Page 50 of Check the Halls
“And he didn’t mind when you two started dating?”
She pulls a face. “Hell no. He hated it at first. But he came around.”
“Seriously? The Ben I knew had things his way or not at all.” That’s not to say he wasn’t extremely loving and generous when it was something he wanted. But he was not big on compromise.
“He’s grown up a lot, Maddy,” Beth says softly and I instantly feel ashamed. Yes, Ben and I have history, but he’s her big brother.
“Beth, I didn’t mean to–”
She waves me off, smiling again. “It’s fine. He definitely used to call the shots in our family, believe me. And everyone let him get away with it. I honestly don’t think he knew he was being selfish. But he realized the world does not in fact revolve around him and he’s changed for the better. I’m really proud of him.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “That’s great. I’m really happy for him.”
“Me too. And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Fill me in on your life! You’ve had a lot of exciting developments!”
“Well, the foundation is great and I love my boss.”They say never meet your heroes, but Chanda has lived up to all my expectations. “I’m slowly mastering the ropes, but the learning curve has been steep. But I think I’m going to be really happy there.” I mean the words, but if I’m being completely honest, the sheer number of problems that have arisen with the Gala have been quite discouraging.
Beth looks at me expectantly, but I’m not sure what else she wants me to say.
“And your other news,” she prompts.
“What other news?”
“Maddy!” She laughs. “You’re getting married!”
Right.That.
The fact that Beth asked about my life and Derek didn’t even enter my mind has alarm bells sounding.
I didn’t even think about him.
The realization is like a splash of cold water to the face, and suddenly, my heart is racing. My fiancé. The man I’m supposed to marry in nine months. How did he not factor into my answer? How did my mind skip over him so easily, like he’s just…not part of the equation anymore?
The panic rises fast, spiraling out of control as my palms begin to sweat. I picture the wedding invitations I haven’t ordered, the venue I barely remember touring, the dress I should have picked out by now. Nine months. That’s all the time I have to figure out how to bridge this gap that’s been growing between us, this chasm I don’t know how to close. Maybe it’s been there since we first started dating and I chose not to see if for convenience’s sake.
The move was supposed to bring us closer together. Instead, it feels like we’re speaking two differentlanguages, and every conversation is an exercise in miscommunication.
I try to tell myself it’s just stress. Everyone says wedding planning is hard. But it’s more than that. It’s the silence that hangs between us when we’re in the same room. The way I catch myself wondering, late at night, if this is how it’s supposed to feel.
Our relationship was never based on heart-racing passion. It was a mutually beneficial partnership. A way for both of us to get what we want in life. But what if that’s changed? What if I’ve changed? What if this is no longer enough?
“Maddy, are you okay?” I feel Beth’s hand squeeze mine and I squeeze back.
“Yes,” my voice cracks as I blink myself out of my thought spiral. I’m sweating more than I did in yoga class. “I’m sorry. I’m just thinking of everything that needs to get done before the wedding. I guess I got overwhelmed.”
“It will all get done,” she reassures me. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know. I don’t know much about planning a wedding, but I live for making lesson plans for my class. My obsession for pretty spreadsheets borders on unhealthy.”
“Thank you. Really. We’ve both been so busy with work since the move. I’m sure everything will get done.” I know Kathleen would jump at the chance to take over planning. She’s already criticized our venue (not big enough), our date (not soon enough), and the few other small details I have bothered to book.
Our food arrives but I struggle to eat, picking at the fries and taking small bites of my sandwich.
“You should come to the game next week,” she says casually before popping a french fry in her mouth.
I blink, caught off guard. “The game? You mean…the Otters game?” Ben’s game?
