by Kris Ripper
Then I stared at it.
I was super happy for my friends getting married. And also? Part of me? Couldn’t wait until it was over. Which seemed fair because part of them couldn’t wait for it to be over either, and weddings were known to be stressful as fuck and all that. But I did kind of wonder if maybe Sidney wasn’t that far off, when they suggested I might be triggered by the whole thing.
I didn’t want to be. I definitely didn’t want to make Ronnie and Mia’s awesome wedding about, like, me. But I couldn’t avoid the suit and it was looming in a corner of my unit like a big dark storm cloud, taking up way more space in my brain than it was taking up in real life, until I actually curled up in bed and faced away from the suit as if it was threatening me.
Okay. I might have been a little...affected by the whole thing.
It was this huge, glaring reminder that I couldn’t be that guy, the guy in the beautiful suit, marrying the other guy in the beautiful suit. I couldn’t make that work, and I thought I’d come to terms with it, but suddenly it was all in the forefront again, like my brain was composing a list of my personal failings.
DECLAN’S PERSONAL FAILINGS
Attempted to be a real person in a romantic relationship. FAILED.
Attempted to get married. FAILED.
Attempted to be a good friend to people getting married and not make it all about him. FAILED.
Attempted to look good in wedding suit... Okay, being honest, I looked damn good in my wedding suit. So, like, SUCCEEDED. At this one thing. Which is me looking good in a suit.
I pulled a pillow over my head but it didn’t make me feel better.
It wasn’t like I didn’t want to be that guy. I did! At least sort of. I wanted to be...happy the way getting married made Mia and Ronnie. Happy the way it would someday make Mason. But maybe that wasn’t a thing I could ever do, or ever be. Maybe it would just be this painful, festering sore in me where other people had wedding bells and china patterns.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t feel it. That was the worst part. When I thought of Sidney, I felt all warm and fluttery, excited and melty and full, like I was totally inside myself with them. If I could just not feel, if leaving Mason at the altar had broken my ability to feel like this, that would be one thing. It might suck, but at least it wouldn’t get all over other people.
Instead I was left with all the feeling and wanting but none of the ability to actually execute the thing I wanted. Which was...which was...
I had no idea. Which was why I’d given up on romance in the first place: How do you pursue something if you don’t know what it is?
Get through the wedding. Just deal with it. Suck it up. Put on a suit, stand with Mase and Oscar and Ronnie’s sister, be a decent person long enough to get through the wedding.
One more day. And it was our Valentine’s Date, which we’d designed to be super casual and low-key and comforting. Maybe Sidney would be down for just, like, cuddling on the couch and making out a little. Because seriously that sounded so good, like it could build me up enough to survive the entire next day.
Which I was going to do. I wouldn’t no-show the wedding, even if that suit was freaking me the fuck out. Once it was on, I wouldn’t have to look at it. I’d be fine.
Except then I’d be looking at my friends and they’d all be looking beautiful, just like they had on the day of my wedding—
I tugged the pillow down harder around my head, squeezing my eyes shut against that vision of Mason looking so damn movie star handsome, so damn hopeful. He’d forgiven me, and he meant it. I knew that. But thinking about his expression always hurt.
He’d trusted me and I’d totally blown his trust. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t meant to, or that the therapist I’d seen after had told me that I couldn’t control having a panic attack. Like, okay, maybe not? But I should have done pretty much anything but run away and leave him to clean up the mess.
A few tears seeped into my pillow, which was not the mindset I wanted to have right now.
My phone dinged and I contemplated not looking at it, but I felt so crappy, I thought whatever it was surely couldn’t make matters worse.
Sidney. My heart gave a little leap at their name on my screen. I came up with this idea for our date tomorrow. I think you’ll really dig it.
I just stared at the message. An...idea? I wondered what kind of idea. How could I ask in such a way that it wouldn’t seem like I was against it already? I wasn’t against it already. I didn’t think. Except that our original idea was about the only thing that sounded good to me at all.
