Page 75 of Hypothetical Heart
“Logan, we’re going to be fine.” For once, she’s the one assuring me and not the other way around.
I try to loosen my shoulders as she gives my hands a tight squeeze. “Okay, okay.”
“I need to go get ready, but I’ll see you later, okay?”
I nod.
It’s going to take Winnie a hell of a lot longer to get ready for this fancy gala than it will take me, and she’s already stayed long enough, trying to ease my worries.
For the next few hours, I do anything and everything to keep my mind off the fact I’m going to be ballroom dancing in front of hundreds of people. And to make matters worse, it’s for charity, so I really can’t fuck up.
Once it gets a bit closer to the time Winnie told me she’d be back at my house, I head back up to my room to start getting myself ready. The tux Madame Bacri picked out for me is hanging from the top of my closet door.
I hold up two different bow ties, inspecting each one, desperately waiting for one to match like it’s supposed to. Neither of them do. I sigh, throwing my head back and looking toward the ceiling as if I’m waiting for a new bowtie to fall from above.
When I look back down at my bed, where I had thrown the bow ties out of frustration without even realizing, I catch a flash of movement outside the window. More specifically, in the house next to mine.
I step in front of my window, hoping to catch her attention, and just like some magnetic pull that has had a hold on us our entire lives, she looks toward me in an instant.
Her hair is curled in big round waves, and I can tell her makeup is done more than normal. She furrows her eyebrows like she’s examining the panicked expression covering my face. I see her reach for her desk and then hold a pad of paper up to the window.
WHAT’S WRONG?She’s written on the paper in all caps.
I grab my own pen and paper, writing back like that one Taylor Swift music video—Winnie would know it.WHICH BOWTIE DO YOU LIKE BETTER?I hold up a finger, telling her to wait while I grab the options. When I hold them up, she shakes her head.
NEITHERshe writes in big, bold letters, underlining it.
THAT’S NOT AN OPTIONI write. This is a formal event. I need a tie.
SAYS WHO?She writes, ripping the paper off quickly so she can add on,IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WEAR A TIE THEN DON’T.
I set my pad of paper down, replacing it with my phone, sick of not being able to hear her voice. I call her and watch her face light up when she hears her phone ring.
“Don’t wear a tie,” is the first thing she says to me.
“Madame Barci would put my head on a stick,” I reply.
“You hate wearing ties. Just unbutton the first few buttons. That will make it look more ballroom dance attire anyway.”
I pace back and forth in front of the window, trying to decide whether I want to put myself through the torture or not.
“Logan,” Winnie says sternly, trying to grab my attention. “You hate ties.”
“I know, but this isn’t about me.” I run a hand through my hair roughly, tugging at the ends.
“Of course it is.” Winnie’s expression falls as she understands my distress. “You’re allowed to do what you want to do, Logan.”
Everyone in my life understands how big of a people pleaser I’ve always been and how difficult it has been for me to pretend other’s opinions don’t bother me when, in reality, my brain is a prison made up of other people’s expectations. Only an altruist can understand the weight of that.
“So, no tie?” I ask.
“No tie,” she confirms.
“Thanks, Win.”
“Of course.” I see her smile grow through the window. The same smile that has grown up alongside me like one of the trees that sits outside our windows, showcasing the beauty of changing seasons.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?” I stare at my clock above the window. I officially have an hour left to get ready.
