Clean Breaks

by Ruby Lang

  But she’d gone out with men who wanted weddings and kids, and they all assumed it was what she wanted, too—she delivered babies, after all. Her parents had been together for a long time, and maybe it was because she was so used to seeing them as united against her and Winston that she still didn’t think of them as models of nuptial bliss so much as they were a gale force.

  Seeing Ian and Petra in action together, marriage almost seemed . . . possible. The way Petra smoothed Ian’s brow when he got frazzled, the way Ian made Petra laugh. The way Petra still managed to be herself in their relationship—but a happier, more energetic version of herself than Sarah had ever seen.

  Jake could be like that for her, an errant thought whispered.

  But mostly she was too busy picking up favors from the apartment, heading over to Ian’s restaurant Field to pitch in for whatever needed to be done. It was good to feel needed and good to work with all of her friends and Ian’s staff. She was like her parents in a lot of ways. She had trouble sitting still.

  By afternoon, the restaurant was transformed. It was funny. She’d been here many times thanks to Petra. Field’s dark polished wood and copper fixtures had become familiar to her, but this place now seemed soaring and spacious. Ian and his crew had been busy. They’d taken out many of the chairs and tables—Sarah speculated they were piled up in Ian’s basement office. And there were more flowers than she’d ever seen. Ranunculus, the floral designer called them, frilled like petticoats, waving exuberantly in mason jars on the tables, sweet peas and ornamental cabbage or kale dotting the wide aisle where Petra would be walking, leading up to the space at the front where Ian would be waiting with the officiant. Later, a patch of floor would be cleared for dancing. And now, the ceiling was decorated with what seemed like thousands of little lights. It made everything seem higher, almost as if the sky were above them. It was strange that the place, even filled with people she knew, suddenly seemed so much bigger.

  As if by agreement, they all stood still to gaze at it for a moment.

  Guests would be arriving in a few hours, and eating and laughing, and the room wouldn’t be quiet anymore.

  Petra, her face and hair fancied up, brought a glass of champagne over to her and Helen. They toasted silently and swallowed. “Bubbles are sort of tickling my nose and eyes,” Helen muttered, swiping her hand over her face.

  “Shut it, you big softie,” Petra said, dabbing carefully at her makeup.

  Sarah didn’t say anything. Her voice wasn’t quite there anymore.

  She got up and hugged her two dearest friends in the world, and they stood there for a minute longer before someone unplugged the white lights and the room exploded into motion again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  So this is what prom is like, Jake thought as he waited in Sarah’s living room with Mr. and Mrs. Soon. It was humid and he was in a suit. He had reason to be unnerved. He hadn’t seen Sarah in days, and their chat last night had been guarded. Somewhere across town, his ex-wife was exchanging vows and rings with some nice, affection-stealing man who was everything that Jake used to be. And he wasn’t angry about that, but he was bothered by the fact that Sarah’s parents were silently gazing at him like a pair of cats contemplating a trapped mouse.

  “Where’s Winston?” he asked, finally.

  The parents gave identical looks of amazement that he had chosen to speak. “He said he had some work to do.”

  “Distance cosmetic dentistry?” Jake asked, frowning.

  “I’m sure it is something important.”

  Jake was sure it was not. Winston had his own interesting ways of ascertaining that he wouldn’t have to spend that much time with his family even while loudly proclaiming that he was. Winston could act like he was doing his duty without actually having to talk to his parents or be around. Or host them. In his home. Interesting how he managed to get away with that.

  There was a step in the hall, and then Sarah appeared.

  Jake sucked in a breath and promptly forgot all of his worries.

  He was aware that he was a little slack-jawed but he lacked the ability to close his mouth. Also, he didn’t care, because Sarah glowed in front of him like a sun, and he knew that he had to open every part of his being to absorb her into his pores. Somehow he managed to get to his feet. Somehow once he got to his feet, he managed cross the room and put both his hands out to her and take hers. And once her fingers closed firmly around his, he wanted more warmth. He wanted to carry her away into a bower, or a garden, or some lush, verdant place, filled with gently flitting butterflies and fountains and maybe a maze, and set her down gently on a bench and soak her in and smooth his hands up her legs.

  Higher.

  He wrenched his mind away from that thought.

  She was wearing green, a lovely, slim lacy green dress that was somehow demure and fresh and old-fashioned. Her hair was up and soft looking, adorned with a white rose. And she had on a few small silver bangles. His thumb crept over her wrists, and he made them jangle faintly.

  She was everything he had ever wanted and many things he never knew he’d wanted.

  Mrs. Soon took a picture of them, standing slightly apart with their hands together, looking at each other. She didn’t urge them closer together. She didn’t even really say much. She just watched them.

  Jake didn’t care what she thought. Which was getting to be a problem.

  Sarah cleared her throat. “Don’t wait up,” she said to her parents.

  It was supposed to be a joke, probably. But she looked serious.

  He felt serious.

  With great care, he took her arm, and it was so light and warm and strong. They gazed at each other solemnly and walked out of the house, but because he was so busy being earnest, he forgot about the rain. The cold splash startled him, and Sarah’s laughter woke him up enough to send him back for an umbrella.

