Page 18 of Not You Again
She can’t be in massive debt or a fortune hunter—the show screened those contestants out with all their flaming hoops. For better or worse, the producers were actually trying to make good matches. Which raised the question—what did they see on our applications that made us special?
Andie looks out the airplane window for a moment. When she turns back to me, her eyes have a determined set to them. “I told you yesterday, I’m a dressmaker.”
I nod. I don’t dare speak, for fear she’ll reconsider telling me anything. Dressmaking wasn’t on her radar when we were in college; she was after a business degree at the time. What changed?
She toys with a loose thread on the seat. “I, um, have a spot at Fashion Week in October, and if I can attract some investors, I—”
She bites off the end of her sentence and shakes her head. “You don’t need to hear all this.”
But I do. I need to understand what makes Andie tick. To know what she dreams of accomplishing. It’s a piece of her, and I’m greedy for it like a dog desperate for scraps from the dining table. I nudge her with my elbow. “Tell me.”
She eats the last bit of her croissant and begins licking the crumbs off her fingertips. I bite back a groan, curling my hand into a fist on the narrow airplane armrest. She crumples the pastry bag into a neat little ball, then rubs it between her palms. Her lip is going to go as raw as her hip with the way she’s chewing on it.
With a little line between her brows, she tells me, “A lot happened after we—”
I feel her words lodge in my own throat, sticky and hot. I hold my breath, waiting for what she’ll say next.
She looks at the floor. “I wasn’t able to finish my degree.”
The air in my lungs comes out in a rush.
She waves it off with a wry snort. “Don’t flatter yourself. There were a lot of things going on.”
Of which my leaving her was one. I swallow, guilt gnawing at my insides.
With a determined set to her jaw, she meets my gaze. “I built my business from the ground up. With my bare hands.” She holds them in front of her, palms up.
Another look at them shows me what I felt yesterday at the altar—calluses on her fingertips, dry and chafing everywhere else. The manicure she got before the wedding probably helped, but it wouldn’t make up for years of difficult manual labor.
“If I can get investors”—she curls her hands into fists and rests them on her thighs—“it’s a gateway to a more secure income that won’t rely on the whims of a single bride or internet review. Right now, it’s feast or famine.”
I want to tell her I understand, that she’s a goddamn force of nature to build that on her own. But I don’t want her to think I’m bullshitting her, so I keep my mouth shut. A flight attendant comes by with a drink cart. I ask for another coffee, and Andie gets a club soda.
After we’ve both indulged in the beverages, Andie asks, “And why did you sign up for the show? Somehow, I doubt it was to fall in love.”
She spits out the word like it disgusts her. I suppose that’s fair. She did tell me she loved me all those years ago. We were half asleep. I never returned the sentiment, frozen by what it would mean. Love was big, love was permanent. Love was terrifying. Even more so when I learned how much love could wreck you when it was gone.
That fight over what she said—or rather, how I reacted to it—feels so stupid now.
Slowly, in a measured tone, I say, “I don’t know about love. But I do want to find a wife.”
She tilts her head in question. “What does that even mean?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time building my career, securing myself financially.” I shrug. Knowing Mom’s prognosis, I want her to see me settled. Soon. It’s the only thing I can remember her actually asking me for in the last several years. “It’s time to find a partner, and dating takes time I don’t have.”
Andie scoffs, looking out the airplane window. “Well. With an attitude like that, I can’t see why you haven’t found your match yet.”
After this conversation, the only thing I’m sure of is that neither of us planned on each other being at the altar on wedding day. Would I be this invested in the outcome if it was anyone else?
Andie picks up the DSLR camera Cassidy slipped us to film some footage on the plane. She holds it up with the lens facing us, then shoots me a look. “Act like you like me for five seconds, okay?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. But then she rests her head on my shoulder, and my heart stutters in my chest. She taps the button to record.
“We’re on our way to Costa Rica!” She smiles into the camera.
I can’t help it; I smile too. I reach up to pat her cheek, teasing, “Ready to spend forever with me, sweet potato?”
She shoots me a glare. “Can you pick another pet name?”