Another ding. Still at your place if you’re willing. I’m not proposing either theater or fancy restaurants. And a smiley face.
Relief tugged at my feelings. No fancy restaurants, no fork decisions, good. Right? Right. It’d be fine.
I sent back, Oh yay, I’m excited. And another smiley face. Because I was excited... I thought. Probably? I was definitely happy to see them. That was true and accurate. And if they’d had an idea about our date I didn’t want to disappoint them by being all like Sorry, can’t do it, would rather have a boring night of doing nothing instead.
Plus, they knew me really well and it would probably be the perfect thing even if it wasn’t what I was expecting. That seemed logical. Based on past experience.
Ding. I’m excited too and also a little nervous.
Ding. How was your day?
I took a slow breath and elected not to mention that I was hiding under my covers because my wedding suit was a threatening presence in the corner of my apartment. Pretty good. Event planning is going well. Dire Jack is actually less dire after I screwed up, which is nice.
Ding. People are strange sometimes.
Seriously.
I flailed with the pressure of acting normal like this was any other day when in fact I was freaking out. How was your day?
Ding. Good. Productive. Posted the usual Friday video. Shot a video for next week. Assembled some questions for our live Q and A on Monday.
Wow, I’d managed to forget we were doing that. The end of The Love Study. I’m a little sad to see the show end. What will I do on Mondays now?
Ding. I figured you’d be happy to have them to yourself again.
Which I wasn’t. Even though the pressure of racing to Sidney’s apartment would be off. I think I’ll miss it.
Ding. You can always come just to hang out, on camera or off. I think I said that before, but in case I didn’t.
That would be weird, though. Me just sitting there. I wouldn’t want to bother you.
Ding. I wouldn’t have offered if you bothered me. But obviously I don’t expect you to come over after work on Mondays just, you know, to come over.
Except I had been doing that. What were they really saying? That they didn’t want me to? That they did? I banged my head into the pillow a few times, which was more dissatisfying than failing at banging it into my steering wheel. They didn’t...expect me to come over. Dammit. Was that code for I should? Or I shouldn’t?
Ding. Sorry, I think I made this weird. Anyway, I was thinking about maybe asking Mara if she’d want to come on a new series of TLS. I’m 89% sure she’d run away in horror, but I might ask, anyway.
Ooooooh, that would be amazing. And I liked Mara so much the one time we’d managed to hang out. I sent back, Yes! Do! And she’s partially responsible for me having the guts to talk to you, so I sort of feel like we owe her whatever help we can give. (Or that she’s interested in.)
Ding. I didn’t know that! I forgive her for spilling my old show nickname then. With a winking emoji and immediate follow-up message: That winking thing looks way creepier than I thought it did, I officially take it back.
I smiled at my phone, which was admirably lighting up my duvet cave, though the screen was beginning to fog up from me breathing on it. Oh no, you’ve emoji-
winked at me, no takebacks. I sent back five creepy winking faces and one tongue-out because I felt that best expressed my feelings on the matter.
Had they giggled when they saw that message? I hoped they’d giggled.
Ding. No takebacks on emojis does seem like a fair deal. I suppose...
EMOJIS ARE FOREVER
Ding. Literally lol. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.
Me too. You, not me. I look forward to me seeing you. Not the other way around. And before I even knew I was doing it, I added a heart eyes and hit send.
Sidney sent back a heart eyes.
I buried my head in my bed again.
Tomorrow would bring a chill, calm evening with my date. Huh, that didn’t sound as good to me when we weren’t together. A chill, calm evening with Sidney. Now that I could totally get behind. And on top of. And underneath. And against. And—
I braved the suit in order to eat some pasta with a pesto sauce I’d made. Too bad I didn’t have enough for our Valentine’s Date. I could make more. Or a different sauce. Maybe I’d play with ingredients in the morning. Just in case. Sidney had said they had an idea for our date, which might mean food, but with Sidney it was just as likely to totally not mean food, so making a sauce was good prep work. And if they’d already planned on food, no problem, I’d have leftovers for a few days.
