“No, I’m serious. Why can’t you?”
I meet his bold dark eyes. “Because I’ve tried owning my own business before, and…it didn’t work out.”
“What business?”
I don’t want to stroll down this memory lane, but I don’t think he’s going to let up until I do. “I sold bouquets out of a cute flower truck. It did well for a while and then…”
He leans a little closer. “And then what?”
I shoot him a look that says he’s prying too much and I don’t like it. Ryan doesn’t give a shit, though. He keeps that bag of tacos out of reach.
“And then,” I grit out through clenched teeth, “Ben cheated, and I spiraled into a bad place for a while, and basically gave up on my business. I had to sell the truck, and it was honestly so embarrassing. I don’t feel like going through that again.”
I make gimme fingers toward the bag of tacos and Ryan sets it in my lap. “You’re allowed to go through rough patches, you know. Those moments…” He pauses and swallows. “They don’t define the rest of your life. They’re just that: moments.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. Tears will spring out faster than a jack-in-the-box.
He lets me eat my taco in peace for all of thirty seconds. “Want to know a secret?” This has me peeking over at him. “I got fired from the first kitchen I worked at out of culinary school.”
I choke on my taco and cut my eyes to him. “WHAT!”
He’s grinning—that statement having the desired effect, apparently. “Yep. I showed up, cocky as shit on the first day, and tried to overstep the head chef by wowing the kitchen with my unique flavor pairings—which were opposite of how he’d developed the dishes. He fired me before the end of the day.”
“Ryan,” I say absolutely gobsmacked.
He’s nodding, chewing a bite, and then wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. My gaze is drawn to his lips, and I find myself wanting to lean over and kiss that perfect mouth of his more and more by the minute.
“My point is,” he begins. “I learned a lot from that day. And you’re smart, so I don’t need to state the purpose of this story. It’s your life, June, and if you want to sell Stacy’s half, then do it. But if you don’t”—he gives me the softest, most understanding smile I’ve ever seen—“then don’t. Because you have what it takes to run it yourself. That one moment in time doesn’t define your future.”
The air is full of salty Taco Bell aroma, but my heart is nothing but syrupy sweet mush.
Chapter 17 June
The moment my eyes pop open, I think wedding day.
I should be happy for Stacy—and I am—but I’m also bummed because I can’t help but wonder if Ryan will go home right after the wedding or wait until tomorrow. My stomach sinks at the thought of repeating one of my least favorite days: graduation day.
I know for a fact that Ryan flew out on a red-eye that very night. How? Because I went to Logan’s house in search of him later that night. I think my professed plan was to stab him with a butter knife for humiliating me. But really, I was secretly hoping that he would change his mind and finish the kiss he’d started. When I got to the house, though, Logan’s mom gave me a sad look and said that Ryan had already left for school.
My first thought was WHO LEAVES FOR SCHOOL AFTER JUST GRADUATING FROM SCHOOL?
My second thought was that Ryan had told her to say that so he didn’t have to see me again. His version of Sorry, can’t, I’m washing my hair. It made me hate him more.
For years, I seethed, thinking that Ryan had flicked me off his shoulder like a piece of lint he never wanted to see again.
Now I know he was going off to start his culinary training in France. I wonder if I had known that back then, would it have changed anything? If I hadn’t forbidden Stacy and Logan from talking about Ryan the day after the almost-kiss of doom, would I have been in love with him all this time instead of wishing on every shooting star for his shampoo to magically get replaced with Nair?
It doesn’t matter now.
It’s Stacy’s special day, and that’s all I need to focus on.
I roll over and grab my phone and shoot her a text.
June: Do you hear that sound????
STACY: What sound?
June: WEDDING BELLS!!
STACY: *GIF of old lady dancing in the kitchen*
June: *GIF of a couple French kissing*
STACY: Hey, do you have my green jumper? I need it for the honeymoon.
June: Why? You don’t need clothes on your honeymoon.
STACY: June…bring the jumper. You’ve had it for like six months.
June: CRACKLE CRACKLE CRACKLE. Bad service. Can’t hear you. Sorry!!
Stacy’s out of her mind if she thinks she’s ever getting that jumper back. My phone buzzes again, but it’s not Stacy this time.
Ryan: Want to get an early lunch later before we have to go to the church?
I throw my phone on my bed and avoid it for the next ten minutes. I brush my teeth. I throw on my running clothes and tennis shoes. I tie my hair in a ponytail and fill up my water bottle, all while avoiding the phone on my bed at all cost. I’m Frodo Baggins, though, because I swear I can hear that thing calling for me from the other room even though the volume is not on.
By now, I’ve formulated a very eloquent piece of literature in my brain, explaining all the reasons why I can’t go with him to lunch. It centers around my heart and my hurts and my fears. I lay it all out in a way that will help Ryan see and understand me better.
And then when that thought scares me too much, I shoot him this little gem.
June: Can’t. Sorry.
He doesn’t respond. And I jog for twice as long as I normally would, forcing myself to go until my lungs squeeze as painfully as my heart at the thought of losing Ryan again.
—
It’s go time.
I expect “Eye of the Tiger” to start playing when I step into the bridal suite at the church, loaded down with all the essentials for a best friend’s wedding day. There’s a box of Darlin’ Donuts in my hand, a bottle of white wine under my arm, a portable steamer draped over my shoulder, and a pair of new fluffy white house slippers in my other hand for Stacy to wear through the day. Right now, I am the epitome of what every bride wants in a maid of honor.
I am prepared to risk my life to keep away anyone Stacy does not want to see on her special day.
I will bodycheck Great-aunt Mildred if she comes within twenty feet of Stacy with her overpowering hibiscus perfume and cheek-pinching fingers. And I plan on telling Logan’s bratty younger sister that the bridal suite is on the opposite end of the church from where it really is.
Most importantly, I will not let Ryan enter my thoughts even once during the hours leading up to the ceremony. Not once. None at all. Nada. SHOOT, I’m picturing him shirtless with his James Dean smile and lifeguard hair.
But not again.
