by Lara Hunter
“Trust me. My handwriting was gorgeous back then. The stuff of the Victorian era. Beautiful cursive, big loops. These days, it’s a scribble; I’m rushed all the time.”
Michael laughed, his eyes glinting. “Sure. That might hold up,” he said.
“Anyway. That morning, before the sun came up, the phone rang. Lo and behold, my older brother’s wife was having their baby. She’d gone into labor two weeks early. And we had to pack up there and then and go back to Maine.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I didn’t have a choice but to go with them,” Grace offered. “My father was driving, and I couldn’t very well take the bus, without a cent on me.”
“My, how things change,” Michael said. “Now, you have your Upper West Side apartment and your fancy office, almost as nice as mine,” he joked with a sly grin.
Grace shrugged, sipping her wine. She was at a loss for words. She hadn’t imagined she’d ever get to tell him why she’d missed their date. She hadn’t realized that he cared.
“I have something for you, actually,” Michael said then. His voice was sentimental, romantic.
Grace brought her fingers to her cheeks, scarcely able to believe what was happening. Of course, he was going to properly propose here. Why else would he have brought them to Vermont, if not to make for a convincing engagement story? She waited, her anticipation mounting.
But Michael didn’t open a box to reveal a twinkling diamond engagement ring. No, it was something far better. He pulled a familiar white glove from his pocket and placed it upon the table. It sat there, five fingers outstretched, bringing aching memories through Grace’s mind once again.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. She lifted the pristine glove into the air, remembering the morning after they’d first met, when she hadn’t been able to find her other glove. She’d traced her steps throughout the hotel room, stomping in the early morning quiet. Her mother had demanded they leave immediately, and she’d fled, clinging to her single white glove, without hope.
“How did you—”
“You dropped it as you said goodbye. I saw it moments after you joined up with your family, and I picked it up, thinking I’d give it back to you the next day. But you never showed up.”
“But you kept it, all the same?” Grace felt tears slipping from her eyes. “Why in the world did you do that?”
“Because I thought you were special,” Michael whispered. “And I didn’t want to let this small part of you go. Since that day, I don’t know. I think I lost something of myself. Maybe I lost the happiness I’d once felt. But, I feel it right now.” He tapped at his heart, gazing into her eyes. “And, actually. I think it might have something to do with you.”
Grace bit her lip, emotion rushing through her. She lifted herself from her chair, still clinging to the glove, and wrapped her arms around Michael’s neck. She kissed him wholly, with purposeful, soft lips, caught up in the emotion of it all, the kiss parallel to the first one they’d shared.
The moment their kiss broke, she leaned her head back, gazing into his eyes. She swept her fingers lightly across his cheeks, tipping her nose against his. Around them, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played. Grace’s heart nearly exploded with happiness.
“Let’s move forward with the wedding,” she whispered. “This has been the most perfect day. And I can’t imagine not having you for another day longer. I don’t want to miss a Christmas with you ever again.”
Michael kissed her again, and the night grew more passionate, leading them back to their hotel room, where they fell into each other’s arms.
After the throes of passion were over, Grace found herself tucked between warm, satin sheets, listening to Michael’s deep, contented breaths, knowing, once and for all, that she was making the right decision. She needed to be by his side.
FIFTEEN
But of course, the spell couldn’t last forever.
The moment Grace and Michael returned to New York, all sense of comfort and love fled from them. The rushing traffic, the stress over their jobs, and the fact that they were actually getting married—legally, and altogether far too quickly—the following week, forced them apart.
Grace found herself staring at her cellphone like an anxious high-schooler, tapping her pen against the mahogany of her desk, her heart skipping every other beat.
Marie tapped her knuckles on the door and entered, her expression concerned. “Can I talk to you?”
Grace nodded curtly, her stomach growling within her. “Sure.”
“We haven’t really spoken since you got back,” Marie said, her voice gentle. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
Grace felt tears spring up in her eyes. She swiped the back of her hand over one of them, drawing a smear of black makeup over her cheek. “I just don’t know if I’m doing the right thing,” she whispered. “In marrying him.”
“But you called me from Vermont. You told me it was all going to work out,” Marie said, her eyebrows high. “You sounded so happy, Gracie. You said you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him…”
Grace nodded. “And after all that, he dropped me off at the office yesterday morning, kissed me on the cheek, and told me he’d see me at the ceremony.” She swallowed sharply, her throat tight. “And I haven’t heard from him since.”
Marie shifted her weight. “It sounds to me he’s just not ready to feel these strong emotions for you,” she offered. “If you want your marriage to be filled with love from the very start, I think you should ask him to wait.”
Grace hung her head, remembering what Michael had told her about his father. This money was all he had left of him. “I can’t do that in good conscience. Not after what I know about him, and about what matters to him. I can’t be the reason he doesn’t get his inheritance.”
“If money is all he cares about, then he doesn’t deserve you,” Marie murmured. She slipped her arm around her friend, bringing her into a deep hug.
