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The girls had done their very best to include Mila in every portion of the wedding ceremony and subsequent reception, which was held at a small event space attached to the Katama Lodge and Wellness Spa, located on the western edge of Katama Bay, just south of Edgartown. That said, the girls’ best simply wasn’t enough to blot out the misery that seemed to grow deeper within Mila as time passed. Jennifer and Mila’s clunky morning routine had started things off slightly sour, at least for Mila, and things had just trucked along from there.
Now, mid-way through the reception itself, Mila tried her best to sit like a poised lady in a wheelchair. She had searched for images of “beautiful women in wheelchairs” the previous evening while she’d lay in bed alone and discovered that there was a sharpness to these women, a sign of courage that lurked behind their eyes. Maybe the courage came later, or maybe it was better to fake it till it came.
It was a couple’s dance. From her stance at the side of the beautiful dance floor, Mila caught sight of Jennifer and Derek, lost in their swirling, frenetic conversation, captivated with one another’s relative new perspective in their lives. Just a few couples away, Camilla and Jonathon danced with goofy grins, both grateful they’d thrown together a wedding after the year they’d had. Olivia and Anthony danced, as well, with Olivia’s rather short skirt highlighting the athleticism of her runner’s legs. Mila’s stomach burned with jealousy. She took another sip of wine and tried to collect these dark thoughts into the back corner of her mind.
It had been beautiful to watch Andrea walk down the aisle— beautiful to see her pledge her life to a man she loved and beautiful to witness Camilla as she wept with joy as the church bells chimed above them.
But in truth, as she sat in the silence of herself at the side of the reception now, Mila felt like a fool. In many ways, she wished she remained at the hospital, where her routine had been steadfast. It had been expected that she couldn’t do much of anything— where nurses’ assistance hadn’t filled her with so much shame. How embarrassing that at one time, she’d been the fastest runner on the girls’ cheerleading team, and now she couldn’t even go to the bathroom alone.
Mila grabbed her phone and typed the twelfth message to Liam that day, none of which she’d actually sent but saved as drafts.
MILA: I wish you would just be man enough to tell me what’s going on in your head.
This time, however, she took a long sip of wine and tapped her finger against the SEND button. If Liam wanted to act like an absolute trash bag of a human, she was willing to remind him of this fact.
Unfortunately, it seemed that Liam’s phone was off or he’d blocked her. Her message received only one checkmark. She took another long swig of wine and cursed herself inwardly.
The wedding DJ announced that it was time for the bouquet toss. Camilla stepped out of the crowd of giggling women to join Mila.
“How are you holding up, honey?” Camilla asked warmly.
The last person Mila wanted to complain to was the mother of the bride, who would remember Mila’s disappointment regarding her daughter’s wedding forever if she brought it up now.
“It’s a beautiful wedding. So glad I got to come,” Mila replied, looking out at all the women getting ready to catch the bride’s bouquet.
“Well, I’m sure you know already, but that dress is a knock-out.” Camilla waved a hand toward a passing waiter, who arrived to refill both of their glasses. “Jennifer said things went pretty smoothly this morning?” Her eyes scanned the crowd as she was on constant wedding duty.
“Sure,” Mila offered. “As smooth as anything.”
“That’s great, Mil. Really.” Camilla waved a hand toward a family member and added, “Gosh, that’s Jonathon’s, Aunt Cherry. I’d better run off and greet her before she tells everyone on Jonathon’s side of the family I snubbed her.”
Mila’s laughter rang false. “I remember all the in-law politics,” she commented, although, in actuality, Peter’s parents had both been dead when she had gotten involved with him.
She just wanted to feel a part of the club of those who loved, of those who were loved.
But you couldn’t just wish yourself into that club.
Mila wheeled herself over to the cake table. An hour before, the crowd had gathered to watch as Andrea and her beloved had playfully smashed little frosted bits of cake into one another’s faces. For their wedding, Mila had instructed Peter not to do that, as it would mess up her refined makeup look. He’d done it anyway— something she’d always half-appreciated, half-resented. It had seemed the perfect symbol of their marriage. The photo of the moment itself, her face aglow with shock, had graced Peter’s work desk for decades, although she had begged him to remove it.
Her feelings for Liam could never have compared to her love for her husband. She knew that now. The feeling of it soured in her gut.
“Would you like a slice of cake, ma’am?” a waiter at the cake table leaned down slightly to speak to her. It was understandable, given that the event space was quite loud and it was difficult to hear. Even still, Mila resented it.
“No. No, thank you.” Mila sipped her wine, then wheeled herself out toward the far outskirts of the crowd, where she made her way into the hallway, out of sight.
Once there, as the party swirled on, a chorus of laughter and funny conversation, Mila closed her eyes against it all and allowed herself to sob, really sob, in a way she hadn’t since she had arrived home. At every turn, that sob had grown more powerful in the pit of her gut, and now, here it was. It was taking hold of her, just as Hurricane Janine had erupted over the island two months before.
Without knowing why, Mila lifted her phone and dialed a newer number.
“Mila? Is that you?” Hannah’s voice rang through the darkness and lifted Mila’s spirits. She sounded so happy to hear her, so thrilled that she’d reached out. At least Mila could be that for someone, rather than a burden.
