Page 162 of The Girlfriend Clause
The word felt too abstract, like something you learned about rather than lived. How could another person promise to always be there for you? They couldn’t—they didn’t know.
Dad hadn’t planned on dying, but he had anyway. And Mum wasn’t ready for that—none of us were. The hole was too big to fill, too much to bear.
If we’d known beforehand that safety was an illusion, would it have hurt less? Could Mum have handled it, kept going to work, not sunk into depression, if she’d known in advance how big the weight on her shoulders would be?
I flexed my toes inside my shoes, pressing them against the grit and uneven stone, and glanced sideways at Liam. He met my eyes, then looked back to the front.
The groom spoke first.
“I promise to notice when you’re tired, even when you don’t say it.”
It felt like a rubber band was drawing taut across the back of my neck. Being noticed when I was tired felt dangerous.It meant someone else deciding where my limits were, like I might get too used to it—relying on someone else.
Liam’s fingers closed tighter around mine.
“You do not have to be strong with me,” said the bride. Her voice wavered, like she might cry.
The space seemed to narrow, and I focused on the stonework behind the couple.
Strong.
The word had always been mine. Claimed early, reinforced often. Praised. Expected.
If I let someone else share the load, that meant risk. That they might drop it, leave—even if they didn’t mean to—and I’d break from the pain like Mum had.
My grip loosened in Liam’s hand and he shifted closer. I felt the side of his arm brush against mine, his hand not moving from my thigh.
The officiant was still talking, but I barely heard him, my pulse was thudding so hard in my ears.
I could do this part. Sit still. Listen. Smile when needed.
I always could.
The couple turned toward each other, hands joined. I felt something inside me move, a small, unwelcome awareness that sat in my chest like a stone in my shoe.
But if I let Liam in, let him look after me, I might need him too much. Something could change without warning and take it all away.
And that was a risk I couldn’t take.
I creased the program again and slid it under my thigh so I wouldn’t keep touching it.
And then it was done.
Applause broke out, and the air rushed back in. I must have been holding myself very still.
Liam’s hand slipped from mine as we stood, leaving my fingers tingling where his had been—a faint, electrical afterimage.
Nick and Juliette stepped forward, and cameras appeared, someone adjusting the bride’s veil and making a joke.
Around us, people stood and stretched, abandoning their programs on chairs as the sound of glassware and voices drifted down from the terrace. My dress felt stiff against my skin, like it was keeping me in check.
“Well. They did it.” Liam was standing next to me, close enough that the heat from his arm reached mine. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
No. I was too hot. He was too close.
The crowd began to move, and we drifted with it along the path as it rose gently from the garden, people breaking off into smaller knots to greet each other. A kiss and a hand on an arm, polite laughter floating over the grounds. The air was busy with sound, but none of it seemed to belong to me.
