Champagne Toast

by Melissa Brown

  “Days like this are a godsend for me. My daughter’s playing with some new friends, and I get a break from being Dad for a few minutes,” he smiles, taking off his sunglasses.

  He looks like he’s probably in his 30s, but his face tells me more than that. Deep-set wrinkles near his eyes tell me he hasn’t been sleeping well. His disheveled hair tells me he doesn’t take nearly enough time for himself. And his warm smile tells me he’s longing for adult interaction. He looks tired and worn and a little lonely. “Do you have kids?” he asks.

  “No, I don’t.” I shake my head.

  “Well, you’re young. Take your time. I wouldn’t trade her for the world, but she’s an insane amount of work for one person.”

  I’m not sure what to say next. He seems like he really needs someone to talk to. But, that’s not really my style. I’m not the appease-strangers-I-meet-at-the-park kind of person. So, instead, I simply nod and take a few more shots.

  “That’s a nice camera,” he continues, looking for something else to discuss with me. I take a large sigh and turn to give him a polite smile.

  “It’s old, but it gets the job done,” I offer.

  “I used to take pictures in college and it looks like something I used to use,” he says, pointing at the lens. “It looks like a Canon.”

  “Yeah,” I respond, surprised, turning the camera so he can see the small emblem on the side deeming it a Canon camera. He smiles. This isn’t the first man who’s tried to talk to me when I’ve been busy taking pictures. They usually pretend to be interested as well, but I can tell pretty quickly that it’s just an excuse to make conversation. This guy is different.

  “I used to take pictures for our school paper. God, that feels like a million years ago, but it was great. Do you develop your own pictures?”

  “Yeah, I have a darkroom.”

  “Oh wow, that’s great. I always wanted to learn, but the paper insisted we didn’t have the money for that. So, we used a service.”

  “Most people think I’m nuts for not going digital,” I say, rolling my eyes, surprising myself that I’m actually continuing conversation with this random person. But, it’s refreshing to meet someone who’s used a camera like this. Someone who gets it.

  “Ignore them, they don’t know what they’re missing. Developing photos is an art form in itself. I’m impressed.” His smile is so wide.

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  “So, are you a professional photographer or do you just do it as a hobby?” There’s that word again, hobby. I will always see that word as nothing but poison. But, he doesn’t know that. He’s just being friendly so I cut him some slack. I’m getting better at that lately.

  “I actually have an art show coming up at the Blue Door Gallery and I—”

  “Seriously? Blue Door? Wow,” he says, looking impressed.

  “What?”

  “Well, my wife, um, ex-wife, is a caterer and she used to have jobs at Blue Door, art shows, weddings and such. They’re big time over there. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” I smile.

  “Do you have shows there often?” he presses.

  “No, this is my first,” I say, my pulse speeding up. Big time? Like I needed more pressure on top of pressure. “To be honest, I’m struggling to find inspiration for the show. I’m not sure what to present and nothing seems good enough.”

  “Present what you love,” he suggests, making it sound so simple. But, what do I love? I hate my job, I don’t have a real family and I doubt anyone wants to see pictures of my darkroom.

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. It was nice meeting you, um—”

  “Nathaniel,” he says, standing up to shake my hand, just as a tiny little brunette with a head full of knotted curls runs past me and climbs into his lap. She gives him a sweet peck on the cheek, and he smiles warmly at her. It’s time for me to go.

  “Thanks, Nathaniel. I’d better head home. I’ve gone through several roles of film. Time to see if I got anything worth showing.”

  “No problem, um—”

  “Kate,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, feeling like the impolite person that I usually am.

  “Kate, good luck with your show.” He smiles warmly before sitting back down on the bench and resting his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose.

  Slowly, I walk back to my apartment, thinking of his words which play on repeat in my head, over and over and over again.

  Present what you love.

  Present what you love.

  Present what you love.

