They smile at me. “I doubt your brother would appreciate it.”

They go back to eating, and I go back to staring at them wordlessly. I hate how they make me feel; I hate that I feel so comfortable around them, and that my heartbeat speeds up when they’re near, that I want more of them. I mean, seriously, how many people just break into song about how much they like hash browns?

Why can’t I have this?

Why can’t I let myself have this?

What am I afraid of?

Of hurting us?

Hurting myself?

Hurting them?

When Wyatt finishes eating, we walk back to the hotel. When we’re out the door, Wyatt takes my hand in theirs, swinging back and forth. I guess they’re more confident in this entire thing than I am.

It sounds messed up, but I almost wish they were more uninterested than I am. That they’d hated last night and never wanted to do it ever again.

I don’t want to break their heart, to tell them that we can’t do this. It’d be so much easier if they could hate me, if they’d break my heart instead.

So much easier.

*  *  *

It’s eleven thirty by the time we get back to the hotel, which leaves us enough time to get dressed for the rehearsal and go to the hotel gardens. The entire space seems to have changed in the span of days, with areas being cleared or moved, and cut off from the rest of the guests. There’s an even larger tent being built up in the center of the venue too. And off to the far side, closer to the large fountain, there are rows and rows of white chairs that everyone involved in the wedding is now situated around.

Mother is there, along with Nana and Grandpa, Michael and Ashley (obviously), Lindsay along with the rest of the bridesmaids, Zach and the other groomsmen, Ashley’s little sisters, who will be the flower girls, and a cousin who will be the ring bearer.

When Mother spots me, she walks over. “Neil, there you are. Where have the two of you been?”

“We just stopped to get breakfast; we didn’t realize—”

“I wish you had told me,” she says, the annoyance obvious in her tone. “These next two days are going to be important. You need to make sure you are early everywhere you are needed. Am I understood?”

“I— Yes, ma’am.”

“Wyatt, you can have a seat in the back row.”

I let go of Wyatt’s hand, letting it slip away from me.

“And you, come with me.” Mother leads me by the shoulder to the front of the venue. God, I hate this so much. I can only dream of skipping this entire thing, flying back to Charlotte on my own, hiding in my dorm room. Wyatt can find their own way back; they have a return ticket.