Grace allowed a single sob to escape her tight chest, shuddering for a moment. She inhaled her best friend’s familiar perfume and made peace with a life that wouldn’t always feel nourishing and good, the way that trip to Vermont had, mere days before.
“It’s better not to live in a fantasy,” Grace affirmed. “Or cling to silly memories. We had a wonderful time in Vermont, and I was able to catch a glimpse of his past self. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll see more of that side of him as his wife. And maybe that’s enough.”
Grace eased through the many tasks of the following few days, until reality, in the form of a December 24th calendar date, seemed to smack her on the forehead. At around one in the afternoon, she and Marie excused themselves to head to her apartment, where the wedding dress she had ultimate decided upon sat in the closet. Its glittering fabric obstructed the space of all other closet items, shoving pantsuits, sweaters and other dresses off to the side.
Marie inhaled sharply upon first glance, gliding her fingers over the beaded bodice. “You just don’t think about how seeing your best friend’s wedding dress will make you feel,” she whispered. “You don’t realize it will affect you on such an emotional level.”
Marie held the dress out for Grace, who slipped her legs into the gown and pulled the glittering fabric over her torso. Marie laced up the back of the bodice and fluffed the skirt, before darting to Grace’s bathroom and scouring her makeup collection. “You have to overdo it on the makeup, for the pictures!” Marie called.
“God, I don’t even think we’re having photos,” Grace said, eyeing her bedroom armchair wistfully. All she wanted was to sit down, to rest her weary legs. But she felt like she would fall to the floor if she made any sudden movements.
Marie reappeared with a makeup bag and began to carefully apply layers to Grace’s face, humming, like Grace’s mother had when she’d done her makeup for prom.
“You’re making me feel like a teen again,” Grace said.
“And you’re m
aking me feel like an old crone.”
“Wasn’t it you who said a Manhattan thirty is like an everywhere else twenty-one?” Grace teased.
“Yeah. But it’s hard to remember that when you sleep alone every night,” Marie winked. She swept a last touch of mascara through Grace’s eyelashes and stepped back, admiring her work. “I approve,” she said lightly. “You’ll be all done once we put a curling iron through your hair.”
Grace arched her neck, looking at herself in the mirror. Her heart leaped, even as her eyes didn’t recognize herself. She was Cinderella, but she didn’t belong at the ball.
Once they’d finished their final preparations, Grace and Marie grabbed a taxi and directed it toward the downtown reception hall which Michael had hired for the ceremony. Grace remembered the various decorations she’d ordered and sent there the previous week, keenly aware that someone at the venue had actually had to deal with the dozens of tiny Christmas trees and the many streams of lights. In the end, she hadn’t ordered invitations, as they weren’t inviting anyone except for a few people from Michael’s company. And, of course, Marie.
Christina had clucked her tongue when she’d heard the news, saying a snarky, “And who’s going to hold the fort at Long and Sons while you two are off gallivanting? Me, I suppose, as always!”
Of course, Grace still hadn’t had the confidence to inform her mother about the ceremony. Perhaps she’d tell her afterwards. In a year or two.
As they drove toward the reception hall, Grace clung to her best friend’s hand, feeling panicked. “I can’t believe we haven’t spoken since Vermont. I know he felt something for me, then,” she whispered. “I know he sensed that what we have is real. And now, we’re shamming it again.” Grace shuddered.
Marie squeezed her friend’s hand tighter, giving her a knowing look. “I hope you’re listening to yourself,” she said. “It really seems like you have all the answers. Just open up your ears, girl.”
Grace and Marie arrived at the reception hall, where a beaming woman met them, flinging open the backseat door of the taxi and helping Grace heave herself and her giant skirt onto the sidewalk. Denise was the reception hall’s events coordinator, and she moved through all the appropriate “oohs” and “aahs” upon Grace’s arrival, before directing her toward the small waiting room that connected to the aisle, between a dozen or so chairs and “all those Christmas decorations you sent over.”
Grace thanked Denise, shivering in the brief scuttle from the taxi to the interior. She found herself in front of the wide, double doors, her thin arms at either side, feeling naked in spite of her enormous gown. She realized, aghast, that she’d forgotten to purchase a bouquet. Her eyelashes fluttered nervously.
“I need flowers, Marie!” she cried. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
“You didn’t order a bouquet?” Marie asked.
“I just didn’t think about today in any realistic sense,” Grace whispered. She felt fresh tears spring to life. “I’m going to look like such a joke, walking down the aisle.”
Marie shook her head, her auburn hair swirling around her shoulders. “Wait here. I’ll find you something.” She darted through the doors, then, revealing just a sliver of the interior, where Christmas decorations covered nearly every square inch of the room. Twinkling lights danced in Grace’s eyes as she glimpsed a handful of Michael’s employees, all whispering, tittering, on either side of the aisle.
