Page 94 of In the Net
But Sebastian wearing a suit? Somehow, that’s evenmorebeautiful than I expected.
If I ever thought I was prepared to see Sebastian in a perfectly fitting charcoal suit, white dress shirt, and purple tie, and his normally unruly hair tamed, without my brain turning into mush at the first sight of him and sparks crackling through my veins all day long—I was wrong.
And I’m definitely not the only one at this wedding who’s appreciating the sight. Every one of my female relatives—the bride included—had stars in their eyes as I introduced him.
On more than one occasion, the stars in those eyes turned into shards of envy when Sebastian wrapped his arm around myshoulders or looped it around my waist, pulling me close to him and making it very clear whose date he is.
It’s exactly what I wanted.
Every family member who ever lectured me about how I’m failing tofind a manhas a foot firmly planted in their mouths tonight. Many of my cousins who’ve always looked down on me are looking at me with admiration or envy.
You don’t need to be a genius to guess which of those looks Mackenzie’s been wearing. She’s greener than my dress.
Speaking of this dress, and speaking of looks, Sebastian’s been eyeing me all night long with so much hunger that I think he’d literally eat this dress off my body just to get to what’s underneath it.
It’s probably just because he hasn’t been able to be with any girl other than me for almost two months now.
That explanation feels like a splash of cold water down my back.
A couple of my guy cousins have commandeered Sebastian to talk sports with him. A lot of them are current or former college athletes themselves, though at a much lower level, and they’re champing at the bit to talk sports with a guy who’s going to be in the NHL before long.
“Honey,” my mom’s voice makes me pull my eyes away from Sebastian. Probably a good thing, because they were starting to glaze over. The black rims of his glasses go scandalously well with the tone of his suit.
My mother’s voice is full of more warmth than usual, and when I turn to face her, her eyes are brimming with excitement.
“Dear, Sebastian is amazing. I’m so happy for you,” she practically gushes. There’s nothing phony or begrudging about either her words or the smile stretching across her face.
When my cousins told me how lucky I was to be with Sebastian, I felt satisfied. Petty, maybe, but with how petty somany of them have been to me over the years, I figure I can excuse myself just this once.
But when my mom tells me she’s happy for me … I don’t feel that satisfaction. What I do feel is a small shiver of guilt.
I force a smile, though. “Thanks, Mom.”
She wraps me up in a hug. “I hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of him,” she says next to my ear, her eagerness and happiness for me totally undisguised.
I flash her a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. Luckily, one of her sisters she doesn’t see too often passes by, pulling her attention away before she can notice how strained it is.
Of all the people in my family who criticized me over how I live my life prioritizing my academics above dating, my mom was, naturally, the loudest and most constant. Not the most vindictive, not by a long shot, but, being my mother, she was the one who made sure I never really had an escape from it.
A big part of why I wanted a date for this wedding was to score a kind of win over her.
But unlike so many of my cousins and aunts, she isn’t reacting with envy or resentment at being proven wrong by me showing up with the hottest and most successful date among the whole family.
Instead, she’s happy. Genuinely happy. Unselfishly happy.
A conflicted feeling winds through me.
My mom is wrong about believing that the only thing of any real value a woman can do is have a family. She’s wrong about how she’s often spoken to me about living my life with different priorities.
But she grew up being raised to believe that getting married and having children was the be-all, end-all of a woman’s life. Her family means everything to her. It’s what makes her happy.
She just wants me to be happy, too.
She’s wrong about what she thinks is best for me, and she’s been wrong about how she expresses it—but she does want what shethinksis best for me.
My heart grows heavy in my chest. She’ll be sad when we “break up.”
That thought has my stomach dropping. A nervous feeling, almost like dread, spills through my chest.
