Don't Kiss the Bride

“You’re right.”

“See?” she says, putting her arm around my shoulders. “I’m a fixer.”

Chapter 26

Skylar

“After you posted the photos of those new cute, inspirational mugs, we got fifty new followers—just over the weekend,” Rebecca says happily. “Great job.”

“I saw,” I say with a proud smile. “I kept checking stats. People love them.”

“They do. Two customers came in today and bought a few for themselves and for gifts.” She leans against the counter. “I’ve been thinking about something, and I think I’m ready to take the plunge.”

“Oh?” My curiosity is piqued.

“Since you started posting the photos, I’ve been getting a lot of requests from non-locals for online ordering. It’ll be a big change; I’ll have to pack and ship the items out, but I think it’ll open up a whole new avenue of sales.”

“Wow. That’s a great idea.” I scan the displays. “You wouldn’t even have to make all the products available online. Some might be hard to mail.”

Her brows knit together. “True. I think we’d have to exclude some items. Like that.” She points to a beautiful stained-glass lamp. “That would be a nightmare to mail.”

“I think if you stay away from anything too big and fragile, you’ll be okay. I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“You’re a gem. I’ll be doing more research this week, and I’m meeting with a new web designer on Wednesday. I made the appointment in the afternoon so you can sit in.”

My first business meeting! I try to mask my excitement by straightening the business cards in their little holder next to the register.

“I’ll be there,” I reply.

She fixates on me for a moment, and I wonder if I said something wrong or didn’t act interested enough.

“Is your cheek swollen?” she asks.

My hand comes up to touch the right side of my face. “Is it?” Worry instantly floods through my veins in a hot rush, obliterating the happiness I felt over the web-design meeting.

Squinting at me, she nods. “I think it is a little. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, it started a few weeks ago, but today, it’s much worse.” I lightly touch the top of my jaw. “Right here.”

“It could be your wisdom teeth. I was your age when mine came in.”

My anxiety accelerates to a level eight.

“Oh no, I didn’t think of that. What should I do?”

“You can take Tylenol, but you should probably go to the dentist.”

Forcing a grateful smile, I say, “Okay. I’ll try to find one.”

“You don’t have a regular dentist?”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “No, I haven’t been since I was little.”

“I see.” She smiles sympathetically. “Actually, a good friend of mine is a dentist. I’ve been seeing her for years.” Rebecca grabs a pen and writes a name and phone number on the back of one of her business cards. “Dr. Katz. Give her office a call now, tell the receptionist you work for me—she knows me. Maybe they can squeeze you in this afternoon.”

“Today?” I repeat with surprise. “I was going to take new photos today.”

“That can wait. You should have it looked at if you’re in pain.”

I call the dentist as soon as she goes back to her small office, and I’m surprised when the receptionist offers me a five o’clock appointment today.

Today… I have next to no time to mentally prepare myself.

After the call, I take a quick break in the restroom. Splashing cold water onto my face, I breathe in and out slowly, like the therapist taught me. When I go to the dentist, they’ll put their fingers in my mouth. They’ll put things in my mouth—like cotton and sharp tools.

Things that might taste weird.

Things I could swallow and choke on.

I stare at my cheeks in the mirror, examining my jawline. Stretching my mouth open as wide as I can, I lift my lip up. Nothing looks abnormal to me, but it’s sore.

Calm down, I tell myself, but it does nothing to stop the churning of my stomach and the racing of my heart.

In my purse, my anti-anxiety pills are waiting in a tiny metal pillbox that has a hummingbird printed on the lid. The rationale was that taking meds would seem less scary if they weren’t in a prescription bottle with warnings in itty-bitty text printed on the label next to my name.

I take one antidepressant and one anti-anxiety pill daily (among other pills). The doctor said I can take an extra dose of the anxiety medication when I’m feeling extra panicky and overwhelmed with all the thoughts in my head.

Now seems like one of those times, but if I take it, it’ll make me drowsy. Within an hour, the brain fog will dull me down so much that I’ll appear like a zombie to our customers, and to Rebecca.

And to Jude.

But if I don’t take it, I’ll spend the rest of the day hyper-focused on the pain in my jaw. The jittery feeling that springs from my anxiety will distract me to the point of making idiotic mistakes. My shaky hands will get me side-eyes from the customers. If I wait until I get home to take the pill, I’ll crawl into bed before nine p.m. and wake up feeling groggy.