words since even I can hear the irony of them. “Sorry.”
He chuckles and presses into my head with more force, finding trigger points I didn’t know were there. It makes me moan. “Now tell me about what happened. What was this fight with Steve you had?”
“Oh, it was nothing really. Just a stupid thing over a project we’re thinking about tackling. He wants to do it, and I don’t. It’s just not grabbing me. I’m not sure how we even got into it, but we were really snippy with each other, and we don’t normally do that. I’m sure we’ll get over it. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. But it kind of unsettled me. You won’t believe me, but I don’t actually like conflict. Not with people I care about.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all. You like to keep your world in order, and conflict would throw it off-balance. Did he hurt your feelings or something?”
“A little. Not intentionally. He was just implying I don’t have anything going on in my life, so I can be at his beck and call. I know he didn’t mean it, but it hit me the wrong way.”
“Well, he should know you do have things going on in your life. And even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t mean you could drop everything just because he wanted you to.”
“Yeah.”
His words are making me feel better. So is his skillful touch. The muscles that were gripping my skull in a painful vise are starting to loosen as he rubs and presses.
“And then what happened with your car?” he asks after a minute of silence.
“The tire blew out. I almost lost control on the interstate and had to pull onto the shoulder. I got it over okay. But it scared me. You know how you go into panic mode? And then I had to deal with the repairs, and I really hate dealing with car stuff.”
“Why didn’t you call me? I’d have come out to help you.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your work. It was fine. I called my car service, and they sent someone out to change the tire. It was just the hassle of it that upset me. And talking to mechanics always makes me feel helpless. Or something. I don’t know why. That was when the headache got really bad.”
“You should have called me.”
“I told you—”
“I know you had it covered, but you could have at least let me know. Maybe I could have helped. You wouldn’t have interrupted me.”
He sounds almost offended. Like it bothers him that I didn’t call. It makes my throat tighten. “I just... I didn’t want to throw that whole mess in your lap.”
“I don’t care about having a mess in my lap. Next time let me know.”
I nod. I can’t speak. Not without letting him know I’m close to tears. I close my eyes and let him massage my head and neck until the headache is almost gone.
The truth is my first instinct was to call him. After the fight. After the blown tire. I wanted to tell him. I wanted his help. I wanted him to make me feel better. I resisted the impulse because it felt wrong.
But he’s making me feel better now. I keep my eyes closed so he won’t see there are tears. He keeps up his massage for a long time until I’m limp and close to sleep.
Then he adjusts my body so he can stretch out beside me. He gets under the covers and pulls me into his arms.
I fall asleep like that, so the day ends a lot better than it started.
THREE WEEKS LATER IS the weekend of my mother’s wedding.
Damian and I fly up to Charleston on Friday afternoon, and we have just enough time to check into our hotel, shower, and dress before the rehearsal and dinner.
My mother has a wedding planner who is handling all the details, and she’s kept the ceremony and the whole weekend simple, so she hasn’t been particularly stressed or hassled this week. She’s seemed really happy. Excited. I’m glad.
It’s so strange that she’s going to be married tomorrow—for the first time in her life.
The rehearsal is quick and easy. It’s a small wedding party since I’m the only bridesmaid and Pop has his best friend of sixty years for his best man. We move through our positions without any problems, and everyone is laughing and laid-back as we head to the restaurant where we’re having the rehearsal dinner.