Me Vs. Me. Sarah Mlynowski

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СКАЧАТЬ Bet that’s what he’s doing now.

      Poor Cam.

      I will not cry. No, I will not—I will n—I wipe the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand. What a baby.

      How could I have broken the heart of the one person who has loved me so fiercely over the past few years? Why do I think moving to New York will be good for me? What if I’m a failure? What if I never meet another man who will love me as much as Cam does? What if no other man ever asks me to marry him, and I become bitter and bitchy and start to hate all couples and throw up at the sight of any hand holding or Valentine’s Day cards?

      I check the alarm. Again. I close my eyes and start to drift into a sad, desperate sleep. Cam…love you…changed my mind…

      Blackness.

      I wake to an intense headache. Like forks bashing into my forehead and both temples. To go along with the pain, swirls of green hot light burn behind my eyelids.

      What the hell? Did I roll off my bed in my sleep? Did my lamp fall on my head?

      I open my eyes slowly, intense sunlight spearing my pupils. The pain instantly dissipates. No one is attacking me. But I can’t believe how bright it is in here. Weird, actually. Then I realize why. This morning, of all mornings, the staples holding my makeshift curtain must have finally given out. How appropriate.

      What the—

      I blink my eyes. Once, twice. Three times. I do not believe what I see.

      I’m back in the desert. In the truck. Wrapped in the itchy green blanket.

      In Cam’s arms.

      2

      The Gabby Horror Engagement Show

      I am going insane. That must be it. Obviously, the only explanation. How did I go to sleep in my empty bedroom, yet wake up in Cam’s truck?

      Unless I’m dreaming. Yes, that makes sense. I’m still asleep. The truck and the desert are just an illusion. How weird is that? Normally a desert isn’t a mirage—normally you’d see a mirage in a desert.

      When I put on one of Cam’s J. Crew shirts, his scent tortured me into hallucinations about what could have—would have—been.

      What will be.

      In my dreamworld, I snuggle up close to him. Mmm…feels so nice. That’s it. I’m going to wake up and call him. Cancel my move. Get married. He’ll take me back. Of course he will! I’m entitled to twenty-four hours to change my mind, am I not? I must wake up and call him immediately. Now. Wake up. Come on, you can do it! Wake up!

      I have to pee. I hate when I have to pee in dreams. That means I have to pee in real life. I’m always concerned that I will pee all over my bed.

      Now open your damn eyes! What’s wrong with you, you lazy ass?

      Cam elbows me in the chin.

      This dream feels awfully real. I tenderly stroke my injured face and check out my surroundings. My very authentic-looking surroundings. I sit up in my dream, in the hope that it will wake me up in real life. But instead, I am simply sitting up. In Cam’s truck.

      I must admit, this is the most realistic dream I’ve ever had. I pinch my leg. It hurts. And the air feels so real. I take a deep breath and look up at the sea of blue. The Arizona sky always makes me feel as if the horizon goes on forever. To my left are the Superstition Mountains. They look like mounds of dirt, or children’s sandcastles, against the blue. My surroundings are too alive for this to be a dream.

      My heart races. Which it doesn’t normally do when I’m asleep, at least, not that I’m aware of.

      All right, I’m awake. This is not a dream. This is not a dream! But what does that mean? That everything that happened yesterday was a dream? If I’m still in the desert with Cam, does that mean that I never said goodbye to Lila? Never finished packing up the apartment? That I never told Cam no?

      Does that mean—

      I look down at my left hand. Sparkle, sparkle.

      —that I’m still engaged?

      I lean against the rear windshield to support myself. I’m still engaged! I’m getting married! I didn’t ruin it all to follow some lame plan to go to New York. When my breathing has returned to its normal speed, I slither back into my spot next to Cam. I lift his arm around me and cuddle into him. His breath smells sweet. His eyes flutter open and then closed, and he pulls me against him. His stubble brushes against my cheek and I feel giddy with relief. I can’t believe how close I came to ruining this. What was I thinking? People struggle their whole lives to find love like this. To find a guy like Cam. And I have him. How could I have thought for a second that a job in New York was more important? Was I crazy? Why did I want to live in the most alienating city in the world? With a psycho roommate—who’s going to haaaate me when I tell her I changed my mind.

      She’ll live. As long as she doesn’t slit her eye with a steak knife.

      Hurrah! I’m marrying Cam! I hug him as tightly as I can until his eyes pop open.

      “Morning, beautiful,” he says. “Love you.”

      Hurrah! He loves me! He’s in one complete emotional piece! There is no hurt in his eyes whatsoever. Officially unscarred.

      “I love you, too,” I say, my feelings for him overflowing like a closet stuffed with too many shoes. “What would you like to do now, Mr. Engaged?”

      He grins. “Since Lila is already planning the new decor for your room, I want you to move into my apartment.”

      Oh. Right. That does make sense now that we’re officially going to be a couple. Married people tend to live together. Cam has been asking me to move in for the past year, but I wasn’t ready. You don’t live with a man because you want to save money on rent. You live with a man because you want to spend your life with him. And since I wasn’t sure what my ultimate plans were—staying in Arizona or hightailing it out of there—I didn’t want to commit to a shared couch, or a plant, or a lease, or anything we would have to divvy up six months later. But now the decision is made. We’re getting married. No need to divvy up the couch pillows. Ever. “All right. I’ll move in,” I say, then press my lips into his. Thank God I didn’t tell him no. Who cares about a job? I’m obviously afraid of being happy. My parents have screwed me up for years and years. I pull back and look at my watch. “It’s already nine. I don’t know how we slept in so late in a truck bed. I don’t know how we even fell asleep.” I guess sleeping out in the desert was a cool thing to do. Something to tell our kids about the night we got engaged. More impressive than the How We Met story. At a friend’s party in college. Boring. “What happens now?”

      He rubs my two hands between his. “Now we get to tell everyone.”

      Fun! Is there really any better announcement than a ring-sparkling, smile-beaming, guess-what-we’re-engaged one? I think not. “Who do we tell first? Should we call? Should we drop by?”

      “Let’s stop by my mom’s. It’s Saturday. We don’t have anything else to do today.”

      Yes, СКАЧАТЬ