Page 107 of The Plus-One List

No. I cannot be up. I cannot go up there all alone, and say the words that are now blurring on my phone screen. I need my anchor. I need to know that I’m grounded.

Whereishewhereishewhereishe …

I walk on shaking legs up the short steps to the dais. Rachel is beaming, but I can see the worry in her eyes. She knows. She knows I’m losing it. I feel myself start to unravel at the seams. I feel my joints start to loosen and crack as I stare out at the sea of faces. Every pair of eyes is its own unique pinprick, pinching my skin, making me feel so exposed in a way no amount of satiny fabric could ever cover. My breath comes in shallow pants and sweat trickles down my spine. The microphone isn’t at the right height, but the thought of somehow having to adjust it myself while everyone watches is just too much. There are too many eyes, too many murmurs, they’re all looking at me, why can’t everyone just look somewhere else for a minute?

My hand shakes so hard I’m worried I’ll drop my phone. I catch Diego’s parents exchange a look. I know that look. It says What is wrong with her? It says Why is this weird girl here? She doesn’t belong. I don’t belong. Not in this opulent room, or in this opulent dress, or with any of these people.

Where is my person? The one who reminds me I’m enough?

I glance at Rachel who is whispering something to Diego.

The silence has dragged on for so long it’s humiliating. I can feel it, dripping down the nape of my neck, pooling around my shoulder blades, covering me like a cape. It’s awful and uncomfortable, and I don’t know how to break it.

I look down at my phone, at my stupid little speech I spent so much time practicing, and I can’t even read it. It’s a blur of letters, random shapes. I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say.

Someone coughs. It’s so loud in the silence.

“Congratulations,” I squeak into the microphone.

It echoes with feedback.

And then I run.

I hide in the bathroom for what feels like hours.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back out there. But I need to wait until the dancing starts, until everyone forgets. If anyone will ever forget that disaster. I probably cursed the wedding anyway, no plus-one needed. I’m sure Rachel will say it’s fine but it’s not.

And where was Agustín? This makes no sense. How could he have left me right before the speeches started?

I feel a tiny flame of anger ignite in my chest. This isn’t fair. He promised.

I march out of the bathroom, buoyed by that flame, and into the courtyard, which is now thankfully much dimmer, the dance floor crowded with people, the speeches (hopefully) forgotten. Then I see Agustín, sitting alone at our table all the way on the other side of the room. He looks upset.

Determination hardens in me. I march over to him, and he sits up when he sees me. His phone sits on the table in front of him next to a small glass of mezcal.

“Oh, Eloise, I’m so sorry—”

“Where were you?” I cry, dropping into the seat beside him. “You promised me!”

“I know, I know, I didn’t … I’m such an idiot. Something—came up.”

“Something came up?” I croak, choking on a laugh. “What? What could possibly have come up? How could you just abandon me? You knew how scared I was.”

“I know, Eloise, please believe me, I—”

Suddenly, his phone lights up with a text message.

Time seems to slow as I read the words printed on the little screen.

Neil, THE NEW YORKER: Great job getting that interview with Ricardo! Get us the final draft as soon as you can. So glad you found a way to get an invite to that wedding!

For a moment, my brain rejects those words in that order. Because no. That’s not … this doesn’t make sense. It feels like the floor has dropped out from under me. I am weightless, suspended in time.

I look at Agustín and see guilt etched across his handsome features.

Things begin to fall into place.

“This is why you wanted to come to the wedding with me?” I ask. My voice is so quiet. I feel myself beginning to break apart for the second time this evening.