  As I’m walking up the stairs, I realize what I need to present. The idea comes rushing at me so fast, I can hardly keep up with my thoughts and I begin to race up the stairs. Running to my door, bursting into my apartment and sprinting for my small bookshelf that holds all of the photos I’ve ever taken, I know exactly what I want to do.

  Quickly, I remove the photo boxes from the shelf.

  2008

  2009

  2010

  Present what you love . . .

  Carefully, I open the first box, smiling to myself as I remove picture after picture after picture. A stack starts to grow as I place pictures from 2008, pictures from 2009 and pictures of 2010 . . . before our world fell apart. In the end I have at least 100 photos of what I love.

  Evan.

  I sit back, surrounded by photos of the man I love, surrounded by what feels like a thousand of his faces, all making different expressions. Happiness, concern, desire, astonishment, anguish, elation, longing and so many more. He is my muse. He is my inspiration. He is what I love.

  Chapter 23

  Evan

  December 1, 2012

  “You look very handsome,” Chelsea says, straightening my bow tie. “I’d better take my seat.”

  I give her a small peck on the lips before leaving her to stand with Patrick and the other groomsman. It’s the big day. My best friend is getting married, and I’m his best man. So far, the limousine rental has gone off without a hitch. The bride is here, ready to make her appearance down the aisle. And the nervous groom, who’s usually about twenty minutes late wherever he goes, was forced to be early because his best man was so on top of things. As long as my toast doesn’t tank at dinner, I should be golden.

  I’m not nervous about the toast; after all, I make a living talking to people every single day. But, I am nervous about who might be watching me. Seeing Kate today has my stomach all twisted up, little surges of adrenaline course through my veins every time I see her. She’s been looming throughout the church, taking pictures of the stained glass windows and the architecture of the building. Patrick assured me she wouldn’t be taking any of the bridal party pictures, but that doesn’t keep us from making eye contact several times. I can’t stop watching her, even though I’m doing my best to stay focused on the groom.

  “Gentlemen,” the pastor says, “it’s time to get started.” Nodding, we take our places in front of the church altar.

  “Here we go,” Patrick says with a nervous laugh. I pat him on the back reassuringly as the organ begins to play. Each bridesmaid takes her time walking down the aisle before Chloe makes her way, escorted by her father. She looks stunning. Just the sight of her in her beautiful white gown brings a sadness in me that I’ve been attempting to bury. I thought this would be Kate and me.

  ***

  Several hours later, we take our seats at the head table, and I’m handed a microphone so that I can present my speech as best man. Immediately, I start to wonder if Kate is still here. After the ceremony, she took several pictures of Patrick and Chloe while the rest of the bridal party headed to the country club banquet hall. Since arriving here, I’ve only seen her a handful of times and each time it made my heart race.

  Taking the microphone in my hand, I stand to greet the crowd.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. It is my honor and privilege to stand before you tonight, representing my best friend, Patrick. I’ve known Patrick since we were two eigh
teen-year-old kids in the dorms at Northwestern. We were both wide-eyed freshmen, looking for possibilities. Both being undecided freshmen, we were both open to the possibility of finding a major. Both being social guys, we were open to the possibility of forming friendships. And finally, both single, we were open to the possibility of finding love.

  Patrick was lucky enough to find love our junior year when he was paired up with a certain girl named Chloe in his biology class. She was assigned to be his lab partner, and he’d visit me at work, yammering on and on and on about how this girl was driving him crazy. He couldn’t get her out of his head.” I smile at the crowd as I hear chuckles throughout the room, mainly from Patrick’s family. “He wasn’t sure if dating her would be a smart move. But, he was convinced to go for it, knowing that if she liked him as much as he liked her, the possibilities would be endless.

