Phoebe’s mind was working just fast enough to process the memory, but not fast enough to figure out an escape. As if being unable to escape this horrid memory wasn’t awful enough, she now had to relive it without lifting a finger.

This was torture.

Phoebe relived the scene through the eyes of herself three days past, feeling all the emotions she had felt so strongly wash over her. Love. Nervousness. Desperation.

Her face stretched into the awkward smile she had given three days ago, and she felt the caress of velvet on the pad of her left thumb. Phoebe felt fresh dread creep into her body—not three day old dread—at the action that she would execute much too soon.

Phoebe gripped something hard and velvet, and anticipation bubbled up .

Phoebe, of three days past, closed her hands around the small black box and stood up. Her legs were shaking, her knees nearly knocking. She forced herself to walk a couple feet to the left.
It was a day with near perfect weather, she remembered that. Even if she didn't, the sheer amount of people sitting out on the restaurant balcony demonstrated so, even if she had suddenly become drenched with nervous sweat.

Now or never.

Phoebe's internal words of three days past echoed through her head, while she was forced to sit tight and simply watch her actions of three days ago.

She dropped onto one knee, and she felt the searing gaze of the crowd on her. The rough concrete beneath her left knee pressed against her skin uncomfortably, and she was so unnerved at the sudden sensation that she nearly fell over.

In retrospect, she wished she had fallen over then. Perhaps she would be too mortified to go on.

But fate wasn't so kind. Phoebe of three days past opened her fingers, revealing a classic black ring-bearing velvet box. She opened the box.

An audible gasp rose from the audience around them.

Trey seemed to be turning vaguely green. Phoebe didn't let that dishearten her, though now, she wished that she did. Loudly, she asked, "Trey Scott Anderson, will you marry me?"

Trey said nothing, the steak knife in his left hand hovering in midair. His eyes were bugged, but like the good man he was, he held out his right index finger, signaling for her to wait while he chewed his food the more than the recommended twenty chomps. After a full minute of awkward silence, he gulped and put down his finger. He wiped his mouth and took a rather long sip of water.

Then, he smiled.

And Phoebe melted, her body warm and her cheeks pinked.

The crowd clapped and cheered, a couple people whistling merrily. A waiter ran back into the main building, off the deck, probably in search of an engagement cake.

Phoebe handed him the ring. "Put it on, love," she said gently, feeling relief wash over her, then feeling foolish for feeling relieved. She was Trey’s, and Trey was hers. They were always perfect for each other, from the moment she laid her eyes on him and his on her. They were soul mates. What had she feared? They were made for each other.

He laughed and took it from her. "If you say so, Phoebe."

Phoebe? Phoebe squashed down the disappointment of his lack of cheesy nickname for her. She had always remembered him as cheesy beyond belief, but she supposed that this would have to do.

Phoebe giddily watched as he put his steak knife down and carefully gripped the ring. She held a breath as he held it over his left hand. She was glad that she had ended up picking the sapphire emerald-cut ring, for the color complimented his eyes and the shape his hand.

Then he slid it onto his left index finger.

His left index.

"Love, that's the wrong finger," Phoebe said, trying her best to sound patient. Instead, she sounded frustrated and upset.

A waiter came and dropped off two elaborately decorated cupcakes, proclaiming its congratulations.

Trey lifted his head, and quirked a brow, still laughing. "Phoebs, I love your spirit, but I have limits."

Spirit? Limits? She squashed down more frustration and more disappointment. He didn't just love her spirit, he loved her. He might as well say so. And from what she remembered, Trey never set limits with her. He always agreed with her, and her with him. Their opinions were one. “Thank you, dear,” she said rather stiffly.

He didn't seem to notice her discontent.

From what she remembered, he always noticed. And he always commented on it. And he would never rest until she was happy. Phoebe tried not to pay too much attention to his fourth shortcoming.

He opened his mouth, eyes still twinkling.

Phoebe relaxed. He was going to ask her about her worries, and he would right them for her. He would be the perfect example of the ideal human again.

“This isn't an actual engagement,” he said instead.

It would've hurt less if he'd have slapped her in the face. "What do you mean?" she asked in in a barely controlled tone. What was wrong with her,Trey? "You agreed to wear the ring! There are two engagement cupcakes right in front of us!”

Trey's eyes were unnaturally wide when they locked with hers. "Phoebe, it's April the first!"

"And?" she deadpanned. She wouldn't care any more if it was April the second or April the third, or perhaps March the thirty-first.

He was supposed to ask her what was wrong. He wasn't supposed to spout dates. In fact, he wasn't supposed to reject their engagement and take it as a joke.

Her self of three days past squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to shake off her frustration and her overwhelming disappointment of the ever growing list of Trey’s shortcomings.

But what of their future? Their future was disappearing right before her very eyes—her dream come true that was actually revealed to be a joke.

A joke! Couldn't he see that she loved him? Didn't he care that she loved him? Didn't he love her?

"You didn't mean this as an April Fool's joke, did you?" he asked softly.

