I collapse into Jude, laughing until I can’t breathe. I should pull away and catch my breath, but he’s got his hands resting lightly on my shoulders and I find that I can’t move. I look up at him, grinning.
“What else can we steal today?”
“Flats,” he tells me, out of breath. “I’m buying you flats from now on for every major holiday. You’re getting Halloween flats and Election Day flats—”
“The perfect shoe for stealing more golf carts,” I tease him, enjoying the way his eyes crinkle. There’s that smile, so hard toearn that when I do, it feels like a triumph. Even though he’ll never admit it, he’s enjoying this, too.
The pain in my feet reignites now that I’ve been upright in these shoes for several minutes, and I wince, letting myself drop down onto the closed toilet seat.
“How fast can you get those flats delivered?” I ask. “I can’t believe I have to stand in these for the ceremony.”
“Would it help if I…” Jude trails off, lowering himself to his knees and lifting my left foot off the ground, onto his lap.
“Is this okay?” he asks as he slips off my shoe and sets it on the bathroom floor.
I nod.
Jude uses his thumb to apply firm pressure to the ball of my foot. He’s looking at my bare foot—freshly pedicured this morning, my nails painted with a pale-yellow polish—as if it’s a painting on a museum wall that requires careful study. I might be embarrassed by the intimacy of this moment if it didn’t feel so good.
I moan in deep relief as Jude massages my throbbing feet until the impossible happens: The pain dissolves. He uses both hands now, which are wonderfully strong and make it hard for me to keep my eyes open.
“Where did you learn to do this so well?” I ask, a little breathless. “And why have you been hiding this incredible skill from me?”
“I’ve never done this before in my life,” he says, his cheeks a little pink. “Just kind of winging it.”
“Liar. You’ve been trained by a leader in the field. Can we stay just here all night?”
His eyes dip to my lips, so, purely on reflex, mine dip to his. I’m starting to really like the way his beard frames his lips. The texture of that scruff is so inviting—a little rough, like scratching an itch.
“Fenny?” There’s a knock on the bathroom door. It’s Masha. “Is that you?”
I snap my foot down, and Jude pops up to open the door, to Masha on the other side.
“Oh!” she says, her gaze moving all the way up to Jude’s face. “Hi. Is this—”
“This is Jude. My friend. From work.” While hauling myself off the toilet and hopping back into the shoe of death, I try to communicate a whole brunch’s worth of download to Masha with my eyes. Life’s been moving fast since Joshua Tree, and my friends and I haven’t yet had a chance to catch up.
“Your…friend. Great.”
“Sorry Fenny’s so late for her bridesmaid duties,” Jude leans forward to tell Masha. “It took me forever to convince her to steal a golf cart to get up here.”
Masha points at Jude. “I like him. Can I stealyounow, Fen, for the processional?”
“Of course.” I glance at Jude. “You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine, just shoe shopping for you on my phone. Size seven?”
“How did you know that?”
He wriggles those magic fingers at me, making me wonder how they’d feel elsewhere on a woman’s body.
“I still owe you the other half of the massage,” he whispersin my ear as I leave the bathroom with Masha, a little flustered and only half-relieved.
Favoring my restoredleft foot like a flamingo, I take my place at the altar next to Masha, across from a beaming, green-tuxedoed Jake and an unusually teary Eli. This backyard, always beautiful, has been stunningly transformed for the wedding today. Everywhere I look are roses and rhododendrons in shades of pink, orange, and white. The pool has been covered in plexiglass to make way for the aisle running up the center of the yard. Beyond the altar, I can see the skyscrapers of downtown to my left, and to my right, it’s clear enough today to see all the way to Catalina. But I’m finding that my favorite view is the one of Jude, sitting in the audience ten rows deep, smiling up at me. When our eyes lock, he flashes his phone, and I squint to see what looks like some sort of shoe purchase. It makes me laugh, and then wonder—how long would Jude and I have stayed locked in that bathroom if Masha hadn’t knocked? What else would have happened in that tiny little room? A flush warms my neck at the thought.
But nothing happened. We’re just friends. Who work together. One of whom speaks fluent Portuguese; may or may not give excellent, bearded head; and has offered to work with me on directing the show we both love.
When the music changes to the opening chords of “I Will Always Love You,” the wedding guests all rise. And there standsmy wonderful friend Olivia at the back of the crowd. She has both boobs inside her magnificent purple dress. She’s arm in arm with Lorena. Mother and daughter cry openly as they walk down the aisle, which makes me start to cry, which makes me look toward Jude. Does he think it’s pedestrian to cry at weddings? Worse, does he think that it’s pointless? I know how directors’ minds work. Everything is inspiration. Is he sitting there now, studying every detail of this wedding until his mind lands on the bleak twist that might turn this whole scene into a Palme d’Or–winning horror classic?
