M y bride-to-be is lying on my floor, looking spent. Gorgeous and spent.
I immediately have feelings that I thought Patsy neutered out of me, along with my share of the house and my collection of vinyl records.
But acting on them would be disastrous. I don’t know why, but Chloe wants to fight this engagement, even though her magic has already made up its mind.
And while there isn’t some scientific text or scholarly article I can turn to figure out how to soothe an irate banshee bride, I can turn to my other passion—no, not tabletop gaming. History.
“You know, there have been many arranged marriages over the course of human history,” I say in my most calming voice.
Chloe picks up her head, slitting one eye open from under her fanned fingers. “What?”
“Many have resulted in long, happy marriages.”
“Dude, this isn’t like I’m the princess of Bansheeana and you’re the prince of Normalsville.
No one is forcing us together to save a kingdom or stop a war.
This is because I’m a doofus who broke the cardinal rule—never sing in front of humans and always check your surroundings.
Also, you were supposed to be in Denver!
” She sits up long enough to point an accusing finger at me.
“It was Mexico, actually. And I just meant that some people... some people get thrown together, but they learn to like each other. They even learn to lo—”
Chloe suddenly sits up, fury on her face, skin shimmering, and eyes raking over me with a malevolent glare.
“Stop. Talking. You don’t understand anything.
You don’t know what it would be like being stuck with someone like me, someone who could kill you or put you in a coma by humming their favorite commercial jingle. ”
“But... I didn’t die. I feel fine.” I put my hand over my chest, clutching the spot where my heart is racing. It’s skipping—but not like that time I had heat stroke. No, there’s this bounding, joyful feeling, but it’s sinking.
She doesn’t want you, idiot. She doesn’t want you . You’re... I’m not hideous, but I’m not handsome. And I’m overweight. Fat. I have glasses. I’m not anything like what this gorgeous woman deserves or wants, even if her magic did something.
I finally accept myself the way I am, but that doesn’t mean Chloe will.
Someone like her will never want someone like me.
Even if it feels... so real .
We can learn a lot from history.
I picture all the times Patsy’s eyes flickered over me in disgust. All the subtle nudges. All the not-so-subtle shaming, posting her Thirst Trap Thursdays with ripped bodybuilders on her social media—and tagging me in the comments.
Learn from history, Jared.
The women you feel drawn towards aren’t drawn towards you. Be a gentleman, and just let her go.
“Hey. Chloe? You can stop glaring now. I get it. I was just so caught up. I... I uh, I’m sorry.
It’s lame, but for a second, I felt like I was connected to you.
I believed what you wanted was the same thing I wanted.
So stupid. For a guy with glasses, I sure can’t see what’s right in front of me, huh?
I didn’t stop to think that what we both want—that love, that companionship, that loneliness we’re fighting.
.. You don’t want that with me .” I clear my throat.
“Man, talk about a romantic sap, huh?” I pull my glasses off, ashamed of how they’re starting to fog up.
Well. No. It’s my eyes. They’re blurring with tears, which is proof that I’m so desperate and stupid that I believe in things like magic and enchanted songs... And true love that happens in a flash.
Patsy would tell me that’s red flag behavior. That sudden feelings like this are just manipulative, or maybe love bombing. I don’t know. But I know what comes next.