I’m ushered into the room, tiny as it is, and run smack into Ivanka. She’s wearing her dress, with the train curling around her feet, her veil pushed back. She smiles at me, pulling me into the tightest hug. “So happy, Bee.” She laughs, but I hear the half-sob underneath. “I feel so beautiful.”
“You look so beautiful.” Tears start in my eyes as well, but I wipe them away, turning Ivanka toward the full-length mirror. “Ready to show your man?”
Ivanka grins. “Yes. I am.”
Elle claps her hands, all business, but her eyes are growing misty. “No crying, please. Save it for the ceremony. Did Tom reserve my seat?”
“He did, but he wanted me to tell you that the youngest cousin confiscated it. I doubt there’s much hope for you.”
She laughs. “Fine, I’m coming to steal back my land. In a few minutes. After we’ve finished her makeup.”
I smile, nodding, kissing Ivanka on the cheek, turning toward the door. “I’ll see you both in a few minutes, then.”
I shut the door behind me—and bump into a tall figure in the hall. I know instantly by the gray suit fabric in my face that it’s Levi, and suddenly my heart is no longer in my chest. “Levi.”
He looks down at me. “The one and only. You okay?”
“Fine, and I found Elle.”
“In the bathroom?”
“Helping Ivanka.”
“Aha!” Levi pushes past me, the slyest of sly smiles on his lips. “I want a peek.”
I gasp. “Not a chance!” I push him back with a (probably) ridiculous but (hopefully) fierce look on my face.
He laughs at me. It takes a few seconds to register that I have him pressed against the wall, my fists bunched around his lapels. His knees are bent so that he’s just a little bit taller than me, and my legs are pressed against his, much too close.
“Remind me to never again call you a lady,” he murmurs, eyes twinkling.
I let go, mortified, but he catches me. In the dim hall, he lifts the back of my hand to his lips. He presses a light kiss there, on the words that he wrote earlier.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to call me a lady.” I find the courage to smile at him, even though I’m completely devastated.
“I didn’t, Brittany.”
I hold back a groan of frustration by biting my tongue inside my mouth. I have never ever wanted to kiss a boy as badly as I want to kiss Levi right now.
I have to get away.
But he doesn’t let go of my hand, and his gaze doesn’t leave my face. “Did I guess it right?” he whispers.
“What?” I whisper back.
“Your name. Is it Brittany?”
I smile. “No, sorry.”
He is quiet for a moment, and very serious. “How can I guess?”
“You can’t.”
“Is it an actual name or something your mom made up?”
I hesitate. “It’s…an actual name.”
“I’ll keep searching, then.”
“You do that.”
“Bee,” he says, and I realize we’re still whispering in the tight hall, pressed close. It feels so natural, like I was always supposed to stand like this with him.
“Yeah?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I thought of another song.”
I narrow my eyes, letting him stand up straight, and look up at him. I’d almost forgotten how tall he is. “What is it?”
After a pause, after he licks his lips and lets out a small puff of breath, he says, “I’ll tell you later.”
We stand there, looking, searching, for at least another thirty seconds. Then he turns, dropping my hand, and takes three long strides out of the hall.
I’m left alone, a beating, bleeding heart in an open ribcage, not certain of anything, ready for everything.
Chapter 22
Whoever coined the term “a vision in white” must have had a vision of Ivanka. She is the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen, bar none. With the tiny lights strung above our backyard world, the soft instrumental music drifting over our heads, and every eye turned to the aisle, this wedding is absolutely perfect.
I find a seat next to my family, Astrid and Millie on either side of me. Levi smiles at me across the aisle, a light in his eyes (as always). I’m focused on the wedding, of course, but there’s a part of me that’s still thinking about the moment outside the bathroom, and his lips on my hand, and our legs touching. It leaves me twice as breathless as Ivanka’s walk down the aisle.
The overall conclusion: I’m not breathing.
I’m the first to look away from our staring contest when Ivanka passes me. She reaches out her hand, touching mine, squeezing briefly. Then she smiles at her mother, who sits in front of me, and kisses her cheek. The photographer’s flash goes off, catching these priceless moments, keeping them boxed in, safe and sound.
The ceremony is a breeze, inciting laughter and tears. I grip Astrid’s hand too hard, eliciting harsh whispers about her fingers going numb. I notice, finally, how well the flowers mesh with the colors and theme of the wedding, and I feel a surge of pride lift me in my seat.
In the end, Ivanka and Augustin exchange vows and rings and a sweet, gentle kiss, and everyone stands to clap. Music starts again, a song about romance and a forever kind of love. I’m absolutely going to cry, I think, following the line of the crowd as we progress toward the food tables. Behind us, Levi and Tom and Ivanka’s brother start to turn the chairs around and fill the backyard with tables. Ivanka stands beside her new husband, grabbing family members as they pass, hugging everyone. She’s the sweetest little darling, and when I hug her, I feel warmth spread in my chest.
“Thank you for the wedding, Bonita,” she says.
I laugh softly, squeezing her to me. “You were ravishing. It was perfect. Everything is perfect.”
