Page 101 of The Matchmaker
“You look so beautiful,” I coo, but she just pushes past me to the makeup chair. She really does look stunning. She chose the blue dress, the one that Nush likes, and black strappy heels that I definitely wouldn’t be able to pull off, but she walks in like she wears them every day. Her jewelry is gold and understated and whatever she’s done to her skin has made it shimmer with each step.
“What’s with the face?” I ask, as she starts to pack away the lipsticks and brushes that clutter the table. “Are you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“It’s okay to be nervous.”
“But I’m not.” She zips up the makeup bag. “I’ve decided not to do it.”
“Do what?”
The skirt of her dress balloons around her when she sits, and she smacks it back down as she reaches for her heels, undoing the straps with quick, jerky movements. “Tonight,” she explains. “I’m not going to do tonight. I’m not meeting my match.”
“Very funny,” I say. “But we’ve got to go. You’re late and I have, like, three tasks to do. Maybe four.”
“I’m not going, Katie.”
“Again, so funny. Chop chop.”
She removes her shoes and stands, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. “I’m not going,” she repeats, and I hesitate.
“You have to go,” I say slowly. “Your match is waiting. You can’t stand him up.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Believe me, I do.”
“Gemma—”
“It’s not like he’s going to want me anyway,” she mutters, and my mouth drops open.
“Excuseme?”
“Oh, don’t do that. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. It’s insulting.”
“I’m not pretending. What are you even talking about it?”
“I’m talking about the fact that I’m way too old for something like this.”
“You’re forty-two.”
“Exactly!” she exclaims. “Forty-two. Not twenty-two. Not thirty-two. Not any of the fun ages. And I can barely fit into thisstupiddress, and I’ve made a mess of my hair and—”
“Gemma! Chill!”
She shuts up as I take her by the shoulders, holding her steady as she starts to hyperventilate.
It freaks me out seeing her like this. She’s not the freakout one. Nush and I are the freakout ones. Gemma is the sarcastic one. The tough one. She’s had to be for Noah.
“Where’s this coming from?” I ask, and she pulls out of my grip, smoothing down the front of her dress before doing it again. And again and again and again until I bat her hands away. “Stop it. Sit down.”
“Just go back to the—”
“Sit. Down,” I say, and she pauses at the warning in my tone. She takes a seat, watching me warily, but I don’t care. I’ve never heard Gemma speak about herself like this. Not once. And screw her if she thinks I’m just going to let her do so now. “I’m only going to ask one more time,” I say. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She scowls, unable to hold eye contact. “It was a mistake signing up for this. I don’t know what I was thinking putting that form in. All this talk of romance and soulmates and finding the one…I just got caught up in it.”
