Page 50 of The Dating Proposal
As I head out of the office, I send McKenna a text.
Chris: Heading to see Zander’s manager now about the segment. Gomez Hawks at eight p.m. See you there.
She doesn’t answer right away, and when I reach the restaurant, she’s only sent one word.
McKenna: Sure.
No exclamation point. No smiley face.
Huh.
I note the oddity, but I don’t focus on it. Instead, I head inside and focus on the meeting I’d been hoping to snag for a month now.
Besides, women are hard to read, even once you’ve fallen in love with one.
29
McKenna
It’s no big deal.
I’m not rattled by that call.
Not one bit.
I don’t mean the viewer’s email. Chris is right on that score. You can’t let those things get to you. That comment didn’t bother him, and it doesn’t bother me.
I mean the BIG ISSUE.
The “I’m over my trust issues” issue.
My heart hammers, my pulse spikes, and holy shit, I’m sweating.
I don’t sweat. I’m not a nervous sweat-type person. But when I tug at my pastel-yellow blouse, it feels like it’s sticking to me.
I head to my bedroom, appraising it in the mirror as Ms. Pac-Man trudges behind. “Ugh. Yellow is my worst color. Why did I pick yellow today?”
She slumps down on her dog bed without comment. At least she doesn’t say I told you so. Surely she’s advised me against yellow.
Did I listen? Evidently not.
I unbutton it furiously, missing a button and cursing. “Stupid buttons,” I mutter.
Fumbling the traitorous button through the hole, I toss the shirt in the laundry and fan my face with my hand. Why is it so hot?
I head to the bathroom, grab a washcloth, and blot it over my chest and under my armpits.
“Breathe,” I tell my red-faced reflection.
Ms. Pac-Man’s nails scratch the floor as she follows me, tilting her head quizzically.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
She quirks her snout the other direction.
“I don’t know,” I answer, my voice wobbly.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I shuffle to my closet, snag a peach Free People top, tug it on, and force myself to take a deep breath.
Or rather, to gulp in air like a fish out of water.
That’s how I feel.
Like I have gills on land.
Like I’m flopping around on shore without legs.
I crouch to Ms. Pac-Man, my center of gravity, and give her a hug, searching for a fixed point when my world is spinning weirdly off-kilter. “I just need to do something familiar. Something I’m used to, right?”
She rubs her cheek against my chest.
“I’ll go to The Best Diner in the City. I’ll take a lunch break. All by myself. Good idea, right?” I grab my lucky bag, kiss her goodbye, and hightail it out of my house, driving to the diner.
I hunt for my usual spot, but the block is packed.
The next one is too.
Where the hell is my parking good fortune?
I spot a free space and jerk my car into it, marching to the diner and cursing karma for screwing me over. For deserting me when what I need is to sit down, order some food, and remind myself that feelings aren’t the devil.
Even though they are. They so are.
The hostess greets me by name, shows me to my regular table, and asks if I want a Diet Coke.
I relax my shoulders and visualize the knots of panic unknotting. I can do this. I can recalibrate to pre-wigging-out.
“Yes, please. And a house salad with French fries.”
“Have that out in a jiff.”
She takes off, and I spread the napkin in my lap. Yup. Fries and a salad. I’m all good. I’m not crazy. I’m completely not freaking out over all the strings.
I’m fine.
I can handle strings.
I just didn’t think our relationship would have them so soon.
Now that he’s admitted them, there are more leaks in the dam of my feelings than I have fingers to plug them with. But I have to try to dig my nails in and hold on.
“Oh, hey, McKenna.”
I look up to see the girl-child, Amber, decked out in her pink sweat suit, smiling and waving.
The woman my ex-fiancé picked over me.
The living, breathing manifestation of all that I never was to the man I thought I’d marry.
My throat tightens, and the walls of the diner close in. They constrict the way I expected them to when I saw her here before.
I was supposed to be married to her husband. A little more than a year ago, I was ready to walk down the aisle to him. I thought I’d be done with dating forever. I thought Todd and I would be a family.
Now, he’s her family, and I’m here, trying to figure out what to do with this colossal onslaught of monster-size feelings.
Oh shit.
These feelings for Chris are way bigger than the ones I had for Todd. Deeper than what I felt for him. Bigger, crazier, wilder. And so unexpected. So much more than fun. More than games. More than no strings.