If it wasn’t food, then what was their idea? But they said we’d still do it at my place, so it had to be pretty low-key, right? I hoped, anyway. That’s what I needed: a no-pressure date with my Sidney. My date. Sidney, my date. My date Sidney. Not my Sidney, that was weird.
Also, the suit was looking at me again.
I washed my face and brushed my teeth and climbed in bed to watch a documentary on art restoration, carefully facing away from the damn suit. Eventually I fell asleep with visions of cuddling dancing in my head. And no damn wedding suits.
Chapter Twenty-Two
In preparation for Valentine’s Date I cleaned my apartment and the big open kitchen/dining room/living room of the main house. Toby followed me around, lying in his bed in each space at an angle from which he could watch me clean. Then I made a sauce. A just in case sauce. Because you never know when you’re going to want to serve your datefriend pasta with a delicious homemade sauce (and it was delicious).
Fifteen minutes before our date was supposed to happen I remembered I hadn’t cleaned the half bath in the main house and ran over to do that, imagining myself in mid-toilet-scrub when the doorbell rang. But nope, avoided that by being mid-actual-peeing when the doorbell rang.
At least Toby understood me. He was a nervous pee-er too.
I didn’t know why I was suddenly nervous. Suit hangover? Wedding dread? That sounded bad. I shouldn’t be dreading the wedding. Or rhyming. I shouldn’t be plying rhymes about dreading weddings.
The doorbell rang again.
I banished Toby to the back yard and went to answer.
Sidney. Looked. Amazeballs. Dark gray shirt pinstriped a very subtle shade of violet, black brocade vest over that, and a flowy skirt. With clunky combat boots.
“You...you look fucking awesome.” I gestured to my own old-jeans-and-ratty-T-shirt combo. “I had no idea we were dressing up, I’m so sorry. I mean, I thought about dressing up, but then I thought maybe that would be strange, so I didn’t, but now I wish I had.”
They smiled and kissed me hello. “You always look good to me.”
Which definitely should have felt nice, but instead just compounded my crimes. “I’m really sorry. I hope this doesn’t mess up our Valentine’s Date.” A voice in the back of my head was moaning, This was supposed to be casual, what happened to casual?
“How could it?” They held up the grocery bags they were carrying. “Kitchen?”
I led them through to the back of the house. “I’ve been on the edge of my seat to find out what we’re doing.”
They set the bags on the counter and turned toward me. They’d done a thing with their hair where it swooped to one side with a braid that started above their right eye and ended over their left ear.
“I like your hair,” I said, feeling weirdly shy.
They touched it. “Thanks. Um. Okay. This might be a silly idea? But I brought over stuff to bake cookies. Because you said you preferred that to a fancy dinner date, which is traditional for Valentine’s Day. But if that doesn’t sound good, we can always acquire actual food instead. We can do whatever. I’m not devoted to the cookie idea.”
Oh god, they’d tailored the date to, like...me. And I’d shown up in ratty clothes internally whining about wanting things to be casual. “Oh my god, that sounds amazing. Let’s make and then eat a whole bunch of cookies.” I waved my hands around. “Go on, what’d you bring?”
They exhaled. “I was into this a few days ago, but then when I packed it all up to come over I started thinking I had guessed wrong. This dating thing is not for the faint of heart, Declan.”
“You’re telling me. Now let me see what you got.” They stepped aside so I could look at all the goodies. “Oh boy, are we making sugar cookies? And, like, decorating them?” I shoved my glasses up as if to better see what I was unpacking. “Oh my god, are these dinosaur cookie cutters?”
“You have to be a little careful with the T. rex’s arms. Sometimes they crack off. But for the most part, they work really well. I mean, I haven’t used them that much, but I can make a small batch of cookies in my toaster oven.”