  That’s the thing about love — it’s full of possibilities. It can lead you down so many different paths. Sure, for some of us, it can lead to sadness and regret. But, for others, well, for others it can lead them to the greatest future they could’ve ever hoped for. Love is the most possible thing in the world. And I’m so glad that Chloe and Patrick were both open to the possibility of finding someone at a simple table in a Biology class. Because of that, we’re all here today, toasting their future, bearing witness to their happiness. So, here’s to my best friend, Patrick, and his lovely wife, Chloe, and all the possibilities that lie before them as they embark on their life together,” I say, raising my glass of bubbly champagne, gesturing towards the happy couple. “And here’s to love, the most possible thing in the world.”

  Applause fills the reception area. I smile and pat Patrick lightly on the back before taking my seat. There are hundreds of eyes on me but only two that matter. Is she still here? Did she listen to my toast?

  When dinner ends, I head to the bar to get a beer. Thanking the bartender, I turn and see Kate in the hallway just a few feet from the bar. She’s packing up her gear. My heart wrangles itself into my throat and I’m not sure what to do. I’m pretty sure I’ll be kicking myself if I don’t talk to her. If I don’t, at least, say hello. What could it hurt? Chelsea seems to have struck up conversation with those at her table, so I know I have a few minutes. Taking a deep breath, I make my way down the hall.

  Kate glances up at me as she hears my footsteps approaching. She looks nervous, but smiles weakly at me before focusing back on her camera, the camera I gave her years ago.

  “You’re still using that thing, huh?” I say to break the ice. Kate smiles as she looks at the bulky device.

  “It’s a great camera and I couldn’t part with it,” she says, making eye contact with me briefly before picking up her tripod from the small table in front of her.

  “How are you?” I ask, making sure I don’t get too close. I don’t want to make her nervous. My adrenaline levels are off the charts.

  “I’m fine, Evan.” Hearing her call me by my full name stings like a bitch. Scratching the back of my head, I search for a topic of conversation.

  “It’s nice to see you,” I say. Pathetic.

  “Yeah, you too,” she says, brushing her hair away from her face. “Nice toast.”

  “You heard it, then?” I ask, stepping closer. I can’t help it. I’m sucked into her orbit. She has no idea how much power she has over me, even now after all this time.

  “Of course, I heard it. You were holding a microphone,” she teases, and I see a hint of that smile that used to reduce me to a big old pile of mush. It still does. Kate looks me dead in the eye and continues, “Is that really how you feel about love? Like it’s the most possible thing in the world?”

  “I meant every word,” I reply, staring deeply into Kate’s eyes. And it’s the truth.

  “Well, she’s very pretty, your girlfriend. Chloe told me you were seeing someone. Congratulations,” Kate says, averting her eyes once again.

  “Thanks,” I say softly. Part of me wants to reassure her that Chelsea and I aren’t serious, that we’ve only been together for a few months. That I don’t feel anything compared to how I felt for her. But, what would be the point? It wouldn’t change the fact that she cheated on me, or that she made me look like a complete idiot.

  “Does she make you feel that way? Like anything’s possible?” Her eyes are glossy, and I can’t tell if she’s sad, or nervous, or if all of it is just my imagination.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug in a non-committal way. “I don’t know much these days.”

  “Me neither.” Kate laughs, shaking her head. As if those simple words make total sense to her.

  “Tell me how you’re doing,” I persist. Even though I know that I shouldn’t be leaving my date alone for this long, I can’t leave this hallway. I can’t leave her.

  “I’m still at Molly’s, which shouldn’t surprise you,” she says, a small bite to her words. I try not to look wounded from that statement, but I can’t. And she sees it. This really has to be the most awkward moment of my life.

  “Kate—” I begin, but she interrupts.

  “Actually, um, I do have something coming up. It’s not a big deal or anything, just an art show,” she says, digging through her camera bag, pulling out a bright blue piece of paper. She walks towards me and places the flier in my hand.

  “You’re showing your work?” I ask with wide eyes.

  “Yes,” she says tentatively.

  “This is so cool, Swee—” I say, catching myself from using her old nickname, as I read the flier. She looks disappointed. I can’t read this woman to save my life.

