Page 9 of Headstrong Like Us
“Yeah. I do.” He flips the page and we’re met with five different color palettes. Farrow quickly looks to me. “Breathe.”
I’m breathing.“I thought this was athisorthatbinder. Why are there five options here?”
“Probably because Jane knew colors were a big deal and wanted to give us more choices.” Farrow is already uncapping a black Sharpie with his teeth and marking a big X on two palettes—both having reds in them.
He knows what he wants.
I like that.
It’s making this easier, and God’s honest truth, I’d like to take a whole century to plan this wedding. But we’re on a strict deadline.
Originally, we planned to marry in a couple years. No rush. And then everything changed when Jane and Thatcher got engaged. I didn’t want my best friend to push back her wedding, just so I can marry Farrow first. She hates the idea of stealing my spotlight, and even if I protested a thousand times over, I know Jane. She’d wait decades for me. That’s just who she is.
I don’t want her to wait, so Farrow and I decided to move up our wedding date tothisyear,thiswinter.
Farrow points to a dark green. “Yes or no?”
I shrug. “It’s fine.”
“This is your wedding too.” He wants me to have an input.
I nod, but my gaze drifts to the chalkboard wall. Where around two-hundred scrawled names are stacked in columns, almost reaching the ceiling.
My stomach knots. “What the invitations go in are actually less stressful than who they’re going to.” Our guest list has been steadily growing. I have a large family.
Farrow has friends from undergrad and medical school. More friends than me.
“Do you think your father will come?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He spins the Sharpie between his fingers, but his gaze is on the name:Edward Keene.“But probably more as a professional courtesy.”
I wish his father could love him as deeply as a father should love a son.
We’re quiet, the only sound coming from Gotham gnawing on kibble, and my teeth grind as I zero in on another name.
Samantha Calloway
My blue-blooded, socialite grandmother, who’s been worse than a thorn to me and Jane recently.
“What’s wrong?” Farrow asks me.
“Empedocles.” I bring up the Greek philosopher again. “He said,‘There are some forces in nature called Love and Hate. The force of Love causes elements to be attracted to each other and to be built up into some particular form or person, and the force of Hate causes the decomposition of things.’And when I think about my grandmother, I think of Hate.” I shake my head a couple times. “I’m worried that her hatred will ruin our wedding.”
His brows spike. “We don’t have to invite her. Fuck, I don’t even want her there.”
“Neither do I, but she’s my mom’s mother. Plus, leaving her off the list but inviting my grandfather—her husband—it’s not going to blow over well. And she sent us that fucking card.” It said,I look forward to your nuptials.
He leans back. “It was lazy and trite. My nephew could’ve been more sincere, and I’ve barely talked to him.” He picks himself off the floor and approaches the black-painted wall. No hesitation, he smudges her name away with the side of his fist. Farrow glances back at me. “Okay?”
I nod, breathing stronger. “It feels right.”
Farrow doesn’t return to the floor. He rests his shoulders on the wall, and he looks…is he nervous? Farrow drags his gaze for half a second before planting his brown eyes on me.“I don’t want to stress you out.”
I’m just confused—and the more he towers above, the more I hate being below. So I stand up. “Did something happen?” My shoulders square.
“No.” He almost smiles. “This isn’t one of your doomsdays.” He pauses. “At least not to me. I’m not completely sure what you’ll think.”
“Just tell me, man.”