“It sure is,” Mila returned, wiping away her tears.
“I thought the wedding was today?”
“It is. I’m calling from outside.”
“Oh goodness. And you thought of me? How lovely.”
Mila leaned her head so that her hair shifted down the back of the chair, the chair she’d be latched to for the foreseeable future. She tried to picture Hannah’s world, although she had never been to Hannah’s house and, in truth, she had no idea where it was.
“What are you up to?” she asked.
“Oh, goodness, I’m a bit embarrassed to say. It’s only eight, and I’m all tucked away for the night. Got my pajamas on and everything.”
“I’m sure your pajamas are just about the most stylish pajamas around,” Mila countered.
“They aren’t bad. A little vintage get-up from the forties.”
“I should have known.” Mila grinned into the phone. Before she knew what she’d done, she found herself asking, “Why don’t you come to the reception? There are still hours to go, and I’d love to see you.”
Hannah was quiet for a moment. Something spat and crackled in the background, maybe a radio or a television.
“There’s still plenty of food as well,” Mila continued. “I’m sure I could get them to make you a plate. They’ll do anything for the woman in the wheelchair.”
Hannah’s laughter was nervous but endearing. “They’d do anything for Mila, wheelchair or not.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I really don’t have anything to wear.”
“That’s ridiculous. I bet you have fifteen outfits ready to go right this minute and besides? When was the last time you went to a party?”
“Goodness me. It’s probably been five years.”
“Then it’s about time, don’t you think?”
**
TO MILA’S AMAZEMENT, Hannah arrived at Andrea’s reception forty-five minutes later. Just as Mila had suspected, her chosen outfit was the very best of fifties’ fashion, with glowing, milky pearls and little pink high-heels. She glanced around the party nervously as her fingers cradled two of the pearls on her necklace.
“You’re so beautiful, Hannah,” Mila complimented with a wide smile. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Mila gestured for a waiter to bring them a fresh glass of wine. Hannah giggled as she took her first sip.
“So many pretty people here, Mila. I recognize some of them from the salon.”
“We do our best to make Martha’s Vineyard a pretty place,” Mila quipped. “Who knows what would happen if we closed up shop? The unibrow situation on this island would reach an epidemic level.”
Hannah giggled good-naturedly. “Not to mention the upper-lip fuzz...”
“Hannah!” Mila’s heart lifted with surprise.
Hannah shrugged as her lips flirted into a smile. “I’ll never tell who, of course. A lady never reveals other ladies’ beauty secrets.”
“We should make that the salon slogan,” Mila took a sip of her wine.
Hannah selected a seat at a round table that only had a few people sitting at it, which allowed Mila to glide up alongside her. Hannah pointed out Mila’s friends, who had grown lost to the haze of wine and dancing with loved ones.
“Your friends have such life to them. How lucky you are!”
Mila tilted her head. “You’re my friend, too, Hannah. I hope you know that.”
Hannah seemed oddly flustered at the thought. She took a large sip of wine and muttered something about wanting a slice of cake but that she’d “better not.” As Mila tried to drum up another topic of conversation, an older gentleman from Jonathon’s side of the family stepped up to their table and pointed toward Hannah’s already empty glass.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked her, ignoring Mila altogether and focusing his attention on the other beautiful woman before him.
Hannah’s cheeks flushed crimson. “Oh goodness. I suppose so? It was the white wine. Chardonnay, I believe, not that I’m any wine snob or anything.”
The man disappeared and returned with a glass for her and a fresh beer for himself. “Do you mind if I sit with you, two beautiful ladies?”
Hannah’s eyes found Mila’s. The strength of her gaze could have burned a hole in the ozone layer.
“Of course. Sit with us,” Mila piped up as she recognized Hannah was too nervous to answer him.
The man sat and introduced himself as Thomas Wright. Hannah continued to be unable to meet his gaze, although he desperately tried to get her attention. He asked her how she knew the bride and groom, which led her to admit she didn’t know either of them.
“She’s my date,” Mila offered brightly.
“Ah. I hope I’m not barking up the wrong tree,” Thomas said.
“You’re not.” Hannah looked as though she couldn’t believe she’d just offered up that information about her personal life. Her eyes widened as she slowly turned her head to face him.
“Then I wonder if I might have the pleasure of asking you to dance?”
Hannah gulped and nodded her head slowly, tentatively, as she rose from her chair. Thomas stood up with more youth and vitality than his sixty-plus years should have allowed.
“Will you be okay, Mila?” Hannah’s voice wavered.
“Of course,” Mila returned with an earnest smile.
Thomas stepped out toward the floor as Hannah bent down to whisper in Mila’s ear.
“I really can stay with you. I don’t mind. I’m sure he’s just trying to be nice to an old lady.”
Mila shook her head. “Hannah, you’re a knock-out. This is fun. Let yourself have fun for a change. You deserve it.”
Hannah rose back up, gave Mila a determined nod, and turned to meet Thomas, who placed his hand at the base of her back and then whirled her into the crowd.
Mila’s heart pounded so loudly, as though she was deep underwater and could hear only that. She took an additional sip of wine and felt herself fall deeper into the depths of some kind of despair. Maybe it was the kind of despair that would become familiar to her, as natural and easy as an old friend.