We’re all full after dinner—traditional Czech food catered by locals—but it doesn’t stop us from dancing.
We’ve moved all the tables and chairs to the side yard and set our shoes by the back door in a giant pile. I’m almost certain I’m never going to see my silver flats ever again, but at the moment I couldn’t care less. I’ve got Astrid and Millicent on either side, the three of us holding hands, arms raised high, practically floating amidst the lights and sweet-smelling night air, the dry California grass against our bare feet.
I turn Millicent under my arm, then Astrid under the other. Astrid laughs as she and Millie trip over each other, falling into Agustin’s youngest sister. She laughs and shouts something in Czech, her golden bobbed swaying with her movements. We laugh with her, shrugging, shouting back in English. There’s no way we understand each other, but the sentiment is there. Sometimes obvious joy says more than words we can understand.
I spin, taking a peek at Levi, who’s dancing with his mom. They’re laughing at some private joke, moving to the music with equal parts jumping and dancing. He whispers something into Suzie’s ear, leaning close, and her eyes go wide with her grin. She slaps his arm. Levi pulls away, laughing loudly enough that I can hear it. Suzie grabs his face and kisses him twice, as if she’s congratulating him.
I turn away, feeling (only slightly) ashamed that I spied on their little moment. I peer through the crowd ahead, trying to find Tom. I spot him dancing at the edge of the group with Elle; her hands are in the air, her blue locks flying. Tom shakes his head like he’s a little bewildered by her wild nature, but there’s a smile on his mouth that’s been there for hours.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder, bringing me out of my thoughts. Suzie dances close to me, grabs both of my hands, and drags me to Levi. He’s standing with Ivanka, who’s joined their little group. I wave at her, falling into step, raising my hands, until suddenly it’s no longer Suzie and Ivanka and Levi and me. It’s Levi. It’s me. Us. An inesca
pable laugh falls from my mouth as he grabs me and spins me. I twist in his arms, letting him pull me a little bit closer, swinging to a song I don’t recognize but want to remember forever.
Then it slows—the song, the dance, the atmosphere. Levi doesn’t let me go, doesn’t step away. In fact, we’re closer now, with his arm wrapped around my waist and his free hand entwined with mine. I sway in a moment of dizziness, but he holds me up, tucking me against him. I love this, the way I can practically feel the earth spinning under my feet. Our planet is flying at a million miles per hour and so are we.
“What do you think of the wedding?” Levi asks. His voice sounds a little hoarse. (It’s from talking and laughing all day, I tell myself.)
“I think it turned out perfectly.” I glance around and up at the lights hanging above my head. “It’s dazzling.”
He meets my gaze. “You pulled it off,” he murmurs. “Actually, I’d say you more than pulled it off—you nailed it.”
“I had the help of everyone in TCP. I had our moms. I had Ivanka. I had you.”
(I don’t have you but I wish I did. I wish you were mine.)
“True, but you planned it. You set everything up. You got the ball rolling.”
“If you hadn’t worn that yellow sweater…” I shrug.
He tips his head back, studying me. “How have you liked being called Bonita all evening?”
“It’s actually kind of nice. I like it much better than my real name.”
“Oh, gosh. Is it really that bad? I’ll have to scrape the bottom of the B name barrel next time.”
I want to pretend I’m offended, but all I can do is laugh at him. “You thought you were close, huh?”
He smirks. “Someday, I will be. I’ll get close enough that I can really feel its presence, like a beast in the dark—because apparently it’s just that ugly. And then I’ll nail it right in the heart, and Bee?”
The answer on my lips sounds more like a squeak than a word. “Yeah?”
He spins me slowly, turning me so that I’m dancing with my back to his chest. I roll my head to the side so he can whisper in my ear, “The discovery will be my victory.”
I laugh at this, to disguise the fact that I’m shivering, my stomach fluttering, my head spinning with the light. I can’t see him, but I can feel him, warm and real behind me.
The song comes to an end, and we part—there are several inches between us, and we don’t look at each other—but my heart is still beating, thrashing like a storm. I think, Walk away, Bee, walk away. But I don’t know how, so I reach out my hand instead.
He takes it, just like I hoped he would.
Chapter 23
I’m lying on the grass, face to the stars. My hair splays out behind my head like an extra-large halo, complete with a spray of sunrays.
The lights have been taken down. It’s nearing midnight, but Suzie and my mom are still laughing loudly. My mom and I have the same loud cackle-laugh when we’re tired—it reminds me of a machine gun—and my mom’s machine gun has been going off consistently for the last hour.
Of course, this only makes me smile.
Everything makes me smile right now.
Ivanka and Augustin are gone; they climbed into their car amidst laughter and the dried lavender buds we tossed at them. They kissed once before driving off, a happy couple, hitched at last.
I helped make it happen.
God, it feels good.
Since there is no more light left in the backyard, I can see the stars pretty well from this angle, just like I could two weeks ago when I sat out here with Levi. Except now there are even more, filling the sky to the brim. I see Orion again—but like Levi, it’s the only constellation I can remember.
