Page 41 of Kissing for Keeps
Simmer down, y’all. He’s helping with the prep stuff. He’s Madi’s brother, after all.
Austin
Despite Siena’s forced labor threats, I’m bummed to report that it’s a no-go for me :( I talked to my manager last night. I already texted Madi to tell her I’m sorry.
Bless Austin for chiming in and changing the subject.
Siena
You’re so close, though!
Austin’s in Bucharest right now, touring Europe as one of the opening acts for a band I’d never heard of, but which apparently has a decent following, especially in Eastern Europe. He’s worked really hard, but I wish he could be here for Madi’s wedding. She’s close with my entire family.
Siena
We get it, though, Aus. This is a huge opportunity for you, and you deserve it! We’ll party hard on your behalf.
Austin
Just don’t party too hard with Jack *wink face emoji*
Heaven help me. I turn off my screen before anyone else can make any stupid comments, then head into the mall.
The craft store is small, but the selection is surprisingly robust. After debating for ten minutes, I decide on small linen bags and a simple white ribbon. They havejustenough for our needs, and I head to the parking lot, feeling anxious to get the favors done and dusted so I can move on to other tasks. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow after we’ve gone to pick up thefoie gras, though.
The parking lot is busier than when I arrived, and I have to wait for a few cars to pass by before I have enough room to open the back doors and put my purchases there.
Afterward, I suck in, squeezing between the big cement column and the van to get to the driver's door. I try to conjure a mental image of the spreadsheet so I can decide what to devote my time to when I get back to the chateau. If I wasn’t drowning in uncompleted tasks, I would be tempted to see whether Jack wanted to check out a couple of nearby villages or take a tour of a chateau, but there’s no time. It’s not a smart thought, anyway. The last thing I need is to be wandering through dreamy French villages next to Jack with lyrics fromBeauty and the Beastabout meeting Prince Charming playing in my head.
If Jack’s done with his work stuff, I’ll find a separate task for him to do. Give us a bit more distance from each other.
Looking through my rearview mirror, I wait for the cars to pass, giving me the chance to reverse. It takes a while, but finally, there’s an opening.
The car next to me isn’t a Smart Car anymore, which means I have a lot less room on that side and a massive column on the driver's side. In my rearview mirror, I spot the other column behind me, the main obstacle to backing up.
I reverse straight, watching the front end of the van so I know when I can start turning the wheel. This is one loooong van, though, so by the time the front end is clear, I’m dangerously close to the column behind me. There are two cars waiting for me to move so they can pass by.
I shift into first gear with a sigh. “Geez Louise. How many columns do youneedin a parking garage, France?”
My second attempt at backing out is no better than the first, and I feel the beginning prickles of nerves. But I got into the space; I can get out of it.
That confidence wears thinner and thinner the more I try, and being honked at twice and seeing the cars that line up every time I make the attempt isn’t particularly helpful.
In fact, my hands are starting to shake. It’s not just the stress of not being able to get out of this parking space. It’s the thought—dramatic as it might be—that every minute I spend in this incredibly busy parking garage is time I’m losing to check other things off my to-do list.
Fifteen minutes later, my eyes are filling with tears, and all I’ve managed to do is get closer to the column on my side of the car. I have to fold in my side-view mirror for the extra wiggle room, but that means I’m reversing partially blind. It’s terrifying, and even though I’m not claustrophobic like Madi, it feels like the space is getting smaller and the van is getting bigger.
Apparently, I willnotbe attending Madi’s wedding. I will be stuck in this parking garage, living in this van. At least I’ll have a grocery store upstairs. Maybe I can cook food on the engine.
I slam my hands on the steering wheel to jar myself out of those thoughts. Iwillget out of this space. I have to.
I put onSurvivorby Destiny’s Child to boost my confidence levels and put the van into reverse. Eyes hopping between the rearview mirror and the right side mirror, I press the gas softly, moving the van backward.
The waiting cars stack up, and my heart rate climbs like I’m doing a HIIT class rather than sitting in a van, lightly pressing a gas and clutch.
The song is so loud, it’s not until the bass lets up from the chorus that I hear the grating noise. It’s another second before I realize that it’s coming from my left. And onemoresecond before I realize that it’s the side of the van, scraping against the column.
My heart plummets into my stomach, and I turn off the music entirely. I’m paralyzed. If I pull forward, I’ll scrape the van even more. But I can’t reverse, either—I’lldefinitelyscrape it more if I do that.
