Page 13 of Road Trip to Forever
I shrug. “Imagine if we had been friends for years and I didn’t know her middle name.”
“Whatisher middle name?” Henry asks.
“Patricia,” I say.
“It is not.”
“No. It’s not. It’s Adeline. Let’s move on to someone else’s love life,” I suggest, turning my attention to Henry and Emma. “What are you doing for your bachelor and bachelorette parties? It’s getting close to the big day.”
I never thought Henry, the man who claimed relationships weren’t for him, would getmarried, yet here we are, a few weeks out from an over-the-top, lavish ceremony at the history museum with a guest list a mile long. Even the governor is invited, an old family friend of Henry’s parents.
“Oh.” Emma brightens and leans into her husband-to-be, a sturdy pillar by her side. “We wanted to talk to you all about that.”
“No parties,” Henry says. “And no gifts either. Instead of people spending money on us, guests can donate to charities picked out by you all. Each couple will decide on an organization that’s close to your heart.”
“Wow,” Neil says. “Henry Dawson cares about someone other than himself? I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Is it love?” Noah asks. “Or the benefit of being obscenely rich?”
“Both, probably,” I say. “Because I’d take the blender and toaster oven.”
“If you all are finished,” Henry says, irritation ripe in his words, “I’d love to hear your opinions.”
“On what? Global warming?” I ask.
“Bitcoin?”
“Electric cars?”
“I hate all of you,” Henry grumbles.
“I like the idea,” Jack says, the one to stop our merciless teasing. “It’s for a good cause.”
“Some people get wiser with age. You get less grumpy. I’m proud of you.” Jo leans over and taps her boyfriend’s cheek. She lets out a squeal when he grabs her hand and presses a kiss to her palm, then the tips of her fingers. Jack’s eyes never leave hers as they dissolve into a private moment.
Another couple in love who found each other when they least expected it.
Another happily ever after.
There must be something in the water, a pitcher of Kool-Aid I didn’t get a sip of yet. Our circle of friends has multiplied in the last few years, adding significant others and moving on to the next stages of life.
Marriage. Children. Joint bank accounts and talk of a second dog. Swing sets and a wooden sandbox. A lawn perfect for Easter egg hunts and a place in the living room for decorating a Christmas tree in matching pajama sets.
Pain lances through me as I watch Jack and Jo, an ache I’ve grown to despise as of late. It happens when I see my friends with their partners, a noticeable rush of jealousy and loneliness I’ve tried to combat and ignore.
It’s bone-deep, that longing. A persistent bruise that won’t go away. The feeling of wanting another half to make you a whole. It’s an awareness of being left out, of being left behind. Of wishing I had someone to look at me the way they all look at their partners.
Like they’re a split second away from throwing a net around the moon and tugging it down as an offering of love.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and interrupts the intrusive thoughts creeping in. The prickly sensation in my chest abates, shifting to tolerable and bearable when I see Lola’s name on the screen.
There’s someone at the bar doing a Sudoku puzzle.
A printed out sheet of paper and everything.
Oh my god, he has a magnifying glass.
Are you in two places at one time?
