“Oh, yeah. It is.”
I blow her off but manage to sneak another glance. I haven’t seen her since the night of the wedding. We ended up at a bar near the coast, and she drove me home. And I, well, I tried to kiss her.
I don’t know what came over me. I was just so upset that I was trying to channel my emotions wrong. If I’m honest, though, it was the night of what was supposed to be my wedding, and from the time Karly showed up to the time she took me home, there was only one girl on my mind. Her.
Our lips were centimeters away, and I was nearly desperate for her, but she jerked away. The confusion in her eyes was upsetting, and I completely freaked her out. Not to mention I hadn’t heard from her since.
I tried to message her a couple of times to apologize, but there’s been no response.
“Unless you want to talk to her, I suggest you stop staring,” Emma whispers.
I jerk my eyes away and focus back on the menu. I read maybe three words, and I find my eyes wandering again. This time I notice how awkward she looks trying to position her legs where he can’t reach her.
Who the fuck is this guy?
I drop the menu to the table, striding to her table before my brain can rationalize with my legs.
“Jolene. What are you doing here?” I ask, but it comes out demanding.
She sets her wine glass down on the napkin next to her sushi plate, “Oh Eric, hi.”
She acknowledges me, but her voice is quiet, scared even.
“Jolene?” The man asks, cocking his brow. “I thought you said your name was Karly?”
Karly’s eyes sparkle, and she uncrosses her legs like she’s starting to feel a little more robust. Then I realize what is really going on here. This is a date gone wrong, and she wants out. Her eyes turn to mine and practically beg for help.
“No.” I state, “This is my sister, Jolene.” I grab her phone off the table and thrust it into her clutch purse while she stares at me.
“What is this?” He asks, “What the hell is going on?”
Karly is silent, but since I’ve already decided that I’m doing this, I might as well commit. “She’s just confused.”
“Confused?” He looks at her and then back to me.
“Yeah, sometimes she just disassociates. It’s a response to the trauma. When that happens, sometimes she calls herself Karly.”
The look on his face tells me that I just scared him off. It’s kind of sad how the mention of mental health can drive someone away so fast, but I knew this guy was shallow just by looking at him.
He doesn’t say much else, tosses a bill on the table, and looks at her apologetically. I, however, stare at him until he’s far enough away from Karly to ease my mind.
“Oh my god, Eric!” She squeals, “that guy thinks I’m crazy.”
“Well, you didn’t want to continue that date, so you’re welcome.”
I glance back at my family, who are all looking at us with wide eyes.
“How do you know?” She sasses, standing from the table.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never seen someone so uncomfortable in my life.”
She picks up her glass of wine, tipping it back to finish it off, “Well, thanks.”
She grabs her purse from my hand, adjusting her dress.
“Listen,” I start, “About the other night—”
“No,” she silences me, “It’s okay.”