Page 38 of I Think Olive You

“Oh my god! This is exactly like Crazy Rich Asians. This is unbelievable!” She bounces, like actually fucking bounces up and down in excitement.

“Sure… yeah. Just like Crazy Rich Asians. So, I need you to be discreet about this because I don’t want to mess it up. She’s important.”

Both women look up at me with something between crazed enthusiasm and sympathy. They nod though, sincere.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“So, you’ll come to the wedding, right? You guys don’t have dinner plans anyway. Plus, I’d just die to get to see your proposal.”

What can I do but nod? It seems like the path of least resistance at this point. Kelsey has an energy I’m scared to cross; especially given she knows who I am. She claps her hands in excitement.

“Do you have the ring?”

I reach into my pocket, offering the box I bought in town for the women to scrutinize and they get close to teary.

“It’s so beautiful,” Kelsey breathes. “Ceremony starts at six and should finish a little after seven so we can take wedding pictures at sunset. That’ll be your best bet! Only a few people from the wedding party will be in the grove and you’ll have some privacy.”

My panic ramps up, palms clammy around the ring box. Sweat gathers around my temples and forehead.

What the fuck are you doing? Are you really this goddamn stupid? Stop this, you piece of shit. This is too far.

I’m inclined to agree and it’s pretty scary when the hateful voice in my head starts to make sense—when it sounds like the voice of reason.

“I… uh. I need to get back upstairs. Giuliana is waiting and I don’t want to tip her off.”

Kelsey smiles in understanding, tapping the end of her nose—my secret safe with her.

“Of course. I’ll see you at the wedding, starts at six! Can’t wait!”

Yeah. Yeah.

It’s going to be fan-fucking-tastic.

I make it back to the room on shaky legs and if Giuliana notices something is off with me, she doesn’t say.

“I have dinner sorted out.” Bland. Benign.

Come on, just need to keep my shit together a tiny bit longer.

“Oh, yes?”

“We got invited to the wedding, by the bride herself. She heard me asking Francesca about needing dinner and was nice enough to include us.” For the very small price of more secrets and lies.

“I have nothing to wear.”

“There’s a dress in the bag, I guessed on your size so it might be a little off.”

Giuliana reaches into the bag on my bed, untouched. Her phone’s plugged in so she was probably dealing with work calls and emails. For a brief moment I panic about the journal, but she shows no indication of having read anything.

The dress she pulls out of the bag is red. Is red a bad wedding color? I don’t know, I’ve heard it somewhere. One of those stupid traditions or old-wives’ tales. Bad luck or something? I fucking hope not.

“I’m…uh. I’m going to go shower if that’s okay.”

“Sure, I’ll go after you.”

In a different moment my brain might have latched onto that—ran with the idea of her being naked in a space I’ve just been naked in, and the intimacy it suggests. Instead, I do my best not to stumble into the bathroom and lock the door with shaking fingers. Setting the ring box on the counter of the sink, I tug the clothing from my body—every fiber of fabric rubbing me raw. It’s all too much.

My heart gallops, nausea building, roiling. For the first time in a while the urge to vape is overwhelming and I realize how much I relied on it to try and calm my nerves. A fat lot of good patches are doing to help me now. My ribs feel like how I imagine a corset does, pulling tauter and tauter until I can feel my stomach in my chest cavity.

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