Page 96 of Her Goal
29
LEAH
While I domy nightly revenge bedtime internet browsing, I get stuck in a noisy thought loop, analyzing and rehashing the dumb, dumb, dumb date with Grimaldi and everything that happened afterward.
I was joking when I suggested that Hudson and I get married at the fair. Obviously. Only clowns have carnival or circus-themed weddings, right? No offense to anyone, but … it doesn’t seem particularly romantic.
I stop in my social media scrolling tracks.
Even though I’ve told everyone I know that I’m looking for a hockey player for my happily ever after, I never once seriously considered the wedding. You’d think with my love for the sport, I would’ve wanted to skate down an icy aisle, have my groom dress in his team uniform, and go all in on hockey-related foods and snacks, and our multi-tiered wedding cake would resemble the Stanley Cup.
These aren’t bad ideas, come to think of it. Why on earth would my family, or even Margo for that matter, think a black cats, top hats, and golden hour-inspired wedding fits me?
Perhaps I don’t know myself as well as I thought, though, because I’ve been so fixated on the goal—the destination—Ihaven’t paused to consider the journey along the way. Which is right now. Tonight with Hudson.
However, I’m smart enough to realize that I’m not ready, especially if I can’t even communicate with the guy.
Even though I’m lying down, my spirits dip, flattening me like a puck and I go down a sidebar of thought about the disc-like shape of a puck versus something puffier or more ball-like. My brain, I tell ya.
Not surprisingly, I come back to thinking about the Cobbiton Harvest Carnival and spending time with Hudson. There was something uniquely empowering about suggesting we get married rather than have it be arranged by my family.
Or not at all.
Hudson has hardly protested, so is he onboard, or is he terrified Abuela will curse his love life? Could be that he’s just going with the flow.
My thoughts scramble when I turn back to the videos on my phone as I swipe, swipe, and swipe some more, not able to turn off my brain by exploring posts about “The latest diet combined with five key supplements for increased energy and stamina” or “How to write and publish a book in seven days or fewer.”
I mean, I suppose it’s possible. But what about falling for your alleged enemy in thirty days or fewer? Or how to untangle your confusing feelings for beginners? Or how to talk to the guy you’re not sure you have feelings for and your parents somehow got it in their heads that you should marry him?
Now that’s a clunker.
I mean, we could elope.
But I couldn’t imagine saying my vows without my family present.
Does that mean I can imagine saying them with Hudson in the first place?
The sensible thing would be to put my foot down and tell them we’re not tying the knot.
Letting out a long-held breath, I resolve to use my words … to my family first. The nagging feeling that it’s Hudson I should talk to gets real pesky, real fast.
I do my best to distract myself with my phone, but the noise in my head is louder and there’s no volume button.
Even though I pretended not to hear him, he said I looked beautiful. He’s not supposed to drop bombs like that when I’ve been filling his inbox with hate for years.
Taking the old-time photos was fun and we laughed together rather than at each other, which felt good.
And let’s not forget when Grimaldi was being an idiot, Hudson used fighting words to defend my honor and tucked me into his side, possessively, affectionately.
Isn’t all of this what I’ve longed for?
Hudson Roboveitchek, of all people, had to be the one to deliver. Be careful what you wish for and all that.
Now what?
I can’t answer that question, yet my mind won’t shut up. Per the recommendation of a social media expert, I decide to make productive use of my scrolling time and look up #ArrangedMarriage stories.
From what I see, usually, it works out.
