COOPER
“They keep you exhausted, so you act out,” my sister says as she fixes my tux.
“Why did I agree to this again?” I mumble, and within seconds I feel a stiff slap to my cheek. “What the fuck?”
She pinches my cheeks between her fingers. “I love you. You agreed to do this; now finish it out. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
If her intention was to wake me up, she certainly did just that. I look at her, gasp, and put my hand to my cheek.
She sniffs and sighs. “How late were you out last night?”
I think about it. “I think, well, maybe three?”
She rolls her eyes, tossing her honey-colored hair over her shoulder with a shimmy. “Of course. Crab picking?” she asks, her eyebrow raised.
I step back. “How do you know?”
“You smell like Old Bay. Like you literally bathed in Old Bay. Brush your teeth again,” she demands, pointing to the bathroom.
The camera crew is walking about, making sure lightingand microphones are set up right, and my nerves are shot; the mild hangover is lingering like a cold weighing me down.
But I’m about to marry someone.
No more Playboy Cooper. No more strip clubs. No more random girls on the weekends. That’s over now.
And honestly, I feel relieved.
I never wanted that. Not really. I never felt fulfilled afterwards. But it became what was expected. I was the fun guy. The one people wanted to hang out with to show them a good time. It was, in a way, a means to an end.
This feels like the opportunity to start a new chapter of life. To drop the act I’ve convinced everyone, even myself, of and feel better.
I brush my teeth, taking care to brush my tongue extra hard before spraying myself with deodorant and cologne.
“How do I smell now?” I ask my sister.
She sniffs. “Like a douche, but that’s okay.”
I sigh and sit down, looking at the guys as they start to file in, and Natalia quietly joins me. “You doing okay?”
And it all comes flooding back.
The thoughts from this morning.
The anxiety.
My brain refuses to shut up, no matter how hard I try. Even medication hasn’t helped silence it much. Usually, Adderall lets me slow my thoughts down just enough to really piece together what I’m actually anxious about. It’s been a huge help ever since I was diagnosed. But today, nothing is helping.
“I just wish they were here,” I whisper, and she grasps my hand, squeezing it.
“I wish they were, too.”
“Grandpa would have fucking hated this,” I chuckle, my eyes brimming with warm, fresh tears.
“Oh, grandpa would have cussed you out. But he would have been here.”
My lips tighten. “You think Mom would like her?”
Natalia sighs, her mouth opening only to close a second later. “I haven’t met her either, Coop. I want you to be careful with this. I’m here for you no matter what. You know that. And I’m proud of you for everything you’ve become. I just want to make sure that you don’t get stuck with someone awful, you know?”
