Unrequited Balloon

Admittedly, I’ve found worse ideas at the bottom of a Tito’s bottle than confessing to my best friend, Jenna, that I’m in love with her. I just want to get it off my chest and move on. We couldn’t be together, and I’m fine as long as she is happy with her husband, Brett.

It doesn’t make sense, I know. Let’s just chalk it up to Uncle Tito, okay?

I stagger down the sidewalk, a single balloon bobbing above me. “Get Well Soon,” it announces unironically — the best I could do at 2 a.m. The confetti and my note inside shift around as I walk, bathed in neon signs, to her apartment.

Two blocks later and regrets creep in. She lives in a part of the city where barred windows are an amenity, and I don’t think I’m cut out for this whole Love-Actually-style confession, as a woman in a wedding dress walks toward me, full veil trailing behind her. A psychopath or a sign from the universe telling me this is a terrible idea.

Signs are stupid anyway.

As I near the bride, her phone screen lights up her face, mascara rivers running down her cheeks. I’m not the only one having a weird night.

She screams and chucks her phone right at me. I stumble, trying to dodge it like some sort of crouching tiger, hidden idiot, the balloon slipping through my fingers. My confession slithers up as the psycho bride runs toward me, muttering apologies.

Pop.

White latex and red confetti rain down on us, my note flapping like a dying bird to her feet.

She picks it up and reads it, much to my horror.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, a sad smile on her lips.

“It’s stupid,” I say quickly, unsure why her pity makes me want to throw up. “I was drunk. I am drunk. It’s —”

“It’s beautiful. But it won’t work.”

“I just needed to say it.”

She laughs, more bitter than joyful, then sits on a bench, smoothing her dress. “I wrote my vows seventeen times, and he couldn’t even show up.”

I sit beside her. The confetti and balloon shreds remind me of the ugliness after a party when all the fun’s run out and there’s only mess.

“I wanted the universe to make my decision. There was always the chance she’d never see the note,” I say finally.

“Maybe the universe is sick of people asking it to make up their minds.”

I chuckle and shrug. She’s probably right. Metal glints as she pulls a flask from her bodice. “Want some?”

My brow quirks in a silent question.

“Gift from my aunt. ‘In case of emergency.’” After a swig, she passes it to me.

The whiskey burns down my throat, and I cough. “I’m Vinny.”

“Klara.”

My phone buzzes — Jenna texting about Brett snoring. I’m supposed to laugh and commiserate. I throw the stupid rectangle over my shoulder and it crashes near Klara’s.

“There’s a good all-night diner on Fifth.” Klara stands and offers her hand. “Pie is the only way to mend a broken heart.”

“More wisdom from your aunt?”

She nods, and I take her hand, our fingers threading together like old friends.

“I think I’d like her,” I say, suddenly feeling like tonight wasn’t so bad.

  “You would; she’s married.”