Page 96 of Special Delivery

Chrissy sounds great. Hopefully, she’ll learn to judge people better with age.

He responds with only a grinning emoji. I suppress the disappointment building in my gut, silence the phone, and carry it inside. I need to stay strong and texting him definitely won’t help.

Over the next few days, he continues texting me. Each time, his attention doesn’t last longer than maybe five minutes, and each day, he shares something about himself.

On Tuesday, he tells me he never had a serious relationship. He ends the thread with, “I never wanted one before… not until now.”

I drop the phone as if it’s on fire, hating how his words make me feel. Hating the way the butterflies I thought suffocated start flight in my belly once again.

On Wednesday, he explains that he doesn’t like disappointing people, which made his job in the city that much harder. It’s also why it took him so long to come back home after his body obviously couldn’t handle the stress of his job. He was afraid of disappointing his mom.

On Thursday, he shares that ever since his headaches started, any sign of conflict causes him debilitating pain. So he learned to avoid it.

Ryan

It’s why I lied to Isabelle.

Not that it makes it any better.

It was still a shitty thing to do.

Me

It was.

Ryan

There is one person I like arguing with…

You.

Me

I don’t know whether to be honored or insulted?

Ryan

Depends.

Does it insult you to be the only person I feel free enough to be fully myself around?

Me

So the real you loves to argue?

Ryan

I think you know the real me.

And that’s exactly it. Each day, he shares things about himself I hadn’t known before. But somehow, I already knew everything about who he is. I didn’t know Chrissy’s story, but if you asked me before, I’d tell you he’d definitely be involved in the lives of his friends’ kids. I didn’t know the full story of his job, but I knew he isn’t the type of person to value money and power over people. Day after day, he tells me who he is, but he already showed me that from the first day that we met.

By Saturday morning, I’m a nervous wreck. My hands are soaking wet as I try to make last-minute adjustments to my dress.

“I think it’s best you leave that how it is,” Emma says as she walks in. We’re getting ready at their place.

“The strap looks funny,” I respond.

“No, it doesn’t. You look amazing.”