  He escorted her to his newly cleaned car, shut the door and made his way around to the driver’s seat. But he didn’t put his key in the ignition. He couldn’t.

  “You look—you look . . . no, you are the most fresh, beautiful, incandescent person,” he said. “So damn perfect.”

  She smiled, such a small smile, and his heart gave a little twist.

  But her words were light. “I’m beginning to think that weddings make you sloppy, Mr. Li.”

  “I brought a bunch of tissues just in case.”

  He started the engine.

  “You look handsome,” she said quietly, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear it.

  She wasn’t even looking at him when she said it.

  Weddings did make him feel sloppy, though. Or maybe it was being buttoned up tight in his suit, his hair and beard smoothed down, with Sarah seeming subdued next to him in the car as they drove there that made him want to burst out. He wanted to tell her they should skip it. They should drive and keep on driving until they got to California, changed their names to Sven and Nancy, and didn’t have to deal with mothers, fathers, brothers, or exes.

  Ilse was wrong. It was going to be a great weekend for him because she was getting married and Petra and Ian were getting married, and there—right there—was the triumph of hope. Maybe his past love hadn’t lasted forever, but that didn’t mean the future would be terrible.

  As if sensing his shifting feelings, Sarah turned to him and put her hand on his knee. “I’m glad you’re with me,” she said.

  And even though she was not acting like her usual self—and maybe a part of him should be even more worried about the sadness of her tone—most of him was just so happy and relieved at her words, happy to be carried on his current euphoria, that he covered her hand and didn’t take it off again until they pulled into a parking space downtown.

  Plus, he was going to take her back home and they were going to screw. If that wasn’t a reason to look forward to the future, he didn’t know what was.

  He was grinning from ear to ear as Sarah reintroduced him to her friends. Dark-haired Helen was n
estled within the arms of Adam, who had been a professional hockey player for Portland. Jake had only been dimly aware that Portland had a team. There’d been some sort of controversy about a canceled arena, he recalled. Adam was starting graduate school for social work now, so he and Jake had something to talk about. Petra was apparently with her sister and mother, being fussed over. Ian, the groom, was doing some last minute directing. He appeared a little harried—which, considering the circumstances, was natural. Jake sent him a sympathetic grin, too, aware that he was probably looking too happy and maybe a little drunk, even though he hadn’t had any alcohol yet.

  On cue, a waiter swooped by with champagne. Indoor weddings at restaurants really were the best.

  He took one for Sarah and one for himself and drained the glass quickly.

  Sarah shot him a frown, but he didn’t care. He was damn happy to be with her, and he squeezed her so that she knew it.

  “Take it easy,” she murmured.

  “I’ve only had one glass.”

  “I mean on the happiness. Everyone is going to start thinking you’re the groom.”

  “Please, I was never this delighted when I was the groom.”

  She sent him a narrow look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Everyone stares at you when you’re the husband-to-be. And makes bad jokes about balls and chains.”

  “So toxic masculinity is a bitch.”

  “I can’t begin to unpack that statement right now.”

  A little after 5:00 p.m., a jazz trio struck up the opening vamp of “My Baby Just Cares for Me.” Sarah’s friend Petra walked in, her face shining with joy and maybe some relief.

  “She looks happier than I did,” he whispered to Sarah.

  “Oh, hush.”

  He hadn’t expected Sarah to really cry—he hadn’t really expected to feel anything himself. But between handing her tissues and listening to the officiant, he felt a swell of something more begin deep down in his body.

  But Sarah sat beaming as she watched her friend. She was fiercely and magnificently proud, but also a little overwhelmed, like she wasn’t sure how to deal with what she was seeing. And it hurt to look at Sarah tearing up, even if it was for joy. It hurt like a flower taking root and blossoming in his chest, and he couldn’t stop gazing at her, even though he was supposed to be staring at the bride and groom.

  Something of what he was feeling probably showed in his face, because when she accepted another tissue from him, she smiled at him and whispered. “I’m a bit weirded out is all. It’s not often that you see your best friend decked out in finery and performing sentimental dinner theater.”

  He would have replied, but it was time to exchange vows.

  And then Petra and Ian kissed and the guests cheered. There was a buzz of confusion when the photographer asked everyone to group together for a picture. Hockey player Adam, he noticed, also looked a little dazzled and teary as Helen herded him to the back.

  He grabbed Sarah’s arm and followed them. “What did you mean you were weirded out?”

  She thought for a minute. “I see Petra every day. But I almost don’t recognize her. And she’s up there, small and at a distance, and I almost want to run up and help her. I’m a lot more emotionally invested in this than I thought I would be.”

  “It’s strange,” Helen agreed. “I don’t think I realized that anything was going to change until I saw Petra appear in her dress.” She turned to her boyfriend and reached up to touch his face. “Are you okay?” she murmured.

  “I love weddings,” Adam said helplessly.

  The photographer was on a ladder, yelling instructions at everyone to squeeze in together. Sarah and Helen and he and Adam formed a tight knot. The photographer counted down to three, and the crowd gave a huge whoop.