  “Would you come?” she asks and I can hear hope in her voice. I’m taken aback and suddenly I’m filled with an emotion I’ve never felt before. Confusion mixed with happiness. Skepticism mixed with pure joy.

  “I’ll try to make it,” I say, not sure what the right answer is. But, once I see her reaction, I know it was the wrong one. “I mean, um—”

  “I get it,” Kate says, throwing her camera bag on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Evan. I just thought—”

  “I’ll be there,” I say quickly, not sure where the words come from. I’m so afraid of never seeing her again. I can feel her slipping away. But, she smiles at my change of heart and nods her head in realization. This seems to be just as hard for her as it is for me.

  “Great. Well, I have to go, I need to start a shift at the bar in a couple of hours,” she says, a wide smile upon her gorgeous face. She still manages to amaze me with that smile. I’m mesmerized by it even after all this time apart. God, I miss her and I miss that smile. I miss her smiling at me.

  Kate takes a few steps toward me and kisses me gently on my cheek, placing her hand on my forearm. I’m frozen, not knowing what to do. She has me in a trance.

  “Good-bye, Ev,” she says with a wicked smile. Fuck.

  “Bye,” I manage to choke out the word and quickly clear my throat. The seductive look on Kate’s face changes dramatically to sadness as she looks me dead in the eyes.

  “I never cheated on you. You need to know that,” she says softly. I’m left speechless as I watch her turn and walk down the long hallway. When she reaches the door to the building, she turns, smiling when she sees I’m still watching her, in the daze that she created. She waves before walking out the door.

  Eventually, I snap out of it, realizing my girlfriend is waiting for me in the banquet room. Wiping the sweat from my brow with the handkerchief from my tuxedo, I walk back into the reception. It feels like I’ve been gone for hours. Patrick and Chloe are dancing in the center of the dance floor. Wedding guests are gathered around, watching the happy couple as they glide around the laminate. Chelsea sees me coming and waves me over. She looks sad. She must be pissed that I’ve been gone for so long.

  “Hey there,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulder, pretending to watch Patrick and his bride.

  “Hey,” she says softly, her voice choked up a bit. I had no idea weddings made her so emotional.
>
  ***

  As we drive to Chelsea’s apartment in total silence, I’m still not sure how to handle all of this. Part of me wants to end things with her, but I’m too pissed at Kate to allow her to have so much control over my new relationship. Who knows where things could go with Chelsea? I think it just needs more time. I want to make small talk but I’m too exhausted, so instead I turn on my CD player. After a couple of songs, Chelsea turns it back off.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say, “not in the mood for music?”

  “Was that her?” she asks with an edge to her voice, one I’ve never heard before.

  “Who?” I pretend to concentrate on the road. But, in my gut I know exactly who she’s talking about. No wonder the rest of the night was so awkward.

  “The girl you were talking to after your speech, the photographer. I saw you with her. Is she the one?”

  “Chels, what are you talking about?” I ask, playing dumb. I’m not ready to deal with this. I’m so overwhelmed as it is. The tension in the air is thick. She takes a huge breath and exhales, sounding irritated.

  “Come on, Evan. Stop it,” she snaps.

  “Stop what? What’s going on?” I ask, turning to her quickly before looking back at the road.

  “I’m not an idiot. We’ve been together for months and I’ve hit enough roadblocks with you to know that someone broke your heart. And after watching you standing in the hallway, I just know it’s her. Am I right?”

  “Chels—” I reach out to touch her arm and she pulls away.

  “Enough, Evan. Just tell me,” she says. I can feel her glare piercing my skin.

  “Yes,” I say softly, my back muscles growing tense.

  “Did you know she’d be there?” she asks.

  “Chels, I—”

  “Did.You.Know.Evan?” She enunciates every word as she glowers at me. She’s pissed and I realize there’s no way I’m getting out of this. Chelsea and I are done.

  “Yeah, I knew.”