Don't Kiss the Bride

Before he got out of my truck, he gave me one last piece of advice.

“Marriage has nothing to do with rings or vows or a fuckin’ piece of paper. None of that shit binds people together,” he said. “Marriage—being in love—is a choice to stay every day, and keep staying, no matter what. You don’t lie, you don’t cheat, you don’t leave, and you don’t give up. You stay.”

I nodded at him, letting it sink in. If the dude managed to keep his marriage alive while his wife was in a coma for eight years, he’s gotta be doing something right.

“And one other thing,” he said, grabbing my shoulder. “Time goes by fucking fast, man. Every day you sit on your ass, avoiding living, you’re missing out. Take the chances, love the girl, before it’s too late.”

I left Asher feeling pumped and more clear-headed than I have in a long time. He struck a nerve—I’m sick of just existing. Working a job that doesn’t do shit for me except pay my bills and kill my back. Avoiding relationships like they’re poison just ’cause I’m afraid they’ll go up in flames someday.

These walls I’ve put up haven’t been doing me any favors. I’m just living in a cage.

When I get home, Skylar’s coming down the stairs just as I walk through the front door and trip over the Christmas tree box. She’s got on a sweatshirt with the letters STFU, BISH printed on it. It’s so big on her it hangs to her knees.

“Oh, you came home,” she says in a tone that makes it clear she thinks I spent the night with someone else.

I should’ve texted her last night instead of just not coming home.

It looks bad.

“Come talk to me,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “If I don’t get some coffee into me, I’m gonna fall flat on my face.”

She follows me and perches on one of the stools at the island as I pour some milk into the reservoir of the fancy coffee maker Aunt Suzy gave me last year, stick a pod in, and press the brew button. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you. I didn’t think I’d be gone all night.”

She’s tight-lipped. “You don’t have to check in with me.”

The coffee maker whirrs and sputters its magical mix of water, espresso, and frothy milk.

“I know, but I still like to.” I stir a heap of sugar into my foamy latte and sit on the stool across from her. “There’s some things I want to tell you.”

She leans her elbow on the granite countertop, her chin in her palm. “Good. I have some things I need to say, too.”

I take that as a good sign.

“Okay… ladies first.”

“I did a lot of thinking last night, and I finally realized that you’re right. About us not being together.”

I quickly swallow my coffee. “Skylar, wait—”

She mows right over my words. “Jude, you don’t have to say anything. I did a lot of thinking, and I talked to someone who helped me understand that us being just friends is probably best.”

I’m crushed. All I wanted to do was tell her I spent the night with Asher freakin’ Valentine, and how his advice woke my ass up. I want to tell her I’m crazy about her and go put up our first Christmas tree.

I want to tell her I want us to stay.

Her chin lifts, and she sniffles back tears. “I’m not mad at you, and I don’t blame you for the things that happened. Things between us just got complicated. I wasn’t expecting it and…” She lets out a shuddering, heartbreaking sigh and looks past me, out the window to the backyard. “I wasn’t ready for it. And you’re right, I’m probably too young for this. For you.”

“Skylar, I wasn’t expecting it or ready for it either, but—”

She doesn’t let me finish. “Too much shit has happened to me—and to you—in the past few weeks. We haven’t been thinking clearly. I have to focus on getting my life together. I have to get healthy physically and mentally. That was the plan and the whole reason for this arrangement.”

Anxiety waltzes up my spine and I nod as my hungover brain tries to figure out what I’m supposed to say to fix this. Do I agree and let things end? Is that what’s right, after all?

I don’t want to treat her like a ping-pong ball.

Oblivious to the hope that’s dying a slow death inside me, she keeps talking. “I think the whole marriage thing kinda got to me.” She puts her hands up and does air quotes when she says the word marriage. “Even though I don’t believe in that stuff, a little part of me started to think it was going to turn into some kind of Disney fairytale.” Her cheeks turn pink, and she lets out a short, sad laugh. “But, that stuff never happens in real life, and the first person I give my heart to can’t be a thirty-four-year-old guy who’s not into relationships and can’t commit to save his life, right? I’ll get destroyed, and that’s a mess I can do without, thank you very much.”