25. Clarissa

“Clarissa. Clarissa. Are you okay?”

A wiggle of fingers flashes in my face, and I blink while leaning back. It’s Bobby, my co-worker, standing at my cubicle and looking expectantly, like she’s waiting for me to say something.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked how the wedding planning was going. You haven’t brought in any new samples to discuss. Where is your wedding book?”

At her question, my book sitting on the kitchen counter under a stack of magazines and mail flashes through my mind. I’d take it to work even if I didn’t use it, mostly because if I wanted to change something or I had new ideas, I could update my book during lunch break.

“It’s at home.”

“Home? You mean it can exist separately from your being?” She laughs loudly, throwing her head back.

I smile with no teeth, wishing she would bother someone else.

“Ah, come on, it was just a joke. You are the first and only person I’ve met who is this obsessed with their wedding!” She laughs again. This time, I don’t smile.

“Well, if you don’t need anything else, I need to get back to this.” I point to my computer monitor and tilt my head.

She nods and moves along with her coffee, but her words are still sitting at my desk. Am I less excited about the wedding? I’ve been planning this since I was five. Most of my college friends are married and on baby number two—well, except Rissa.

She’s never pressured herself to fit into a box and always jokes she’ll grow old with her boo in a compound somewhere without papers. Something about the contractual agreement doesn’t sit well with her, and she refuses to bow down to other people’s expectations.

I normally get a rush of jittery fireflies when I imagine the lavender lace wedding book, but now it’s more like snails slugging around—no wings in sight but a slow drudge in my core.

My cell phone rings, and I answer it, making sure to keep my voice low.

“Hello.”

“Hello, may I speak to Mrs. Williams?”

I clear my throat and pick up a pen. “Not yet, still Ms. Camp,” I say instead of confirming I’m the one she called to speak with.

“Sorry about that. I was just calling to confirm all the dates still work and go over the floral arrangements while we still have a chance to change things.”

“Thank you. Nothing has changed.”

“You sure? I know you mentioned possible new accents for the walkway and centerpieces.”

The ideas I might have had are nowhere to be found as a slow squirm takes root in my stomach.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

You’d think she’d be happy there are no changes, but instead, she spends her time asking over and over if I’m sure. I convince her it’s not changing, and we end the call. I stare down at the sticky note I was absentmindedly drawing on. It’s a collection of large snails, all grouped together and surrounded by a circle.

“Lis. Lis, did you hear me?”

I blink and back up. Rissa is standing in front of me with her brows slanted low.

“Sorry. I must be tired. I’m ready.” The urge to rub my eyes is strong, but my makeup is in place.

“I thought you would be more excited,” Rissa says, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me while we wait for Tyree.

“I just know how you love shopping, and since your vision is the man’s entire house design, I thought you’d be geeked for us to see it at his housewarming party.”

“I’m excited. Like I said, I’m just tired.”

She stares at me, but I remain focused ahead. Tyree comes jogging out of our bedroom.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Rissa is still eyeing me, but I smile at her and lift off the counter to grab my coat.

“I thought Derrek was joining us?” Tyree asks as we walk out of the apartment.

“He is. He had to work late, so he’s meeting us there.”

Tyree talks about a new resort opening this summer, and Rissa is all over it. “I’m due for a trip soon. That sounds nice.”

I don’t add to the conversation as they talk during the ride. I haven’t talked much to Tyson lately. His random texts and calls have stopped, and the occasional lunch is also not a thing. I try not to dwell on it, but I miss it.

Like me, he’s down for some good food, and he always manages to find the most exquisite spots, unassuming buildings that hold heaven on their plates. I huff under my breath and press my head into the headrest. Traffic is minimal, but I focus on the license plates as cars zip by.

“Lis, did I tell you I got a new commission? It’s for a charity event, but I’m excited. I’m making something for the entire family.” Rissa is beaming, and this is new. She normally tries to downplay her wins.

“Rissa, that’s awesome! I’m surprised you’re not acting like this is no big deal.”

“Well, it’s clear my friend is in a little bit of a mood and sad about something, forcing me to reveal information I would have otherwise kept to myself.” I turn with a gasp, and she shrugs. “What?”

I laugh, and she nudges my shoulder.

“Who’s in a mood?” Tyree asks, turning from me and then back to the road as he waits.

I cut my eyes at Rissa, and she mouths, “Sorry,” from the back seat.

“Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Damn, I forgot to tell you. August and Tam broke up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he said she was trying to change him. They got into a huge fight, and that was like two weeks ago. He’s bringing a date, though, I think.”

I press my fingers into my palms between my thumbs. The last time they came over, he seemed so happy. He was running marathons and seemed so focused. I shake my head, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

“So Lis, do you have anything you need Jonathan to handle for the wedding?”

“Nope.”

“I knew you’d get it under control,” Tyree chimes in, and I bite my cheek.

I relax as we pull up to Tyson’s driveway and park along the curve to the side. There are already a few cars here.

“Wow, this is nice. He’s bold, all glass and no blinds or curtains.”

“It’s a one-way glass. I thought the same thing when I saw it the first time,” I say as we stroll to the front door. Both Rissa and Tyree pause before they start walking again.

“I helped him decorate, remember?”

“Right,” Tyree mutters, and we ring the doorbell. Since it’s still chilly outside, we’re all dressed in light winter gear. Tyree is wearing slacks and a button shirt with a caramel-colored peacoat. Rissa is her usual stylish self, which always seems effortless. She has on black leather pants with a cropped hoodie and knee-high boots. I kept it simple in a knee-length plum skirt and a black sleeveless turtleneck with black booties. I’m also wearing my favorite coat, a leather crop jacket.

The door swings open, and it’s someone I don’t recognize.

“Hey, the host is unavailable, but he left me in charge. I’m Lance. Please come in.”

We look at each other before we step in. The place is the same as I’m used to seeing it, with only a few more pieces in place that he was waiting to be delivered. We remove our jackets and step further into the foyer.

“I’ll take those. Thank you.” He stacks our coats in his arms and walks to a back bedroom I know is the guest room.

It’s not super crowded, but there are several guests milling about. “Drinks and appetizers are in the kitchen. Make yourself at home,” Lance says before cutting across the room and taking a seat on the edge of the sofa with a group of people.

“Okay, well, I’m going to see what drinks he has. Can I get you ladies anything?”

“I’ll take rum and coke,” Rissa says, her go-to drink for all occasions. I’m already dreading the bitter taste of alcohol.

“I would say an appletini, but I don’t think he has that.”

“You’d be wrong in that case.” I turn to Tyson’s voice and smile.

“Aye, boy, this is nice,” Tyree says, giving Tyson a one-armed shoulder hug. He greets Rissa and leaves me for last.

“Hey, Issa,” he says, but his tone is all soft and loose.

“Hey, Tyson. I see everything was delivered.”

“It was. Here, come in the kitchen, and I can get the drinks. I knew you’d want something sweet.” He peers over to me, and I smooth down my skirt as we walk, Rissa and Tyree trailing behind us.

“Tyree, beers are in the fridge.” He pulls down two nice glasses and pours Rissa’s rum and coke into one, then proceeds to make my appletini. All the ingredients are in a small chest behind the drink table.

“Wait, you’re making it?”

“Of course. I know how you want it.” He shrugs and moves back to mixing.