Page 95 of Not You Again

KIT:

Apprehensive, yes.

PRODUCER:

You had a few days to think about your final decision.

KIT:

[frowning] I did.

PRODUCER:

And where did you land?

KIT:

[sighs] I wish I could talk to her before we go into that room.

PRODUCER:

You know we can’t allow that. It’s not the format of the show.

KIT:

[nods, looking at the ground]

PRODUCER:

If she was here right now, what would you say to her?

KIT:

[voice breaks, looks into camera] I’m sorry. That’s all. Just … I’m sorry.

PRODUCER:

What are you sorry for?

KIT:

Can we just go in and do this?

CHAPTER FORTYKIT

Decision day.

The crew got seventeen different shots of me getting out of the hired car they had drive me up the length of the country club driveway.

My hands shake as Cassidy tells me to enter through the glass French doors, shake hands with Dr. Shaw, Dr. Leon, and Petra, before sitting down on the couch next to Andie. They peppered me with questions before I went in, about how I’m feeling, if I’ll say yes or no. But I won’t have to give my final answer until we’re asked. Together. On camera.

I’m sick to my stomach as I tug on my lapels, careful not to obscure the pocket square I’m wearing—one Andie made me.

Andie also made that dress. I know, not because it’s been in our shared closet for eight weeks (it has), or because I discreetly checked all her dresses to see which ones she made herself (I did). No. I know because it’s exactly like her: airtight seams and a pattern that makes it look like armor across her chest, even though it’s a delicate pink and undoubtedly soft fabric.

Then there’s the hidden pockets at the hips. If I didn’t know to look for them, they’d remain her secret.

I love and hate that I can spot her own designs a mile off. It means I’ll never be able to look at a dress on a woman the same way.