𝐑 𝐎 𝐒 𝐈 𝐍 𝐀

     SOMEONE HAS BEEN watching me. I feel it, even as I sit in the corner booth with Lauren talking about my future husband and our wedding. I don’t know if I’m paranoid. I had a wild imagination as a child. Once in high school, I swore to the principal and my math teacher I saw a ghost in the female lavatory. I was sent to the school’s therapist after my parents were consulted. I told her the same story, but she didn’t believe me. She even said I made it all up for attention.

     I went through a series of sessions with her. They were very boring and unnerving. After a laborious evaluation, the therapist said I imagined it, which was a result of the late-night horror movies I had been watching. My parents stopped me from watching my favorite series, and I couldn’t stop hating them for ruining what made my childhood days fun. I now understand they were only looking out for their daughter. I finished the horror franchise when I grew up and went into college.

     But I swear I’m not making this one up. Someone is indeed watching me. I have this strange feeling I’m being stalked. I haven’t shared it with anyone yet, not even Evans. Possibly because I might be imagining it. It’s becoming incessant, and I fear it might escalate to reality.

     “Rosina?” A female voice calls my name and my thoughts skitters to a stop.

     “Yes.”

     I glance up and stare at the brunette sitting across from me and clasping her slender fingers around the mug. My eyes trace the tip of her brown hair, down to the belted knee-length gray dress she’s wearing. I’m still with Lauren. What were we talking about before my thoughts drowned me?

     She looks blankly at my face. “Are you even listening to me?”

     I blink. “Yes. I am. What did you say?”

     She frowns. “See? You weren’t listening to me. What are you thinking about?”

     Sometimes, spending time with Lauren is a pain in the neck. We couldn’t have a decent conversation without her scrutinizing me as if I were one of the files she studies at her work. But maybe it’s not her fault. I get distracted lately. And that sickening feeling of someone following me isn’t making my day any better.

     “Nothing. You were saying something about, erm... the wedding gown.”

     Her frown deepens and the dimples at the corners of her lips show. I try to delete the picture of an angry Lauren from my mind, but I can’t. Her olive-toned face still haunts my vision.

     “No, Rosy. We weren’t talking about the gown,” she says, irritation in her voice.

     It’s my turn to get angry now. “Don’t call me Rosy. You know I hate that name.”

     She peers at my face. “Because it reminds you of rose flowers?”

     I pout, “Roses make me sneeze. I loathe them.”

     She shrugs. “You can’t blame me, can you? Whenever I hear Rosina, I think of red roses,” She says and takes a sip of her coffee.

     “I don’t care what you think. Just don’t call me Rosy. I feel like sneezing already.” Sliding my hand into my Gucci handbag, I pluck a tissue and cover my nose, waiting desperately for a loud sneeze to no avail. I huff and put the tissue away, then sanitize my hands.

     “What were we talking about?” I ask.

      “Your husband-to-be,” she replies.

     A couple walks past us to a booth, their footsteps interrupting our conversation. It’s only when they sit before we continue.

     Lauren says, lowering her voice, “He’s twelve years older than you and has no ex.” She wears a suspicious face.

     I stifle a frown. I don’t like it when she broaches this conversation. To be frank, whoever Evans dated in the past doesn’t bother me, although I haven’t had that conversation with him yet. I’ve dated several men in the past. All of them weren’t interested in taking our relationship anywhere. I ended them. Some with a text message—others, I met in person and told them straight to their face.

     If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that I wasn’t going to get married to someone my age. Older husbands have more experience. They know the pros and cons of life and aren’t full of youth trivialities. When I met Evans at the wedding reception of his friend, I knew right on the spot we were created for each other. We didn’t need to waste time like young adults did. He was mature by age and mind. And I was mature in mind. After all, who said you can’t marry someone older than you?

     I’ve never asked him about his past sexual life. I feel it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure he’d have approached me if he was in a serious relationship with another woman. He hasn’t told me about any woman somewhere, and I haven’t asked him. What for? His past life is different from his present.

     I decide to play oblivious as I trace a finger along the rim of the mug. “What do you think? That he’s got an older wife somewhere and wants to marry me because I’m young?”

     She sighs. “Nothin’ of the sort. It’s just... unusual that a man his age has no woman in his life.”