I lift my head, sensing a pair of watchful eyes. The Boy himself stands by the back door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, studying me.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he replies. He lies down beside me, our hands touching in the middle.
I grab his wrist before I can talk myself out of it. “Do you see all these stars? So many more than last time.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s like they came out just for the happy couple.”
Levi slides his hand up so that our palms are pressed together. We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, several minutes, hours, days, before Levi turns his head toward me. “Tired?”
“Not really,” I answer, looking at him directly. (If only we weren’t so close, I could breathe easier.) “Just…content.”
“Happy?”
“Yes.”
“Ready for adventure to take you?”
“Obviously.” I chuckle, squeezing his hand. His long fingers squeeze back, then lace through mine. “What were you going to tell me? Before the wedding?” I ask.
He looks at me for a long moment, then up at the sky again. “It’s…I just…can…” He clears his throat. “I found another song that reminds me of you.”
“If it’s a Bon Iver song, I can’t guarantee a positive response.”
Levi laughs. “It’s not Bon Iver.” He grabs my hand, the one unmarked, and pulls a pen out of his pocket. “This is for you to listen to when you get home.”
I’m full of light as he takes the pen to my hand. There are no frills to this drawing, only his even handwriting, and the words I Lived Here by Martin Phipps.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“An amazing composer. You’ll love him.”
“I hope so.”
“Hey, Levi,” Suzie yells from the house, “we need your help with the chairs.”
Levi stands up, brushes his hands together, and helps me to my feet. “Duty calls.”
I drop my gaze to my hands, lingering on the new song title written there.
“Thanks for your help, Bee,” he says, quietly. “Today wouldn’t have been…well, today... without you.”
“Shut up,” I say, teasing, but really my heart is in my mouth.
“No, really.” He runs his hand up my arm. I freeze, my breath caught, and his palm stops on my shoulder. My bare skin feels like it’s been set on fire. “Come see me at the shop on Tuesday, okay? I get off at three.”
I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll be there.”
He waves once before disappearing into the house, and I’m alone in the yard, thinking of everything I want to say to him, and want to hear him say to me.
I wait until my family is asleep, the house comfortingly quiet, before I pull out my iPod and hook up my headphones. I scroll through Spotify for the song, and when it starts playing, my heart pounds so hard I can barely sit still.
Thing You Should Know About Me #83: I believe every person interprets music and lyrics differently. Which is exactly my fear when I hear the first notes. What if I don’t understand what he’s trying to tell me? What if I read into it?
But then the slow build of the beginning eases into a sweeping crescendo, and I just know I can’t mess this one up. It makes me ache—the same ache I felt when I held his hand lying in the grass earlier. The same ache I felt in the hall outside the bathroom, when Levi kissed my hand, when I suddenly couldn’t breathe and that was perfectly all right with me.
Levi.
He said this song reminded him of me. He said it—I heard him. He can’t take it back. I won’t let him.
The song ends, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next. This is what he wanted to tell me? The song is stuck in my head, replaying again and again. I want to see him now, to ask him if I got it right. I want to make sure that my overly-romantic self isn’t wrong or disillusioned, that those moments were real.
With the headphones still plugging my ears, my heart jittery, my chest full and aching (just like the song), I wonder if he is falling asleep with that same ache
right now. And then I wonder if I could call him, because I have no shortage of insane, crush-infused ideas.
My phone tells me it’s one in the morning, but I have no self-control and my fingers are drawn to his name in my contacts without my permission (okay, that’s a lie). I click on it, Levi, the name that now means everything to me, and lift the phone to my ears.
“Bee?” he answers after one ring, and there is no denying it—he’s quiet, but not tired. He sounds as excited (and awake) as his mother baking cookies at night.
“Levi,” I whisper. “I’m so glad you answered.”
“You’re not asleep?”
“No. I thought you’d be asleep.”
He chuckles. “Nope, couldn’t.”
“But you must be exhausted.”
“I am. You’ve been keeping me up.”
I’m indignant. “Excuse me—”
“Did you listen to the song?”
I smile. “I did.”
“Good.”
“I loved it.”
“Also good.”
“I’m starting to trust your taste in music again.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“I’m not. I’m insulting Bon—”
“Don’t even say it,” Levi hisses.
I burst into laughter and receive a loudly whispered, “Shut up, Bee!” from Astrid in the next room. “But Levi,” I say, growing serious again. “Levi,” I repeat, because I’m an idiot.
“Yes, Bee,” he says softly.
I love that tone. (I only ever hear it when he says my name.) “About the song, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You can’t just—I don’t know—what did you—”
He laughs.
“Leviiii. Don’t laugh.”
“I want to laugh—I’m happy.”
“You need to be very, very clear about what you meant when you told me to listen to it.” (I’m totally hyperventilating now. Great.)
“I really like you, Bee.” There. It’s out in the open, and his voice is quiet, and reverent, and lovely. “Look, I talked to Gretchen, remember? And she told me something that wouldn’t stop pestering me.”
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