55
My shit together. Mine? I’m in bed when the anger finally shows up. I’m the one who’s in a healthy relationship. Wyatt’s just been occasionally sleeping with a pop star. And maybe I’m not showing my full colors and chasing my dreams, but it’s not like he’s up on a stage performing either. If he thinks I’m hiding behind Jack, what does he call feeding Missy songs and letting her wreck them? Ha! Who’s really lost their voice here?
I have a text from Jack at midnight: Miss you!!!
I stare at it in the dark. Why all the exclamation points? I hold my finger over them to read it as simply: Miss you. The quiet “miss you” is so much more romantic, like he’s got his head on the pillow, texting me because he misses me. The shouting text makes me feel like he’s in a bar and just remembered he owed me a high five.
Am I now such a tight-ass, I wonder, that I am editing my fiancé’s texts? I write back: Miss you too.
I sleep until eight, presumably because I have a sleep debt, and find my mom at the dining room table, deep into her watercolors. She doesn’t look up when she says, “What happened with Wyatt?”
I pour myself a coffee and examine the row of invitations on the counter.
“We broke up again.”
“Sam.” She puts down her paintbrush.
“He laid into me about all this stuff. It started with my wedding cake, he thinks he knows which one I like best. And then it spun out of control to his accusing me of living a total lie.”
“Oh.”
“What? Do you think I’m living a lie?”
“I think you’ve constructed a really nice life that you feel safe in.”
“What’s wrong with safe?”
“Nothing at all. Safe is great. There’s just a balance between safe and free, and I think you’re a person who might like to be a little more free in your life than you are.”
“I’m too old to run around playing Capture the Flag, Mom.”
“Not necessarily. But you could speak up a little more in your relationship. Jack loves you, and I bet he’d love you even more if he saw more of you.”
I pick up an invitation that has a pale blue brushstroke across our names and the lightest orange dots at the corners. Happy, I think. I like the idea of a wedding that begins with an invitation that doesn’t mind a pop of color. They are such small touches but they put me in our wedding, or at least something that feels like me.
“They’re beautiful, Mom. They give this whole thing a burst of happy energy.”
She looks up and smiles at me. “Good. That’s what we needed.” She goes back to her work and adds, “How could Jack turn down a burst of happy energy?”