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“I can see how that’s complicated,” she says. “Things shifted, and now you’re doing things out of order. Do you think Bailey might have feelings too?”
When I do a mental inventory of our interactions, Bailey has seemed, at the least,happyin all of them. Smiling, blushing. Her teasing could maybe even be labeled as flirting. Her shyness or maybe just her personality makes her a more difficult study. Usually, I’m better at picking up on vibes.
Then I think of the kiss—the one she initiated and seemed just as into as I was. I remember how she blinked slowly afterward, like she was waking up from a happy dream, the way she clutched my jersey in her tight fist.
“Maybe? I think she could, but I don’t know. It’s all jumbled up.” I stand, wiping my palms on my jeans. “I’m just going to ask her. Right now. I’m going to drive over to her work, maybe find out what flowers she likes first, and then?—”
“Whoa! Sit down, Hop.” When I hesitate, Parker narrows her eyes. “Now.”
There’s a reason we call her Boss. Despite her cheerful disposition, when Parker means business,she means business. I sit.
“Let’s think this through,” Parker says. “I know you’re a big feelings guy. Which I appreciate, being a big feelings person too. Sometimes big feelings can … overwhelm a person.”
“I don’t?—”
I stop myself from saying I don’t overwhelm people because …oh, yeah. My last serious girlfriend—years ago—said something about me beingtoo much. She wasn’t the first. It’s acommon refrain I’ve heard from girlfriends and dates. The wordoverwhelmedmight have been used once. Twice.Whatever.
I slump down in my chair with a sigh and wave a hand. “Go on.”
“From the little time I spent around Bailey, she seems to be someone who might get overwhelmed. Who might need to ease into things. Who might be surprised that last week, you talked about this as an arrangement, and this week, you’re making declarations and demanding to know how she feels. Do you see how this might be a little fast?”
In a conversation in which the underlying assumption is that I’ve gone from single to marrying someone in a few weeks, I’m not sure how to gauge speed. “Yes?”
“Have you talked to Bailey about expectations?”
“What does that mean?”
“You know when Logan and I started dating, it was pretend, right?” When I nod, she continues. “So, we sat down right here in my office and talked about expectations. How long would this go on? What were we comfortable or not comfortable with? Would we be kissing? That kind of thing. That was just for dating. You and Bailey have a whole lot more questions to figure out. Like, for example, how long will this marriage last? You kissed during the proposal—is kissing totally on the table at all times now? What are the sleeping arrangements going to be at your house?”
I slide down in the chair, feeling the weight of these questions pressing in on me. “Yeah. I can see how we need to talk about some stuff. But what does this have to do with feelings? If we both have feelings, it doesn’t matter. It won’t end. Kissing and the sleeping arrangements and all that will be a moot point.”
“And what if Bailey doesn’t know how she feels? What if it takes her a minute? Or if—and I can’t see how this wouldpossibly be true because you’re amazing—she doesn’t feel the same way? Would she still want to go through with the marriage knowing you have feelings and there’s all this pressure?”
My head is starting to spin at dizzying speeds. Parker must sense she’s overwhelmed me because her voice gets soft.
“Hey, listen,” she says. “Let’s start with one thing at a time. You and Bailey talk about expectations for the marriage and how this will look. I can help you outline some things to discuss. How does that sound?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“You could tell her how you feel and ask if she feels the same, or”—Parker’s eyes spark with fresh fire as she leans forward—“Ordon’ttell her. Yet.”
“You want me to lie?”
I’ve already got enough lying in my life right now. Starting with the one I’m spinning for not one but two governments. Not to mention my Mom. I rub a hand over my sternum, like I can smooth away the sting of that one. I keep telling myself it would hurt more to see Mom ripped away from her life here. But it’s not easy. Especially seeing how excited she was about Bailey.
When I told Mom I was going to propose, I’m pretty sure they heard her scream in Canada. I thought maybe I’d have to do a lot of explaining—why we were moving so fast, why I didn’t mention my plans sooner. But Mom was all-in, no questions asked. Well, a lot of questions, but more the excited, clarifying kind, not the doubtful kind.
Either Mom was way more desperate than I realized to see me married off or she really loves Bailey. Maybe both.
Her excitement only made my stomach drop with an anchor of guilt. And she told Annie before I had a chance to call my sister myself, so now I’m dealing with Angry Annie texts. These come in the form of a barrage of GIFs or long audio messages featuring her singing off-key or reciting what sound likelimericks. I’ve been gearing up to call her, but so far, the guilt has stopped me.
That and my fear of the force that is Annie coming down hard against me for keeping this huge secret. We don’t talk often, but we’re lazily close. The kind of siblings who may accidentally slip into a few weeks without talking, but then dive right into any topic with barely a hello.
I should absolutely have talked to her instead of letting Mom do it. I’m surprised I haven’t been feeling the rumbles of Annie’s resentment rolling down from the north like a winter storm.
“I don’t want to lie any more than I have to,” I tell Parker. “Or pretend I don’t have feelings when I do.”
Her fingers begin to dance along the edge of her desk, her whole face bright and open, the same look I’ve seen when she’s gotten an idea for a new way to spin a TikTok trend on the ice.
