, two speed her way. Dressed to kill in a pale pink dress and black heels will do it. She climbs in the back just as I reach the taxi.

She gives the driver directions and then sits back, clutching her purse.

“If you don’t want to talk about some guy you’re seeing, that’s fine, but can we talk about Rad?” I ask.

Rad always says my eyes are beautiful, but Marlow’s are striking and piercing when she doesn’t want to discuss a certain topic. Like now.

When she doesn’t say anything, I say, “I’ve heard a little about this, but I guess I’m wondering when the charade ends?”

Shrugging, she asks, “What’s the hurry? We’re not hurting anyone.”

Except me, though technically, I don’t have a right to that claim. They aren’t hurting me at all. But the thought of them even pretending is starting to bug me more and more. Among others, this is one of the reasons I can’t share my happiness with my friends. And why isn’t she in a hurry to end it?

Marlow always gets the guy. Now I’m dating the only one I’ve ever dreamed of, and for him to even pretend to date her feels like a slap in the face of our relationship. Maybe I’m being irrational. They haven’t done anything, and they don’t plan to, other than put on a little show for her dad. What’s the harm in that?

Maybe there is none. . .

“Just curious. It’s a little odd to scheme your dad out of an apartment.”

Offense tightens her lips. “We’re not scheming, Tealey. He wants to give me the apartment.”

“Under the guise of being with Rad.” I hate how angry I sound. It even catches her off guard.

“Why are you so upset, Tealey? Why do you even care?” Something dawns in her eyes before I can think of how to answer that. “Are you jealous?”

And there it is . . . laid out in the simplest form.

I am jealous of their fake relationship. It makes no sense other than I want him all to myself. Leaning forward, I ask the driver, “Do you mind turning up the air-conditioning?”