"What even is that? A national holiday?" Phoebe cried, unable to think clearly. Her present self cringed. "Of course it's not a joke, you dingbat. I love you!"

And he understood.

She watched as his face traveled from amusement to shock. Then, like a light switch being flipped from off to on, his face quickly reddened until the redness of his face could rival an overripe tomato's. She waited expectantly, more than aware of the fact that the entire restaurant had become so silent one could hear a pin drop in a matter of seconds.

Trey was suddenly stone cold, his eyes and cold and dark as the winter solstice.

This definitely wasn't the Trey she remembered.

"You have no right to say that," he said, deathly quiet.

"Why not?" she asked sardonically. "You're not married yet. You could ditch Kendall," she said, spitting the other woman's name. She couldn't believe how so very close she was to getting her dream, and how quickly it was slipping through her grasps. "I love you. More than she does."

His eyes flared with an ice-cold anger, and Phoebe took a large step back. Despite their picturesque surroundings, he looked positively frightful. Her back bumped into a neighboring diner's table. Her heart thumped so loudly, it was a wonder nobody seemed to be affected by it.

"That's too bad," he said, staring at her like he’d never met her before. And perhaps, in some regards, this was the first time he’d ever met the underlying Phoebe—jealous and possessive. “I love Kendall, and I don't love you."

His words cut her open, and any remaining strength of hers suddenly dissipated. She crumpled to the ground, and started crying. Phoebe was always an ugly crier. She gave loud, choked-up sobs that made her sound like a dying animal.

Right now, she felt like one, too.

Trey didn't even bother to help her up. He simply pushed in his chair and left.

If she was certain of one thing about Trey, it was the fact that he was chivalrous. He certainly was chivalrous now, insulting her in unforgivable ways and leaving without so much as a tip on the table.

What had happened to Trey since the time she last saw him?

A congratulatory cupcake had fallen off the table sometime during their heated exchange. Phoebe picked it up gingerly, feeling dismayed at the sight of the ruin of possibly the only physical memento of his smile in reply to her question.

The smile that was only there because he thought it was a joke.

She jammed the cupcake violently into the concrete, face first. At its impact, she heard a familiar high pitched squeak. Flustered, she flipped the cupcake over, only to realize that the cupcake really wasn't a cupcake at all.

It was a frosted styrofoam cylinder.

April Fool’s, Trey had said. The first of April.

As she had lived in Japan for the past six years, she had totally forgotten about the National American prankster holiday. How could stupid enough not to research the date of her biggest gesture to date?

Phoebe threw the styrofoam cylinder as hard as she could.

But being as light as it was, it didn't go very far.

_____

Before the kiss was over, Phoebe of yesterday fled.

Phoebe of the present, however, sat back and lingered. Now that she was painfully aware of how deceptively real memories and dreams could feel, she wondered.

For eight years she had been in love with Trey. Enamored she was from the start, swept away by his good looks and his polite manner back when she was a young teen. She spent every waking moment thinking about him, and every night dreaming of him. Dreaming of them. Even after she moved back into Japan during the middle of her sophomore year, she would continue to think of him.

He had seemed so perfect.

The Trey she remembered and fell in love with was courteous, kind, and agreeable. He was borderline telepathic and very intuitive, and always ready to help. He was sensitive to the needs of those around him. He made her feel important. He made her feel wanted.

But that's not how she felt when she actually met in for the first time in three years. He was not courteous, kind, or agreeable. He was most definitely not borderline telepathic or intuitive, and the words he spouted were more painful than the bluntest daggers. He did not make her feel important. He did not make her feel wanted.

She hadn't seen Trey for six years, and as he wasn't one for technology, she hadn't been able to contact him beyond the occasional Christmas and birthday card. Three days ago, she just met Trey for the first time in six years, and he was so different than what she remembered.

So cruel.

So imperfect.

So humanly flawed.

How much of what she remembered was true memory, and how much was fantasy? Nobody was perfect, and while her memory of Trey was, he certainly wasn't.

It all made her wonder: in the space of six years—how many fantasies had she dreamed into her reality?

How long had she lived a lie, doing the bare minimum to pass her classes in school and disregard every other opportunity because she thought that those were skills she would never need, for her Trey would come to sweep her off her feet?

They say the most believable lies have a certain amount of truth. Trey—the perfect, kind boy who loved her back—was the product of a standard template of a typical, albeit handsome, boy, with all his flaws forgotten and countless amounts of whimsical wishes she had projected onto him.

Her Trey wasn't real. Her Trey was a lie. Phoebe could no longer wait for her perfect prince to sweep her off her feet, because he didn't exist.

So she let him go.

Ben the bartender grunted as he lifted the girl who had downed the cackling old lady’s tequila. She owed him for that glass of tequila and all the babysitting he had done for her tonight. Perhaps he'd want it in the form of cash in his tip jar, or the knowledge of what happened to her, or —

He looked down, and his breath caught.

For the first time all night, she was smiling. It wasn't a big smile, but it was enough.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.