One Night Only

by Catherine Walsh

Working hard the last few months and nothing to show for it. Not only am I not moving forward here, I appear to be moving backward.

“Are you trying to mansplain my feelings to me?” “I wouldn’t take it personally,” he says calmly. “I do it to everyone. Men included.”

rs

“What’s your fee?” “I’m not going to charge you.” “Even better then.”

Perfectly polite. Just like I hoped. It irritates the hell out of me.

girlhood

“You don’t mind spiders, do you?” “No.” “Great, because I hate them. You can get rid of any that come too close to me.”

he's funnyyy

“To watch people live so close and yet lead such a different life to hers. The rich and the poor.

Even in London, all our friends are ours, not mine. It’s like I have nothing of my own anymore. What if I’m making a mistake?

He loves you more than I’ve seen anyone love anyone.

It’s only a wedding. People have them every day. But I think if you love him and the only thing stopping you from wearing what I’m sure is a very beautiful, very expensive dress is that you’re worried things might get hard in a few years, then I think you should marry him. Because things will get hard whether you do or don’t. At least this way you get some happy memories to go with it. And a toaster.” Annie’s brows draw together. “You got me a toaster?” “They’re more expensive than you might think. This one does four slices at once.”

Above all of that is a feeling I’ve become more and more used to in the past few years. A strong, primitive need to not be alone.

It’s not what I want at all. And I try to communicate this to him. Telepathically pleading with him to make a move but all he does is continue to drink.

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I always do this to myself? I can’t go one week without making a bad decision. Just once I would like to make the right one. Just once I would like things to go as planned. Like a normal person who isn’t a self-destructive maniac.

I’m one more glance away from grabbing him by the lapels and screeching into his face like some deranged maniac. Tell me I look pretty!

“You’re doing well,” he says. “Though I wouldn’t expect anything less. Thanks for being Annie’s best friend.” “Thanks for being the love of her life.”

aww

That’s the problem with vacations. Once you take one all you want is another.

He is handsome. I’ll give him that. Just do it, Sarah. Be a normal, emotionally healthy grownup.

“Can you stop being you for one moment, please?”

I want to wave the folder over my head in triumph. See? I want to shout. I have work! I’m competent! I have ideas!

“Please Will. As your work wife—” “Hannah’s my work wife,” he interrupts. “You’re more like the family hamster.”

“Are you checking me out?” “No,” I say, embarrassed he caught me. He always seems to know exactly when my mind wanders. “You can if you want to.”

I’m surprised my opinion means so much to him,

I feel a stab of longing at the sight of them. They make it look so simple. Maybe it will be easier when I’m seventy. Maybe then I won’t second-guess every one of my instincts.

“Are you wearing it on purpose?” “What are you talking about?” “You wore that dress the night we went to the pub. The night before the wedding.” “No, I…” But I glance down, remembering. “A lucky guess.” “Excuse me?” “Guys don’t notice dresses let alone remember them.” “They remember ones like that.”

He puts his phone away and I slip my hand into his, feeling smug. I feel even smugger when his fingers clasp automatically around mine. As if holding my hand is a perfectly natural thing.

“You paid twenty bucks for this?” “Yes.” “Why?” “So we can talk in private,”

“The truth is I have no idea what I want,” I say quietly. “Not really. Nor do I have the first inkling of where to start figuring it out. I’m hoping one day the answer will just fall into my lap.”

girlhood

I’m suddenly desperate to know how he sees me. If I look stupid in my dress and Claire’s shoes. If my makeup has smudged or if there’s fast-food grease on my chin.

“You were always with someone. Your friends or a date. You have a type, you know that?” “Which is what?” I ask. “Devastatingly handsome?” “They make you laugh.”

“I’m not in love with her,” he says, throwing his bag down again. I close the door. “But you have feelings for her.” “I do. Mild annoyance right now. Nothing compared to how annoyed I am with you.”

why is he funny even when fighting her?

“But she broke your heart,” I say, my voice very small to my ears. “She did,” he says. “But it healed.”