Grace’s stomach flipped with fear. But the door soon slammed closed, leaving her alone with her swimming thoughts.
As she stood, she pictured the day her mother had married her father, nearly forty years ago, incredibly. They’d been kids, just twenty-two years old and fresh, bright-eyed, from their college days. Her mother, Cara, hadn’t eaten for days so as to fit into her dress, and had found herself wavering as she walked down the aisle. “I would have killed someone for a cracker,” the former beauty queen had confided in her daughter, many years later. She’d swiped her hand across her soft, no longer flat stomach, laughing. “But trust me. I’ve had plenty of crackers during our marriage. Enough to feed an army, it seems.”
“And she’s never been more beautiful!” her father, Edward, had called from the kitchen. The love that brimmed between her parents, even forty years after their fateful meeting in a history course, a nerd and a beauty queen, was palpable.
And now, it seemed that Grace and Michael were setting themselves up for failure.
In the midst of Grace’s reverie, Marie burst back through the doors, holding many glittery, snow-tipped fabric flowers in her fingers. She began to arrange them, with the skill of a card dealer, and passed the bulk of them to Grace, who looked down at the near-perfect bouquet. Despite its plastic makeup, it twinkled in the Christmas lights, bringing the look of her dress and the reception decorations together.
“Thank you so much. How did you manage that?” she whispered.
Marie laughed. “I might know a little bit more about weddings than I initially thought.” She glanced at her watch. “The doors are going to open in just two minutes. And, I was hoping…” She trailed off, biting her lip. Inside, the chatter of the guests escalated, alerting Grace and Marie to their impatience. “I was hoping I could be your bridesmaid.”
“My maid of honor,” Grace corrected, her voice soft. “Of course, Marie. You’re my best friend in the world. I wouldn’t want you to be anywhere else.”
Marie flung her arms around her friend, shaking slightly in her black business dress. “I would have worn something different,” she muttered. “But I really didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”
Suddenly, the doors cracked open, revealing the bright Christmas lights and festive holiday music which Grace had chosen to walk down the aisle. But as she took in the view, Grace couldn’t feel the anticipation that was supposed to accompany Christmas Eve. She sighed, her eyes looking toward the end of the aisle.
There, Michael stood in a tuxedo, his hands clasped at his waist. His face had been scrubbed of his normal five o’clock shadow, and his eyes were dark, intense, and yet, flittering throughout the room, as though not to make eye contact with anyone. He looked pale, and a shimmer of sweat was visible on his brow.
He was nervous.
Marie began her walk down the aisle, then, and a beat later, Grace followed, holding her small, improvised bouquet. She smiled bashfully at the guests, all of whom were staff at Michael’s company. Several of the men nudged each other, their expressions asking silent questions. “Who is she?” “Where did she come from?”
Grace’s eyes traced the crowd, spotting Helen off to the side, dressed in a light pink dress, her hands clasped in her lap. She made brief eye contact with Grace. Her eyes were filled with recognition. Grace was horrified. She’d told this woman to turn back from false love. And then, she’d scraped it up from the pavement, taking the treacherous money, a fool in the face of her own advice.
Grace focused on her walk, feeling unable to look at Michael. The morning they’d awoken in that hotel bed in Vermont, their bodies gleaming in the morning light, he’d told her she was one of the smartest, beautiful women he’d ever met. They’d kissed passionately, safe in the knowledge of what they were planning to do on Christmas Eve. But now, they had to face the music.
Grace reached the end of the aisle, then. Her eyes were downcast, her shoulders slumped. She concentrated on the shapes and colors of the bouquet in her hands. The fake rose petals drooped. She was clinging to them far too tightly. She felt that the stems might break beneath her nervous, white-knuckled grip.
She looked at Michael’s hands, still clenched and shaking. She turned her eyes upward, toward his face. He was mouthing something to her. “Give the bouquet to Marie.”
Grace nodded. She turned toward her friend and handed her the flowers, before bringing her hands to Michael’s and linking them, as was part of the normal procedure. His hands didn’t have the warmth they’d offered in Vermont the previous weekend. He was a sepa
rate being, detached from her completely. She didn’t dare look into his eyes again. It filled her with an overwhelming sense of dread.
In front of them, the justice of the peace started the ceremony. “Dearly beloved,” he began. It was clear he’d marched through the motions of the marriage ceremony countless times, never skipping a beat, never adding a hint of emotion.
Grace felt the heavy gaze of Marie behind her, willing her to do something—to stand up for what she believed in. As an attorney, she’d been nothing if not a fighter her entire career. What had happened to her?
As her lips parted, hoping to find an opportunity to interrupt the justice of the peace, the booming voice of Michael shook the room. The justice of the peace jumped back, shocked. Michael’s hands dropped from Grace’s as he spoke.
“Excuse me,” Michael offered, turning to face the crowd. His eyes traced Grace’s face. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But we have to stop the wedding.”