I jumped up and down, partially in genuine delight, partially in residual nerves and overcompensation. “Sidney. This is the best. When do we get started?”
“Now, I think?”
“Yaaaaaay!” I might have been overdoing the enthusiasm a little judging by the uncertain look they shot me. “Do you want something to drink? I have sparkling water in legit glass bottles, also I have the makings for hot cocoa, which we can have now while baking, later while eating, or both. Because we’re grown-ups and we can have as much hot cocoa and cookies as we want.”
They hesitated. “Do you have marshmallows?”
“I have two different kinds of marshmallows. I was totally in the mood, but I couldn’t decide whether to go with ginormous white ones or multicolored little ones, so I bought both.”
Sidney nodded approval. “I find the small ones are more visually appealing in a cup of cocoa.”
“I agree. And they melt faster. But sometimes you need a really big marshmallow in your life.” I held their gaze with a ridiculous smile on my face.
“That sentence wants to be innuendo but I can’t make it work,” they said after a second.
“I know! I tried, though.” I rubbed my hands together and surveyed our ingredients. “So, mixing bowls. Mixing bowls, mixing bowls, must find the mixing bowls.”
* * *
There should be a scientific formula for how much cookie dough gets eaten before the cookies go into the oven. You’d have to take into consideration the number of bakers and the length of time since each of them last ate, plus tolerance for the risk of salmonella poisoning.
Sidney and I apparently both had a high tolerance for potential food poisoning, though they told me it was the flour you really had to watch out for.
Sugar cookie batter, while not as satisfying to eat as chocolate chip cookie dough, was still pretty tasty, and once we had all of our dinosaurs in the oven we did a fair amount of “cleaning” up the bits that were left over by, you know, eating them in between sips of cocoa.
“I considered getting the pre-made icing,” Sidney said, running a damp cloth over the counter while I washed the dishes we’d already used. “But then I realized that it might be nice to have something to fill the time with. It was weird. I already know we’re comfortable just sitting here watching TV, so I don’t know why I felt all this pressure to come up with things for us to do.”
Which would have
been an acceptable place for me to admit I was a little jittery too, but I didn’t know how that would help, so I didn’t. “What kind of icing are we making?”
They rinsed off their hands and started drying mixing bowls. “It’s just powdered sugar and lemon juice, but I brought colors and actual brushes to use.”
I nudged them. “Brushes? We’re going to paint our dinosaurs?”
A pink flush stole over their cheeks. “I, um, saw it on YouTube.”
“Did you do...research for this date?”
“Look, I don’t date, it’s Valentine’s Day, which I know has some meaning to you, and I really wanted you to have a good time—”
“Teasing, teasing, sorry.” I nudged them again. “No matter what, it’s bound to be a much better date than us sitting in a fancy restaurant having to choose between multiple forks.”
“I get off on using the wrong fork for things. Sometimes it’s not obvious, but sometimes it is. Or spoons. Using a soup spoon to stir coffee really makes people uncomfortable.”
I giggled. “You are so sadistic.”
“I consider it my job to unsettle people. Or less my job and more my calling.” They glanced over, one eyebrow slightly raised, Very Serious Expression. “I didn’t ask for this calling, Declan, but it is my grave responsibility to give back to the world that has given so much to me.”
“So much, uh, being-unsettled?”
“Ha. Actually, yeah. I never seemed to make sense in any context I was put into, so now I bring my not-sense-making right to other people’s doorsteps. Or computer screens, whichever.”
“I like it. Your way of not making sense. It makes a lot more sense to me than other people’s way of making sense. If that makes sense.”
They groaned. “Too far. You took it too far.”
“Just far enough.” I shut off the water. “Okay, what’s next?”
By the time the cookies were cool (the ones that survived the initial, uh, human meteor strike of us “tasting” them, anyway), we had four bowls of very brightly colored icing: hot pink, neon green, electric blue, and lemon yellow.