  “And let’s take another. This time with the bride and groom in the middle!” the photographer yelled.

  More squishing and more posing and another deafening roar, and everyone was allowed to go and take their seats.

  “How are you feeling?” Adam asked him as they pulled out their chairs. “I’m feeling all sorts of sentimental. Something about all the beautiful flowers and people dancing and the food—”

  “And the champagne.”

  “And the bubbly. And people you love coming out as the most beautiful and radiant versions of themselves, getting up and gazing deeply at each other to make these sincere vows. It just gets to me.” Adam seemed to be getting more and more misty-eyed. “I just love her,” he said, his gaze snagging on Helen. “And I’m really happy. That’s all.”

  “You’ve got wedding fever.”

  “I do.”

  “God, don’t say I do to me.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  They laughed, and it occurred to Jake that he and Adam could be friends, and also that perhaps he and Adam were well on their way to getting very drunk.

  Ian had apparently arranged to cater some of the dinner with a food truck parked outside the restaurant. The rain let up just a little bit, so small groups of happy guests could dash out and breathe in the cooling air from the outside, holding their jackets over their heads while they waited for small paper boats filled with hot samosas and grilled paneer. There was a small dance floor and the band in the corner. It was a little chaotic, a little loud, and perfect. Jake had loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and lost his jacket. And now he was out with the crowd, swaying to the music with Sarah. They’d never danced together—thirty years of knowing each other, and he’d never held her on a dance floor. He wished they’d done it earlier.

  “You’ve got a look in your eye that I don’t quite trust,” she said.

  “Are you afraid I’m going to do this?” He swung her around deftly, and she gasped. “Or this?”

  He took her into a low dip, and this time she squealed.

  “Ugh, bring me up again!”

  He pulled her up laughing, and there was a spatter of applause from nearby friends. Her face was red, and she looked a little disheveled and far too sexy. He smoothed her hair back.

  “So what were you afraid I was going to do?” he whispered when he had her back upright and safe.

  “Mmm. Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s definitely something.”

  “No, I was just afraid you might try to do something foolish.”

  “Like what?”

  “Persistent, aren’t you. Come on, let’s get some water or something.”

  “What were you going to say, Sarah?”

  She sighed. “Let’s not do this right now. Let’s sit down. We’ve all had a little bit to drink—”

  “You haven’t really.”

  She ignored him. “Emotions are running high. They haven’t even cut the cake yet.”

  “Just tell me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. You have this look like you want to make some sort of declaration.”

  • • •

  It was the right thing to say. Maybe. Except that perhaps Sarah could have delivered her message a little more tactfully.

  Story. Of. Her. Life.

  “First of all, I didn’t know that ‘making a declaration’ was a look—or maybe you’ve just had so damn many men fall at your feet.”

  “We are not going to go into my dating history, Jake.”

  “Believe me, we’re not. But second, is that the worst thing? If I did tell you I loved you? Or proposed.”

  “No, but it would be impulsive.”

  “And God knows we should all keep our wits about us when we’re in love.”

  She winced. “I know that the atmosphere here is very romantic—I mean, I help set it up. If this wedding can’t make me believe in love, then nothing will. But this is not the time, Jake. It’s . . . this is the weekend that your ex-wife is getting married. We haven’t been going out that long. This is your first relationship after your divorce. We haven’t really talked anything through.”

  “Your mom has alre
ady mentioned marriage.”

  “Bringing Ma Soon into it does not help your case, buddy.”

  “And I’m not the only one who’s thinking of it. Adam over there has visions of tulle dancing in his head.”

  “Adam and Helen have been living together for half a year, and they’ve at least had a conversation or two about it. Plus, there’s the fact that you are somewhat tipsy.”

  She would have added more, but Helen barreled in between them. “Hey, you two, they’re getting ready to cut the cake.”

  He had been thinking of saying something drunken and dramatic. It wasn’t only the blurry look in a face softened by alcohol. It was the way he held her—she knew he was going to say something. She’d burst his bubble, and a small part of her felt cruel because he had been so happy. But he wasn’t ready for this.

  More importantly, she wasn’t ready for this.

  She was feeling five hundred sorts of vulnerable. She was afraid she’d yield or crumble and it would be for all the wrong reasons.

  He had moved away from her to watch Petra and Ian. They held the knife together, poised over the cake. Oddly enough, it was in that moment when he concentrated fiercely on not looking at her that she saw all of his longing come into his face, just before the guests gave their shout of approval and the knife slid through the beautiful surface of the icing, bringing down a mess of crumbs and sticky frosting. She felt his feelings push through her, right through her chest and down her middle.

  But Jake was not giving up so quickly. After they sat back down at their table, he continued. “You’re pushing me away again.”

  “I have a good reason this time.”

  “No, you don’t. So what if I was thinking about at least talking about marriage with you? It’s a wedding. That’s what happens. People are getting married, and it makes me think of marriage. I’m not going to get down on bended knee right now, but I want to talk about it.”

  “You’ve been drinking.”

  “Drinking is the perfect time to say what you’re really feeling. Because you just pour everything out without inhibition. This,” he said, waving one hand at himself, “this is my heart. On my sleeve.”