“Can I ask you something?” Thomas says quietly after a couple of minutes.
I nod, and he turns so that our knees press together. It’s reminiscent of our time sitting together at the bar.
“I understand having the stag party here,” he begins, “but why the wedding? Should I expect Elvis to show up here like he did at ours?”
I don’t love the reminder that Janelle isn’t the first person from our family to get married this weekend, so I focus on his other question. “This is where Janelle and Ron met,” I explain.“We were here for a concert that weekend, and Ron was celebrating his soccer retirement. We saw him with his friends at some restaurant, surrounded by a bunch of thoseHappy Retirementballoons, and my sweet, nosy cousin couldn’t help but go over and ask what he did for work where he could retire before thirty-five.”
Thomas chuckles and shakes his head, like nothing about what I’ve shared surprises him any. “That means you’ve met my brother already.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you serious?”
“Yep. He was there that night.”
“Huh. Small world.” I narrow my eyes at him. “But if he was there, wouldn’t you have known that’s how Janelle and Ron met?”
His lips part to answer before he stops himself, pressing them into a firm line instead. It’s a long beat before he speaks. “My brother and I…don’t really talk much.”
Like last night, I’m intrigued by the dynamics of his life and relationships. Whatever’s there is just begging to be dug into.
But it won’t be by me, because on Monday morning I’m going back to clean up the broken pieces of my life in DC, with Thomas nothing but a distant memory. My lawyer is going to figure out how to get the annulment on the grounds that we were both drunk out of our minds—whatever the legal term for that is. Those pictures may be forever, but this marriage doesn’t have to be.
So I keep my mouth shut and don’t press for more. The silence between us this time is tense and awkward. He’s moved his leg away, leaving me surprisingly cold. I refuse to read into it and keep my gaze trained ahead, watching the church fill up and letting out a relieved breath when my parents choose to sit up front with my grandmother and Aunt Caroline. As thestring quartet that’s been quietly playing in the background picks up in volume, I finally relax a little, glad for the distraction of the ceremony starting.
A dapper tuxedoed Ron appears up front with the minister, practically bouncing on his toes in excitement. By the time the bridesmaids and groomsmen finish making their way down the aisle, he looks like he’s about ready to bolt. But unlike Étienne, he’s not looking to run out of the church, but straight toward the vision in white tulle standing just inside the doors.
I climb to my feet with everyone else, eyes drawn to Janelle. She’s glowing, practically levitating as her father escorts her down the rose petal–covered path, and my vision swims with tears at the sight of her. She deserves this happily ever after, one that I had the privilege of watching blossom from the very start. One that I can’t wait to watch grow and bloom even further.
“Are you crying?”
Thomas’s whispered words have my eyes cutting from Janelle to him. “Shut up.” I swipe underneath my eyes. To be honest, I’m about five seconds from blubbering like a baby.
The next thing I know, he’s holding up his silk pocket square to me. “Here.”
I shake my head. “I’ll get mascara all over it.”
He pushes it closer to my hand. “I can buy another.”
I hesitate before taking it and mumbling my thanks as I dab at my eyes. By the time my vision clears again, Janelle and Ron are together at the altar, smiling at each other like there’s no one else in the room. I hate to keep thinking about him, but in the brief moments we were up there together, Étienne certainly didn’t look at me like that. But…I don’t think I looked at him that way either. All I felt in the moment was sheer relief that we’d made it, that our wedding was finally happening and that we’d be able to settle into our lives together with no more stress.That everything would be okay once we walked out of the church together.
But instead, he walked out without me.
A rumble of laughter has my attention snapping back. I must have missed some joke Ron made in his vows, and I force a delayed chuckle. I want to be present in this moment, to be as joyful as I’m capable of feeling, because Janelle deserves nothing less. But damn if my chest isn’t aching.
Down by my side, Thomas’s hand brushes mine. I don’t have time to draw my fingers away before he’s hooking his pinkie around mine and holding tight. I glance over at him, confused, but he’s staring at Janelle and Ron, paying me no mind.
So I turn my attention back too and leave our hands linked in this little way. Because, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I think I need this. I need this grounding. The reminder that I’m not standing in this mess alone.
I may be moving on from this man by the end of the weekend, but I’m glad to have him right now.
Thank God for assigned seating and bless the DJ for wanting to get the party started ASAP, because this reception is exactly what I needed.
Janelle was kind enough to move my seat from a table of young couples to the one with our grandparents and other older folks, people who are more than willing to glare and loudly shoo away anyone determined to talk to me. It also helps that most of them have no idea how to use the internet past logging into Facebook, so my newest online shitstorm hasn’t reached them yet. Maybe this is the crowd I need to hang with from now on.
I have to admit, I’m not having the worst time. The country club venue a few miles from downtown is beautiful, dinner was delicious, and the DJ is spinning all the cookout classics, including a few tracks that have members of Ron’s family looking more than a little flustered. They’ve been extremely accepting of Janelle into their family otherwise, so I’m writing off the clutched pearls as a little culture shock.
Most importantly, the bride’s enjoying herself. After planting a kiss on her new husband’s cheek, she bops her way toward where I’ve taken up residence in the middle of the floor, our grandmother my dance partner. If there’s one thing I’ve learned tonight, it’s that Grandma can throw ass with the best of them.
“Surprised you’re not dancing with Thomas,” Janelle says as she bumps her hip against mine. “He keeps looking at you.”