     “Some people just know how to wait. My grandma got married at thirty, and her husband was the first man she dated and married.”

     She sighs again. This conversation is very boring.

     “Well, if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you. I just think he’s a little old for you, and you guys are rushing things.”

     “We’re in love and like you said, he’s too old to be dating me, so he decided to marry me instead. Is that a big deal?”

     I’m starting to think that maybe Lauren isn’t happy I’m getting married to Evans. When Evans got me a diamond necklace, she said it was fake, and there was no way a man would buy real diamond jewelry for a woman he met six days ago. We went to a jeweler and she confirmed it was real diamond. I still remember the look of embarrassment on her face.

     Again, I didn’t like the way she raved about my wedding gown. She’s one of my bridesmaids. I have no choice but to trust her. Sometimes, I think it’s because Jacob never buys her anything, so Evans lavishing this luxury on me is too true to believe.

     I don’t tell her some of the things Evans has bought for me, like the beautiful lake house in Virginia. I don’t want her to feel bad that Jacob has financial problems. Unconsciously, she’ll start to question her relationship with Jacob and might decide to end it and look for a rich dude. I know the impact influence has on people and the crazy things it makes them do. That’s why I keep things from her. She’s a lovely friend, and I’d hate for her to languish over not having a wealthy boyfriend. Mommy used to tell me I was a lucky girl. Till now, I still know my meeting with Evans isn’t a coincidence.

     “Let’s change the topic,” I say.

     She nods. “All right. Where are you guys having your honeymoon?”

     I reply, my face beaming, “Dubai. I’ve always dreamed of visiting there.”

     She smiles, but I sense it’s forced. Am I boring her talking too much about myself? Possibly. Life isn’t all about one’s self. Others too matter.

     “What’s up with you and Jacob?”

      She murmurs, “Nothing much. He was recently fired from his old job. He always told me he wanted to quit, but I didn’t think it was that serious.”

     There’s a tincture of sadness in her voice. It penetrates my heart, and I feel it too. Jacob is a salesman. Lauren has told me his manager is a mean man with a quick temper and he mostly gave Jacob a tough time at work, but I had no idea it was very bad that he’d fire him. From what Lauren has been telling me, Jacob’s salary isn’t much and she takes care of the rent and food items most of times. It still baffles me that they live together and haven’t gotten married yet.

     “I’m so sorry, Lauren. Tell that to Jacob for me.”

     “All right.”

     “I will try and speak with Evans and find out if there’s space in his company for Jacob.”

     Her eyes suddenly widen and she stares at me. “Really? You’ll do that for me?”

     Reaching across the table, I take her hand and pat it, smiling. “Of course. We’re friends, remember?”

     She smiles back. “I know, but you’ve been doing too much for me lately, and you’re getting married. Your fingers must be full.”

     “There will always be space for you, Lauren.”

     “Thank you. It’s so kind of you,” she says.

     Tears well up in her eyes. I arch a brow. “Are you crying?”

     She giggles softly. “It’s just tears of joy. I was wondering how Jacob is going to get a new job and you just...” Her voice trails away.

     I quickly reach into my bag, bring out the pack of tissues, and hand it over to her. I watch her take one and dab at the tears.

     “I don’t know what I will do without you. You’re such a kind woman.”

     Words like these flatter me and make me feel like I’m the only generous woman alive. What is money if you don’t try to extend it to people who may need it? I just hope Jacob gets a job soon, and Lauren won’t be so stressed about it.

     We change the conversation, her dull moment turning vibrant. We talk about the wedding cake, how big it will be, the number of guests, and the food that will be served. Through it all, I listen, smiling, wondering if all this is a good dream.

     The waitress walks to us, and I pay our orders. As she turns away, the sick feeling comes back again. My stomach churns and I want to throw up.

     Someone’s watching me.

     Every fiber of my being tells me so. But who has time to watch me? I’m not a celebrity of any sort. I haven’t married Evans yet, and we’re keeping it low profile. I requested that. Or maybe I’m paranoid, and it’s all in my head. It’s nothing serious.

     “Are you all right?” Lauren’s voice brings me to the present.

     I look at her as I rise. “Yes, just thinking.”

     She passes me a warm smile. “It’s normal. You’re getting married in a few weeks.”

     The sound of that makes me queasy. Am I getting married?