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MERCY
My something new for Brenna winds up being a kitten Bryce brings in after his evening rounds through the outer edges of town where power and civilization have yet to be restored. She’s pure white and makes the cutest accessory you could possibly imagine. Well, a unique accessory, anyway. My something old is a small, white leather satchel purse adorned with an abundance of glitter and lace, precisely how Miss Gertrude, Lacey’s favorite piano teacher, likes all of her belongings. As luck would have it, she’s willing to part ways with it, and I find it lends itself well to carrying the kitten down the aisle, dangling nicely on Brenna’s left wrist while she holds her bouquet of blue paper roses—handcrafted by Camden—and wears a delicate string of borrowed pearls wrapped around her right.
With limited space in the pavilion and most of town in attendance, Chase and I wind up standing along the wall, leaving the prime seating open to family and friends of the bride and groom. We’re not the only ones opting for standing spots. Esther and Wade are standing just a few feet to my right, looking almost as in love as the couple getting married. I can’t help but wonder how much longer it’ll be before they make their way down an aisle of their own and exchange vows of ever after, just like Brenna and Robbie are doing today.
To Chase’s left, I can make out MaryBeth huddled up with Camden and Frank. They’re so far back, they’re nearly in the corner, hidden by the darkness pooling beyond the center of the hall which is lit up in every Christmas light we could string up, creating a sort of sparkling tent for Brenna and Robbie to be married under.
The beauty of it all takes my breath away. I’ve organized and produced so many weddings grander than this one, with months of planning, budgets big enough to fulfill the bride’s every fantasy, and settings as romantic as anything you could dare to dream up having been fed a steady stream of Disney princess fairytales from the time you were three. I’ve done them all. None of them compare to this one, here tonight. The sheer love that was poured into this wedding far outmatches any amount of money I’ve ever had the freedom to spend. Every last imperfect improvisation that came into play to create this evening only adds to the magic of this moment, seeing these two people, so deeply in love, share a piece of their happiness with all of us.
I look to Chase, expecting to catch his eye, for us to have the sort of exchange of unspoken understanding you have with your love when in the company of others as lucky as you, but I’m left wanting. His gaze is fixed on the couple at the heart of it all. I could appreciate his attention being held captive, believing he was so genuinely moved by what he was witnessing that he was unable to notice anything or anyone else around him, including me. Except emotions seem absent from his expression as I take it in. Instead, I find traces of the same mockery he showed earlier, still etched in the corners around his mouth as if he’s trying hard to suppress a smirk.
“How can you not see it?” I whisper, my heart suddenly bleeding inside my chest, pain leaking from it into my stomach until I feel sick. “How can you watch them up there, and still not understand?”
“Mer,” he sighs, but his regret comes from being caught, not from the way he feels.
“It’s okay.” I blink, trying to fight tears as I lock my eyes back on the wedding. The couple is about to share their first kiss as husband and wife. “We can talk later.”
“I think we need to,” he agrees quietly. The back of his hand brushes mine and it’s the first I notice. This whole time we’ve been standing here, we weren’t even touching.
The kiss plays out like a detonator, setting off the celebration in an explosion of whoops and hollers from everywhere inside the hall. Within minutes, the chairs previously occupied by those watching the ceremony have been cleared from the floor, the makeshift aisle has been removed, and at the center of our tent of lights is now the grandest dancefloor anyone could ever hope for. Music is blasting over the sound system and Esther and MaryBeth are working double-time to get food served to our horde of excited guests.
Despite the overflow of cheer and overall giddiness spilling out of everyone in attendance, I’m finding it hard to be in the moment and truly enjoy it all. The conversation Chase and I need to have lingers at the forefront of my thoughts and, until we say what we need to, nothing will sit right with me.
“Walk with me?” I ask when I find him standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching in awe as the women line dance in perfect unison.
He nods, but struggles to tear his eyes from them even as he starts to take steps toward the door with me. “How do they do that? Did they rehearse that?”
I laugh. “It’s a certain sequence of steps that runs on repeat. No one rehearsed it, they’ve just been out dancing together every Saturday night for the last twenty years.”
He doesn’t use any words to respond but I gather from his expression he’s almost certain there’s more to it than that. Which is ironic, when I take in how we’re walking together. Keeping perfect time with each step, accommodating with ease for every sway, every swing of the arm. We’ve only been practicing a little over a year, but we’re so in sync with one another, it’s almost as if we can anticipate the other’s moves before they happen. Given how little we’re connecting in other areas of our relationship right now, I’d think the possibility of friends line dancing without tripping over each other would be less difficult a concept to fathom. Clearly, it doesn’t warrant any reading into. It just is what it is. Habit. Routine. Autopilot.
Outside the air is cool and crisp and, for the first time since my arrival, not drenched in humidity.
Before I can mentally prepare myself for what I want to say, Chase beats me to the opening line.
“I was able to book a flight for tomorrow,” he says, “so I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”
“What?” It’s so far from what I thought we’d be talking about, I’m struggling to fully register the words I’m hearing. “You’re going back to New York? Already?”
He reaches out to gently rub my shoulder. “Mer, you don’t need me to stick around anymore.” He shrugs, a sad smile resting on his lips. “Truth is, I’m starting to see that you didn’t need me to show up in the first place.”
