Page 12 of Summertime Friends

I lean in and kiss her.

6

EMERSON

Now

Today sucked. Laura kicked it off beautifully with a reminder that we have one day to decide on a venue, and everything else decided to follow suit. Dropping my lunch, stepping in gum, and missing my workout. Ending the day with an engagement shoot should make it better, but it doesn’t.

They never do.

I don’t know why I torture myself by being a wedding photographer as a side gig.

My last fling got one thing right, kind of, when he called it with me. He told me that I don’t know what love is or how to love. I’m slightly, like 63 percent impossible of love. I should honestly come with my own set of fine print and an asterisk next to the word love. Then, anyone who gets to know me can go to the bottom of the page and understand what they can expect from me.

I love a lot of things.

I love books. I love Chicago. I love my friends. I love black coffee. I love biking to work. I love meal delivery services. I love being behind the camera!

I understand love and its existence outside of it being romantically toward another person. That unconditional bullshit is fake. It’s a construct to make companies, i.e. Hallmark, money, fooling people, as in Laura, into overpaying for something that inevitably ends in misery. It’s made up to be all romance novelesque. Sure, those have happy-ever-afters most of the time, but there’s always someone getting heartbroken in the process, and I don’t want that to be meagain.

This sounds terrible, being engaged and all, but in my own strange way, I have a form of love for Brandon.

Scrolling through the photos I captured in the past hour, I glance up at the couple.

“Blake, these are stunning. Seriously! You picked the perfect location for this.” I smile at my coworker, Blake, who is standing a few feet in front of me.

Blake giggles. Not in a cute little girl way, but in a light, airy laugh that warms the cool evening air.

“I’ve been dreaming of doing my engagement photos here since I was seven, coming into the city. Luckily, Ben—” She glances at him. “Thought the location was perfecttoo,” Blake sarcastically says the last part. She squeezes Ben’s bicep playfully.

“Yeah, luckily, Ben thought the location was perfect.” He speaks in the third person. His laugh is a sign that says, ‘I didn’t get an opinion on where my engagement shoot would be. . . or what to wear.’

Blake lovingly smiles at him.

Four months ago, Blake Murray began working at Nelson and Moore, a full-access marketing agency. She coordinates the photo and video shoots needed for campaigns.

She came rushing into my office this morning, worrying and acting as if the end of the world was happening. I freaked out, thinking something was falling through with one of our products or shoots. No, it was the end of her world because her photographer bailed on them tonight and for their wedding. She begged me to step in—on her knees, begging me. Blake even offered to throw in an extra $2,500 since it was last minute.

Even though I was at my capacity for the year, I couldn’t fathom her without one. I said yes.

Wrapping up, the three of us walk to the park entrance while the sun is in its final moments of setting over the city. I take my equipment bag off my back and begin putting away my camera.

“How long will it take to get the gallery back?” Blake asks.

“The full gallery usually takes about two weeks. . . unless Margot throws any extra work my way; then it’ll be about three or four.” She appears slightly disappointed by that. “But I can send over a sneak peek of ten shots by the end of the weekend?”

“We’d love that. Thank you,” Ben jumps in.

“I’ll handle Margot. Let her know about your priorities.” She fake cracks her knuckles as if she’s ready to throw a punch.

Ben and I laugh at her.

“I don’t think Margot will see your wedding as my priority.”

“You barely see your own wedding as a priority.”

“Blake.” Ben gives her a stern look.

---