Page 103 of Eye of the Beholder
I sigh. Thinking about my someday wedding was a lot less painful when I was just trying to decide what my bouquet would look like. And thinking about marrying Cohen is ridiculous, anyway. I mean, yeah, I’ve known him forever. But I’ve only gotten to know himwellthis past school year. I always told myself that I would date a man for a year before getting engaged. So clearly the whole wedding atmosphere is getting inside my head. It’s just…I can see him being that person. Not tomorrow, but someday.
I look back to Cohen, because I guess I’m an idiot by this point in the wedding. I can see what features he’s inherited from his father. They have the same smile—even though Cohen’s is slightly askew—one that makes their eyes crinkle around the corners. They have the same chin, too. Personally I think it looks better on Cohen, but I might be a little biased.
I can still feel the ghost of Cohen’s fingers touching my lips, and my own hand itches to touch his, too. I don’t, though. I just watch him. His jaw is more relaxed now. I wouldn’t say he looks happy, but he doesn’t look angry, either, or even upset. Just…calm. Peaceful.
And I smile to myself. Because that’s what I want for him. Peace.
32
Cohen
This is the first wedding I’ve ever been to. I didn’t really think about that until I got here. I’ve seen weddings in movies and stuff—even if I usually try to avoid movies with weddings, because I’m not much of a chick flick person. But I’ve never actually been to one. It’s nice. I would never admit that to anyone.
Well, Mina. Maybe.
But it’s true. It’s nice. There’s something about being in this church that feels good. It’s peaceful here—peaceful in a way I’d forgotten.
I also didn’t think about how it would feel to sit next to Mina and listen to two people—clearly very in love—promising to cherish each other forever.
I love her. I love Mina.
I don’t know when or how that happened, but it did. I don’t know the first thing about love. But I do know that when this preacher is done marrying my father to Linda, I want to go up there with Mina so that I can promise her the same things my father is promising Linda. To have and to hold. To make her chicken noodle soup when she’s sick. To remind her every day how incredible she is.
But I can’t promise her any of that. All I can promise her—even if it’s not out loud—is to be happy for her Operation Jack ends up being successful. I’m not giving up. But if she’s happy with someone who isn’t me…how can I begrudge her that? How can I begrudge her happiness?
I push that out of my mind, because it’s not something I want to focus on right now. Or ever, preferably.
After my dad kisses his new bride, his eyes swing to mine, making me jump in my seat. He gives a jerk of his head, his eyebrows raised, and I can tell that he’s asking if I’m staying for the reception. I swallow and nod, then avert my gaze. I look over at Mina instead. I’m surprised to see her smiling at me. She looks somehow happy and sad at the same time.
But I get it.
We stand, along with everyone else, and let the crowd carry us to the back door of the church. It’s cold, and the sun is almost completely down. There’s an enormous white tent set up behind the church—the reception tent, I assume. I just hope it’s heated; otherwise we’re not going to be here very long.
I hear Mina breathe a sigh of relief as we enter the tent, and I do too; it’s heated. The lights are low inside, and there are small tables set up everywhere. There’s some sort of dance floor at the opposite end of the tent. It’s very classy, as Lydia would say.
I can only assume my dad’s new wife—my stepmother—was responsible for all this. My dad doesn’t have this much style.
Mina wanders immediately in the direction of the long food table set up along one side of the tent, and I follow her, watching the way the low lights create shadows in her hair.
We get food in silence, but the silence is comfortable. We find a table and sit down.
Five minutes later, Mina looks at me. She seems surprised to see me watching her, and I realize I’ve been staring at her. Could I be any creepier?
But she just smiles and then points at my plate. “You should eat. I know you have trouble eating when you’re nervous, but the éclairs are really good. Try that, at least.”
I frown. How does she know that about me?
“Come on,” she coaxes, scooting her chair closer to mine. “Just try it. Pretend for a few minutes that we’re not at your dad’s wedding. You’re very pale. Please eat something.”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m going to say to him.”
“I know,” Mina says, her voice gentle. “But it will come to you. You don’t even have to say anything if you don’t want to. Do you want to talk to him at all?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. Do I?”
It’s absurd that I’m asking her what I want, but I feel like somehow she’ll know.
She tilts her head as she studies me. Her hair falls over her face, and she tucks it behind her ear. Though the lights are dim, it’s still light enough that I can see her lips quirk. I feel her rest her hand on my knee under the table, and I resist the urge pull her onto my lap and kiss her until we can’t see straight.
