I have the kind of massive headache that comes from mixing alcohol.
And sixty-eight dollars’ worth of tips in my coat pocket.
I really should know better than to mix alcohol like that.
Phillip is a sweetie. He took the day off with me. He’s been watching movies while I sleep with my head on his lap.
I think maybe I was just scared.
There’s no way God could not be Team Phillip.
It’s just too right.
I think.
I’m still worried about what my head thinks though.
Then, I remember that we were supposed to meet with the pastor last night. “Phillip, we skipped couples counseling!”
“It’s okay. I called and rescheduled for tomorrow night. Told him you got called out of town.”
“Oh, thank you!”
“Although I think we need to talk about what last night was all about.”
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head at me. “Princess, I know you. Last night was one of your spiraling-out-of-control nights. Well, it could’ve been had I not been there and had Bradley not been surprisingly cool.”
“Oh, I need to check my phone. He was supposed to text me the name of that vodka. It was the smoothest stuff I’ve ever tasted!”
Phillip was taking a drink of beer as I uttered these words, and he spit-sprayed beer out of his mouth, all over the coffee table and my head. Now, he’s laughing.
“What about vodka is so funny?”
He tries to control his laughter as he blurts out, “It was so smooth … because, because … ha-haha-haha-haha-haha. Oh, I’m sorry, but it’s just quite funny.” He laughs some more.
“Never mind, Phillip.”
I’m sorry, but he’s being a bit of a jerk about it.
I get up and look for my phone. At some point last night, Phillip took it out of the rice bag. Thanks to Bradley’s quick trick, my phone was rehabilitated. Thing powered right up.
There’s a text from Bradley.
Hot-Ass Bartender: You ever need a job, I will totally hire you, and then I’ll be the one to take you home.
Phillip is still snickering and pissing me off, so I’m like whatever and text him back.
Me: I might be looking for both soon. Last night was fun. Thanks for letting me play waitress, reviving my phone, and introducing me to that vodka. What is the name of it?
Hot-Ass Bartender: It wasn’t vodka, baby. It was just plain water. You were drinking too much, and I was afraid, if you got too drunk, you might do something with me you would’ve regretted. And call me callous, but I would not have resisted.
I look over at Phillip, who’s still trying not to laugh every time he looks at me.
Me: Let me guess … you told Phillip about the vodka?
Hot-Ass Bartender: Yeah.
Me: He thinks it’s hilarious.
Hot-Ass Bartender: He’s laughing at you?
Me: Yes. 🙁
Hot-Ass Bartender: Do you recall that he drank a shot named Sex on the Stairs last night?
Me: Yeah …
Hot-Ass Bartender: You win.
Me: You’re the best bartender ever! And thanks for saving my phone!
Hot-Ass Bartender: You’re welcome, baby. Don’t be a stranger, okay? And Phillip’s the right guy for you. Stop freaking out.
Me: Thanks, Bradley.
Hot-Ass Bartender: Anytime, and I mean ANYtime. 😉
I stop texting and say to Phillip, “So, I get it. He made me think the water was some kind of amazing special vodka. Laugh all you want, but I think it was sweet of him.” I decide I really don’t feel like talking to Phillip right now. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Get ready for dinner.”
“Oh, good. I need a shower, too. I’m very dirty.” He raises his eyebrows at me.
For the first time in our relationship, I can honestly say that I have no desire to have sex with Phillip.
“Uh, I think I’d rather take a shower alone.” I don’t give him a chance to reply. I just walk in the bathroom and lock the door.
And, in the shower, I’m thinking.
I’m thinking that I might have to lie. I’m gonna have to pretend to my friends that everything is fine with Phillip. That I can’t wait to marry him and that we’ll have a happy and love-filled life.
Truth is, I’m thinking maybe God really was trying to tell me something in my dream. I’m not sure I should marry Phillip.
What if I’m just overwhelmed right now by the surprising fact that sex with Phillip is amazing? And that’s overshadowing the fact that life with Phillip is not going to be as easy as I think.
Pretty soon, I find myself crying in the shower. I don’t know why I’m crying. I just feel sad. Helpless. Confused. Scared.
Alone.
Very alone.
I calm myself down, wash my hair, get out of the shower, and get ready.
Phillip’s pouting about the no sex in the shower. He keeps looking at me kinda funny. I can’t decide if he’s sad or pissed.
Finally, he says in a very flat tone, “Amy called while you were in the shower.”
“Oh, I’ll call her back.”
“You don’t need to. She called me since you didn’t answer.”
“What’d she want?”
“She said we should have a little celebration today.” Phillip’s words are saying that we should have a celebration, but his face doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for any kind of celebrating. In fact, he’s looking like he wishes he had told her the wedding was off.
“Why’s that?”
“She got our ceremony programs, menu, and reception cards back from the printer. Only ten more days.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m gonna go grab some shoes, and then we’d better get going. We don’t want to be late.”
While I’m grabbing an adorable pair of leopard heels with red trim that I’m hoping will put me in a better mood, I’m trying not to freak.
Ten more days!
Ten more days?
I feel sick.
It’s okay. Everyone says don’t freak.
I’m trying. Really, I am.
Deep breath.
No, that won’t work. I can’t breathe right now. I might be having a heart attack.
