Page 44 of Save the Date

Emma had gotten the tattoo in her early twenties after a particularly brutal breakup with the guy she dated before meeting Tony. Seth had gone to college with one of Emma’s high school friends and after being introduced, they had spent six months nearly inseparable. It was the first time Emma met a boyfriend’s family or had someone reciprocate her premature “I love you.” For half of a year, Emma thought she’d done it—she’d found her future. But instead of appreciating what she had, she pushed and pushed and pushed for more. She wanted to move in together and start talking about wedding venues. At the time, it had felt like the natural and expected progression of things. In reality, they were twenty-three-year-old babies. They were supposed to be finding themselves, not settling down. Seth understood this. Emma…not so much.

After a month of public crying—Emma had always been somewhat of a sadness exhibitionist—she’d made an appointment at an acclaimed tattoo parlor on the Sunset Strip. A big burly guy covered in ink had taken her printed-out reference photo and sat down to delicately draw his beautiful interpretation of the flower. As the needle tortuously dipped in and out of her skin, Emma reminded herself that sometimes you have to go through pain to get to pleasure. She’d left that day genuinely excited about what was to come.

Now, nearly a decade later, maybe she’dfinallyfound what she’d been looking for.

“I love it,” Matt replied, looking up from her symbol of hope to stare directly into her eyes. It was the perfect opening for their first kiss and Emma thought she could actually feel her heart vibrating until she realized that it was actually just Matt’s phone buzzing on the table.

“Sorry,” he apologized, picking up his device and quickly scrolling through a barrage of messages. “One of my buddies is in town for the night and wants me to meet him at some club.”

“Oh,” Emma replied, trying to hide her disappointment atboth the moment being broken and the night potentially ending. “I don’t mind if you need to go. Long-distance friendships deserve priority.”

“That’s so cool of you to say,” Matt said. “Any chance you’d want to come?”

“To a club?”

He nodded.

A deluge of anxiety crashed through Emma’s body.

The last time she’d been at a proper club, she’d wanted to rip her ringing ears off and move to the woods so she would never have to dance in public again. Every single one of her limited club experiences had ended in humiliation, overstimulation and a dangerously intense hangover.

But she was Emma 2.0 now. And Emma 2.0 could do anything.

***

The club was horrible. From the moment Emma followed Matt into the darkness, she felt like a fish who had been flung from the safety of its bowl into an MRI machine. The electronic music reverberated through her skull and the flashing lights illuminated a crowd of people who seemed to have no regard for personal space. Emma briefly contemplated fleeing until she felt Matt’s hand give her three gentle squeezes. She owed it to him to try to stick around. Maybe she’d lose her hearing soon and it would become more manageable.

After navigating past the debaucherous dance floor, Matt flashed something at a security guard, and they were granted access to the VIP section. It was just as loud, but Emma was now able to walk without touching a stranger, further proving money could at least increase your happiness.

“MATTY MONROY,” a booming voice shouted from a red velvet booth. A man with a popped collar and sunglasses waved them over with a level of excitement that was probablydrug fueled. His table was packed with a combination of what appeared to be finance bros and Instagram models.

Emma looked down at what she had once considered to be her fashionable “going out” blazer and felt like a grandma crashing a frat party.

“That’s him,” Matt shouted in her ear, before leading Emma over. His preppy friend hopped down from his perch on the back of the booth and enveloped Matt in a bear hug.

When they finally broke apart, the Corey Hart wannabe screamed, “Who’s this?”

“Kyle, this is Emma. Emma, this is Kyle.”

“You look nothing like his wife,” Kyle stated as though someone had asked him to weigh in on the subject. “Want a shot?” He leaned over and grabbed a bottle of tequila from the table.

“Oh…uh… I don’t know—” Emma stammered as she sneaked a look at Matt. He swooped in to save her.

“We just came from drinks.”

“Then let’s keep the train rolling,” Kyle declared as he took a swig from the bottle. “Don’t worry, I use a lot of mouthwash, so my saliva is clean.” He thrust the bottle back in Emma’s face, daring her not to be a party pooper or challenge his flawed bacteria logic.

It struck Emma as remarkably unfair that at thirty-two years old, she was being peer pressured by a total stranger to take tequila shots straight from the bottle when what she really wanted was to be watching TV with a loving partner and a bowl of snacks. Emma wanted to be at home planning her wedding, not out on the town trying to seem like someone who wasn’t about to cry from overstimulation. But sometimes what you want and what you have don’t mix.

Emma contemplated the bottle that was now mere inches from her face and felt the familiar push and pull between staying true to herself and doing what would be easiest in a socialsituation. As an anxious child turned anxious teenager turned anxious therapist, she knew that for all the clamoring about the importance of “being yourself,” there would be real repercussions if she didn’t rise to the occasion and take a swig—both in the moment and later. She knew Kyle would loudly berate her and Matt might start to question if he could be happy with someone so uptight. Their unraveling wouldn’t be immediate, but this moment could plant a destructive seed. It would be his first image of her as someone who said no instead of yes. After so many failed relationships, Emma had to wonder if avoiding the disgusting taste of Don Julio was worth losing another promising match.

But before she could reach for a brighter future, Matt grabbed the bottle, took a large gulp and managed to distract Kyle away from his mission to get Emma wasted.

“Have you heard from Collins lately?” Matt asked as he veered his friend back toward the group.

“Yep. He’s having triplets. I told him he better get out of crypto if he wants to be able to send any of them to college.”

As the old friends dissolved into gossip, which appeared to be a mashup of financial analysis and old drinking stories, Emma sat at the very end of the booth and tried not to fall over. Without missing a beat or breaking from the conversation, Matt instinctively put his arm around her to keep her from tilting. She let herself lean into his strong chest as if they were a proper couple and not two people who hadn’t even kissed yet.

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