I shake my head, not because I disagree but because I’m not ready to accept it. “Chase...” I’m not sure I even know what to say, but he seems to understand.
“It’s okay, really.” His hand moves from my shoulder to stroke my cheek the same way he’s done a hundred times before, only now he’s doing it for the last time. “I get it. This place is a part of you.”
“The past part,” I insist.
“It’s your history,” he agrees, “but that doesn’t make it part of the past.”
“You don’t understand. I want it to be. I watched my mother struggle in limbo the whole time I was growing up, staying here for my father but always yearning for the city. Her heart was here, her soul there. And I knew then, even as a kid, that I would have a choice to make. That both would fit. The heels and the boots, and both paths would call to me. And I got to choose. And I chose the city. And the life that brought me to you. And...” My voice breaks before I can say the part I need to say the most, but I gulp down the ache in my throat and force out the words, “I didn’t know,” I breathe helplessly, trying to explain myself, my change of heart, how everything that was so right between us only a few days ago, has turned all wrong now. “I’m sorry, Chase. So, so, sorry.”
He leans down to softly kiss my forehead before he takes a step back, breaking all contact between us. “Thing is, Mer, I’m not sure you ever did get to choose. Don’t get me wrong, I believe that you found yourself at a crossroads at some point in your path, and you decided to make a choice about the life you were going to live moving forward. But...I’m not so sure the options were really as equally stacked as you claim. Or that it was ever about choosing between New York and Lacey.” He smiles, and even though he’s visibly sad, it reaches his eyes. “It’s okay, Mer. I’m not sorry. Don’t you be sorry either.”
“I wish we could just rewind the last three days,” I say, wringing my hands as the guilt weighs heavy in the pit of my stomach. “Everything was so simple. We were happy.”
“We were,” he says, “but we weren’t as honest as we should have been. If we had been, I would have told you that I knew you were shutting me out of parts of your heart, and you would have told me...that they already belonged to someone else.”
“I thought those parts had died,” I admit through the tears choking my breath and staining my face. “I swear.”
“I know.” He nods, sliding both hands into his pockets, a final act of defeat. “But as it turns out, they were just broken. And you know time...”
I nod, sniffing loudly. “It heals all wounds.”
––––––––
FRANK
“Why do you look like you want to ask me a favor?” I cross my arms and settle in against the wall, my date to this wedding, while I stare wearily at Wade and nervously anticipate his response.
“You know,” he says, eyes darting back and forth across the room. “All this business about getting married. Just got me thinking.”
“My blessing isn’t even your biggest problem,” I remind him, trying hard not to laugh. Watching my best friend turn into a puddle of mush on account of my little sister, who lacks any romantic bone in her body, still amuses me in a sick sort of way. “You only just got Esther to call you her boyfriend, you really think she’s ready to promote you already?”
He scowls. “She can deny it publicly all she wants, your sister is head over heels for me,” he insists, taking an unexpected dramatic stance. It seems I’ve struck a nerve. “You mark my words, the day I propose to her, she’ll be singing for joy from every rooftop in town.”
“I’m sure.” But my tone is laden with mockery, so it’s probably clear that I’m not.
“Fine,” he huffs, “be a dick. Just get over it by the time I need a best man.”
“You’re really gonna ask her.” I’m not really questioning the act itself. I knew the day he told me he was in love with my sister, the day would come eventually, I’m simply inquiring about the timing.
“Yeah,” he says, his standard grin moving back into place. “I think I am. I mean, not tonight. But soon. Real soon.”
“Wow.”
“It’s been an eye-opening week,” he says quietly, eyes seeking out Esther on the dance floor and locking into place. “The hurricane. How much everyone’s lost. Seeing what happened to the Pruitts. Watching Brenna and Robbie turn their luck around on their terms. And you...with Mercy.”
I push up from the wall and stand up straight. “There is no me with Mercy.”
Wade nods, grin slipping from his face again. “Exactly.”
Then he tips his head, a parting gesture, before making his way out to meet Esther just as the music slows down to a more romantic tune.
I watch as he takes her into his arms and she all but melts into him, smiling. It was easy getting over the weird factor when they first started dating. No one else has ever made her look so content, so calm, or so confident as she looks since she’s been loved by him.
It seems to take no time at all, before every couple has found their way to the center of the room to dance, leaving me the lone outsider, still lurking in the shadows along the wall. Not even Camden is anywhere to be seen.
I take in the view one last time, a faint memory of being a part of that picture once upon a time, before I turn on the heel of my boot and head for the door in search of fresh air and space for my thoughts to untangle from the memories creeping in faster with every second I stand here.
Except, outside doesn’t provide nearly enough space once I get there.
“Red?”
She turns, eyes bloodshot from crying, hands balled into tiny, angry fists. “Of course it would be you.”
Spin The Bottle
If I recall correctly my first kiss was during a game of Spin The Bottle. We were all good friends so thre was none of the 'eeewwww' meanness that sometimes happens. It was with my friend Scott, it was a quick peck on the lips and done. I did share some real kisses with him later in life, and he's still a good friend.
~ Deb