Page 41 of Our Big White Lie
Does she know how to do that?
Don’t know but at this point it’s worth a try
It felt normal. We felt like, well, us. Not like us who’d very nearly gotten carried away against the kitchen counter. Not like us who’d avoided eye contact for days before finally having a painfully awkward conversation this morning.
That gave me some hope that this would pass. We’d both dwell on it and cringe over it for a few hours, and then we’d be back to normal tonight. That was how things usually went with us. I mean, not that we’d ever made out before, but any time we’d been out of sync or we’d had a silly argument, that was how we stumbled back into normal. The bigger things—the rare fights we’d had over the years—took some more work to haul us back onto the rails, but this didn’t feel like that. It felt monumental in some ways, but not like someone had said or done something to hurt the other.
By the time I pulled in our driveway after work, I was equal parts certain we’d iron this out and terrified it was going to get even worse. Why were emotions so damn complicated? They were stupid.
It was just as well Tori and I lived together. There was no avoiding each other forever when we were both in the same small house.
At the front door, I paused for a deep breath. Then I let myself in.
As she always was, Tori was on the couch with her lap desk and computer. She put them on the coffee table while Tucker came up to greet me, and she watched me uneasily as I petted the fluffy boy. The moment reminded me a little of when I’d come home after we’d had that fight over her suggesting the wedding. There was no anger or hostility, but the worry came off her in waves. It probably radiated off me, too, because it didn’t matter how many times we’d overcome things—I was always irrationally afraid this time would be the one we couldn’t fix.
Then she cleared her throat. “Hungry?”
My stomach was full of panicking butterflies, but… yeah, I was hungry. “A bit. Do we have anything left from the last meal kit?”
“There’s a pasta dish and some kind of sandwiches.” She pushed herself up. “You want me to make the pasta?”
“Sure. Should I make a salad?”
“A salad would be great.” Her smile was genuine and normal, which let me release my breath. When I relaxed, so did she.
And… that was that. Without saying a word about it, we were good. Just like we always were when we hit little bumps like this.
Why can’t relationships be as easy as being friends with you?
After dinner, we met up with my mom to discuss some more wedding details. She had a finalized list of guests she and Dad wanted to invite, and we wanted her to take a peek at the invitation design before we submitted it to the printer.
“We also need to figure out dates for your bridal shower,” Mom said, peering at her calendar. “Maybe something in?—”
“Uh,” I broke in gently, “actually, we… um…”
She turned to me and pulled off her glasses. “Hmm?”
“Um.” I exchanged glances with Tori, who gave me a subtle nod. To Mom, I said, “Well, the thing is, we were thinking—we really don’twantto have a bridal shower.” I braced internally for even the slightest hint of disappointment.
“Oh.” Mom paused as if to process that. Then, to my great relief, she smiled and said, “Well, that’s about fifty fewer thank-you notes you need to write.”
I laughed, hoping my relief wasn’t obvious. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Only because you haven’t had to write them for all your shower and wedding guests yet,” she said dryly. “That, my dear, is the real cost of a big wedding—the stacks and stacks of thank-you cards.” She gestured at me with her coffee cup. “Though at least you can divide the task with your bride.”
“You mean Dad didn’t help write?—”
Mom cut me off with a bark of laughter. “Oh, honey.” She shook her head as she brought up her coffee. “That’s a bride’s task, not a groom’s.”
I stuck out my tongue. “All the more reason to marry a woman, then.”
She grinned. “Well, you always were a smart one.”
I laughed, but when I flicked my gaze toward Tori, her vaguely uncomfortable expression reminded me of the reason we’d wanted to talk to Mom in the first place. Right. That.
I cleared my throat. “So, um, speaking of writing thank-you notes for wedding gifts…” I shifted with some renewed nerves. “We don’t just want to skip the bridal shower. We were also thinking of asking people to skip bringing gifts at all. To the wedding.”
“Oh.” Her spine straightened and her eyebrows rose. “Were you?”
