Who We Could Be - Chelsea M. Cameron Page 0,51

phone but made no move to leave.

“You should probably go,” I said, after a few seconds of silence. A streetlight flickered across the street.

“Yeah,” she said, chewing on her lip. “Okay, bye.” She turned and started walking to her car without saying anything else.

“Bye,” I called after her, and she gave me a wave with her arm without turning around.

Fourteen

Tessa

“I think we have to pick colors. Colors that go with the theme,” I said, tapping through some pages on my laptop. Gus and I were sprawled on my bedroom floor, trying to figure out how the fuck to plan a wedding. I’d already found apps and journals and spreadsheets and honestly, it made me want to throw up.

“What are the color options?” Gus asked, looking up from his phone.

“I mean, we can do anything, but probably ones that go well together.”

“You do remember that I’m colorblind, right?” he said.

“I know, but this stuff isn’t really for us, is it? It’s for pictures and our families and shit. Hell, we could do shades of white and gray and black, if you want. That would look really classy.” Formal, but whatever. It wasn’t like I cared. Sure, I had favorite colors, but when I tried to picture chair covers or bridesmaid dresses or anything, I couldn’t.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Then everyone can wear what they want and it will look more like a nice party than a wedding. So much of them seem so uptight. We don’t want that,” he said.

No, we didn’t. In terms of theme, I was definitely leaning more toward rustic, rather than black tie.

“Cool. White, black, and gray it is.” That gave us a starting point. And we were going to have the ceremony and reception at the lake. “What do you want to eat?”

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m not hungry right now,” he said, and I laughed.

“For the wedding, Gus. What do you want to eat for the wedding?”

He blinked as if I’d asked him if he wanted to serve toes. “Right. There’s food involved. Uhhh...”

I slammed my laptop shut. “Listen, we already figured out a venue and our colors, or lack thereof. That’s enough planning for one night. We still have a year. Some people throw this stuff together at the last minute.” A headache had started to camp out behind my eyelids, and if I had to think about any more decisions, I was going to scream.

“Sounds good.” Gus flopped onto his back. “I bet your mom isn’t going to be happy about the colors, though.” Really? Were we still talking about this?

“I don’t care. It’s my wedding. If she wants to be invited, she’ll deal.”

Gus grinned at me. “You know that she would murder you, right? Well, first she would show up, and then she would murder you.”

“She would. I don’t know why she cares so much. We’ve had so many other weddings, but she’s being weird because she’s mother of the bride. I don’t get it, because she’s such a feminist and isn’t about gender roles or any of that crap, but this seems to be something she’s clinging to.” I sighed. “It’s a lot of pressure. Being the only daughter.”

Gus slid closer to me. “I’m sorry. That’s not really fair to you.”

“It is what it is.”

“Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“Not really. I love her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s worth a shot. If this isn’t what you want.”

I glanced at him. “What about you? You don’t want a wedding either, but you’re doing it for your parents.”

“That’s different.”

I nudged him with my shoulder. “How? You’re caving to parental pressure, just like me.”

“It is different,” he insisted.

“Fine,” I said.

The two of us didn’t speak for a few moments.

“I think I’m going to head home,” he said, getting up.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked.

He held his hand out to help me get up. I took it and stood.

A smile softened his face. “No, I’m not. Sorry, I just have a lot to think about, and I think I need to do that thinking alone.” Gus kissed my forehead and I walked him out as he said goodnight to my parents.

“Why didn’t he stay over? Or you could have gone there?” Mom asked, as Gus drove away in his noisy truck. I always knew when he was coming by the rattle.

“No reason,” I said. I wasn’t getting into this stuff. “I’m going to bed.”

“You two aren’t fighting, are you?” Mom jumped up from the couch, as if she was going to