“Should I be worried that you’re baking again?”
“Nope!” I still have bad days, sure, but thanks to daily medication and therapy, the panic attacks and stomachaches are gone. Combined with my grounding techniques and exercise, I can handle the small decisions of daily life, and the bigger, scarier ones too. I set the pan aside to cool and begin whisking together powdered sugar and cream cheese to make icing.
“Glad to hear it. You know, I’m thrilled that you’re doing well enough to not need to bake, but I have to admit I’ve missed it.” She reaches into the pan to swipe a hot drip of butter and cinnamon sugar. “What’s the occasion?”
“I’m testing a new recipe for the bridal shower next week. Speaking of—” I glance at the clock on the microwave as I drizzle hot icing on the rolls. “I’ve gotta go. I won’t be home for a few hours, so feel free to have your gross Skype date with Tyson.”
Her laughter rings down the hall as she goes to her room to change out of her scrubs.
My phone beeps with a text.
I’m here.
I untie my apron, throw it on the counter, and head out the front door into the warm March air, where Fitz’s truck is idling by the curb. He’s leaning against the passenger door, his legs crossed at the ankles. My heart flutters at the sight of him in his snug baseball tee and snugger pants.
“It should be a violation of the rules to look that good in uniform.”
His responding smile is blinding. He casually wraps his arm around my waist, and my heart collapses. “You have flour on your nose,” he says.
I duck my head in embarrassment, but he catches my chin gently in his hand and kisses my nose. A dusting of white covers his lips. His free hand traces a wandering line down my neck, over my shoulder, to my side. My cheeks flush and my heart quickens, despite the layer of cotton between our skin. A familiar side effect of being near Fitz. His fingers trace a gentle path across my ribs. “How’re you feeling?”
“It was a good day,” I sigh, leaning into him. “It’s better now.”
He kisses me again, and after several seconds I bring my hands to his chest and gently pull away.
“Do we have to leave?” he groans.
“You have a game. And I have maid of honor duties.”
Fitz groans again but opens the passenger door for me to climb inside his truck. He holds my hand in his while he drives, taking care to steer with his left. “How’s the research going? Find anything irresistible?”
“Intriguing? Yes. Irresistible?” I slant a glance at him, attempting to transmit my thoughts straight to his brain. His answering smile tells me he gets it. “I’m still looking.” I’ve been looking for ways to travel on my shoestring budget. My walls are still a tribute to the world, but it’s less scary than it once was. I know I’ll get out of here. I’ll find a way to make it happen. But I’m also enrolling in community college in the fall, because I’m no longer drowning in the claustrophobic feeling of wanting to escape my own skin. It’s a mixture of the medication and Fitz and all the things in my life aligning in a way that feels too good to be a happy accident.
Fitz drops me off at the curb of a small dress shop in a strip mall, gives me one final, lingering kiss, and leaves for his baseball game. Steeling myself, I open the door. Clover spots me from across the shop. Her excited squeal settles my worried stomach. I love Clover, and Clover loves Jay. I can do this.
“Can you believe this is finally happening?” She wraps me in a happy hug.
Behind her, the shop is filled with every shade of white: ball gowns and mermaid silhouettes, lace and tulle, glitter and crystals and beads. Next month is our senior prom, but today we’re picking out a wedding dress. After Christmas, it took a while for things to go back to normal between us, but we’re in a good place now, and I’m so relieved.
I squeeze Clover’s hand, and she drags me over to a rack of dresses that look like they were pulled straight from a Disney movie.
“I love this place so much,” she says as we rifle through the dresses. “The plus-size collection is amazing. I was afraid I would have to order something online and have it altered.” We each pick out half a dozen dresses and hand them to a nearby sales associate to bring to the dressing room.
“I guess I should get started.” Her eyes flick to the couches outside the dressing room, where the rest of the group is waiting. Jay’s mom and two sisters are sitting on one couch, laughing and talking and flipping through bridal magazines. On the next couch, Clover’s mom sits stiffly, a grim expression on her face. She looks like she’d rather be sitting through a congressional filibuster than watching her eighteen-year-old daughter try on bridal gowns. “Does my hair look okay? What about my shoes? I should have worn a different bra.” Clover wrings her hands.
“You look gorgeous. Go on.” I give her an encouraging push toward the changing rooms and take my seat next to her mom.
“Hello, Congresswoman.”
“Good to see you, Paige.” She smiles, but her eyes are wary, and I get it. She worries about Clover’s future. I do too, and I almost ruined our friendship over it. But things are different now.
“They’re going to be okay.”
“How can you be sure?”
I bite my lip, thinking. “Let me rephrase. Clover is going to be okay. She’s smart, and she has family and friends who can love her through anything. And besides, maybe she and Jay will be the lucky ones.”
Stranger things have happened. And although Fitz and I aren’t running to an altar anytime soon, it’d be hypocritical of me to doubt Clover and Jay’s love based solely on their age. Not when I know how it feels to find the person who makes me the happiest possible version of myself.
Clover emerges from the dressing room and stands on a pillar before a sea of mirrors in a snow-white ball gown. The sales associate places a tiara on her head, which I think is going to be over the top, but instead looks perfect sitting in Clover’s blonde waves.
“What do you think?” she asks the group, but it’s obviously a question directed at her unmarried mother. She’s soliciting her opinion on a white princess ball gown, fit for a church wedding. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
Ms. James swallows. “You look beautiful, darling.” She turns to Jay’s mom with a small but genuine smile. “Your son is a very lucky man.”
“Doesn’t he know it,” Mrs. Bryant agrees.
Clover catches my eye in the mirror. “Thank you.” She mouths the words.
I hold my hands up in the sign of a heart.
Clover is happy, and I’m happy for her.
End of sentence.
* * *
Later, when the gown has been picked out and paid for (she tried on more than a dozen, and yes, she bought that first tulle dress), Clover drives me to the old water tower in Gilbert and drops me off.
The sun is low on the horizon, the spring air warm and still. A small flutter comes to life in my chest, building with every step. I’m antsy with the need to see him again, and it takes me forever to get to the tower, despite my quick steps. I stop short in front of the ladder that ascends five stories into the air, and there’s no question about what I’m going to do.