Page 165 of Charming Like Us
Wedding dresses, RSVPs, bridal jubilation.
Let the good times roll, right?
Except the day I don’t have to attendanotherwedding, will be all too soon. Hell, I foolishly believed I was past wedding season.
No more weddings for Jack Highland this year. I’ve had my fill. I hit a max.
Being face-to-face with another one is like watching an embarrassing home video, even knowing the good outcome—me and Oscar together—exists.
It reminds me of Anacapri where I flubbed an opportunity to kiss Oscar.
It reminds me of Ali & Troy’s wedding and Ambrose & Cody’s where I wandered around alone and thwarted the “who’s your plus-one” question a hundred times.
Then my RSVP came in the mail, along with a photo of Thatcher & Jane on a pastel blue couch, seven cats strewn on their laps.
And I knew I’d make room for this wedding. In my heart and my mind. November 1st, I’ll be there. Might even be filming (if I still have a job) or I could be hand-in-hand with an actual plus-one this time.
Every day feels good being with Oscar.
Anyway, tabloids were shockingly sweet to Jane with articles like,Re-create Thatcher & Jane’s Quirky Cute RSVP!
Out of the famous ones, she’s one of the least likely to elicit a positive response from the media. And as someone whose relationship is attacked and dissected daily by Oslie stans, I’m glad the media is celebrating her upcoming wedding and not tearing it down.
Jane Cobalt deserves that.
What do you deserve, dude?
My job, for one. No question. No hesitation.
I’ve worked too hard to lose it all.
But my role as exec producer is still in “evaluation”—and the irresolution of it all is the worst part. The feeling ofincompletion.Every project, every goal around me is halfway done, and no matter how much effort I put forth, it might never be finished.
I’ve always finished what I’ve started and carved out a path to a bright future, and knowing that I could be on no path…
That has taken a toll on me. Mentally.
It’s made more than just my work feel incomplete. Little things like not having time to fill up my Mazda with gas. A quarter tank shouldn’t feel like a tsunami is about to sweep me under.
And I confess, it didn’t used to.
I miss being able to walk through my days like a sunny breeze. I told that to Oscar, and he asked me if I’ve ever seen a therapist. I have, when I was younger. I used to take medication for anxiety, and when I stopped having to take meds, I was stoked. Proud, even. Like I was stronger now.
I know I was wrong.
I’m not weak for needing help. It’s not a badge of shame. It’s a tool to take my life back, and I feel that today. After seeing a new therapist, after taking anxiety meds this morning, that overwhelming sense of incompletion has been hushed.
And finally, I can focus on my work without drowning.
I mill around the boutique (store closed to the public today) while the Calloway sisters and their daughters chitchat on chaises and cream-colored couches. Everyone waits for Jane and her mom to exit the dressing room.
Red-headed, blue-eyed Audrey Cobalt spits a strawberry petit four in a napkin and looks directly into my camera. Like she was caught stealing.
Won’t air that.She’d probably request to keep it on the cutting room floor.
I smile from behind the Canon and make the hang-loose gesture.
She blushes.
