Page 118 of Faking Forever 1
“A few weeks now—and I’ve been fine. So chill about it, alright? Don’t blow the buzz.” he smiles calmly.
He’s lost it—every marble he had in the jar—gone. A few weeks means it’s just been gradually getting worse. Patting my shoulder once, he walks off, back to the front of the boat.
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I follow him, carrying all our unfinished business.
“Do younothear how insane that sounds, bro?” I bass up my voice, making sure he hears me, “You’re gonna get bad again—”
“Ihavecontrol.” He stops walking, making me run into his hand. Trust me. Nobody needs to worry about what I’ve got going on, Josh. Let’s just get this done so you can have your date. Yeah?” He nods once as if to ask me not to bring it up again.
How could I have missed this? I had a plethora of shit I wanted to lay on the table, but at that very moment, it was like a light showed me something new. That was his way of telling me to eat shit and let it go. As humbling as it is, maybe that was what was needed.
While the rest of the setup was silent, it resulted in a gorgeous display. We managed to finish hanging lantern lights all around parts of it—be it a smaller boat, that wasn’t so hard. I also have him to thank for the idea of dinner on the boat. Not any dinner. He suggested a lovely picnic basket of charcuterie and other finger foods would be suitable for the mood and give her a chance to have some authentic Italian food before she goes. The idea itself is sneaky, but it’s more of a pleasure for me, knowing she’ll probably ask me to feed it to her. That’s the whole idea, but I plan to keep it to myself, for my mind only.
* * *
I called Paisley the moment I felt it was a reasonable time.
I hardly slept, thinking about what I wanted to say when I gave her the ring—mostly how I would like to say it. It all 285
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mattered to me because overthinking is a newfound hobby of mine, it seems. It could be a build of anxiety-inducing events, and that’s normal, but it’s so endless when your brain won’t shut off. When I’m with her, it does, which leads me to be patient for her presence later. I even tried to linger on the phone longer than she probably wanted, asking her mindless questions to listen to her voice.
My suggestion was that she wear something above casual, which for her means going the extra mile when it’s never needed. In ways, you have to admire the people who take the extra time to make themselves feel the best. It doesn’t matter if it’s for reasons that make no sense to you when you think about how tedious it is for them. For Paisley, it makes her feel like she’s that girl. She is, but it’s even sexier that she does it for herself.
After getting ready, I sat by the clock, checking my phone, fixing my hair, and checking my pocket for the tiny velvet box until it was time. When it finally was, I almost left skid marks in my driveway from backing out so fast. I wish I could snap my fingers and have us appear on the boat like magic. I wish I could also freeze time and never have to watch her leave me.
Just as I thought I was getting rid of my lonely slumps, they’re, instead, right around the corner waiting for me, and it feels like hell.
One of Paisley’s best qualities is her inability to look bad. Her looks to me are a dime a dozen. The way she dyes her hair, which was freshly bleached and toned—to the way every piece of fabric that touches her body fits it so perfectly. I benefit when she putsin little extra touches, like wearing my favorite colors or doing her nails in a new style. It was never for me in 286
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the past, and honestly, it’s probablystillnot to please me. It does, though, without fail.
This evening, she was wearing silk. A rusty orange dress that had a sharp v-neck with barely visible spaghetti straps. It was form-fitting around her chest and upper half but loosened up perfectly from her hips to her upper thighs, making her legs look longer than they were. She was a stick of gold, and I wanted to eat her right here in the car. Pulling up to the curb, I come to a complete stop, almost running right into it from watching her walk to the end of the driveway.
Before she can try to open the door, I get out and fly to her service to do it first.
“Damn, you don’t evengiveme achanceto be a gentleman.”
I pull the door open, finding it entertaining.
“I can’t even open the door?” she says with a pretend attitude, hugging herself at my presence.
“Unfortunately, you lost that privilege a while ago. So sorry.” I say sarcastically, watching her.
She continued picking at her fabric and covering parts of herself as if she weren’t satisfied with her outfit choice.
“Hey, stop.” I say, pushing her hands down, “I wanna see my beautiful birthday girl.”
She whines, dropping her arms, “Josh, please, haven’t you seen enough of me?”
“It’s never enough. I thought you, of all people, would’ve known that by now.” I size her up, chewing on my bottom lip.
