The Romantics

by Galt Niederhoffer

  At this, the girls indulged in a perfunctory swoon, joining hands and giving in to adrenaline’s effect.

  The silence was broken by a knock on the door and a sudden drop in the room’s noise level. The door opened to reveal a sheepish Minnow, who stood brushed and ready in a periwinkle dress with a slight hint of silver in its thread. She held the mended dress in her arms as she had once held a recovering doll after surgery to replace a severed arm. She looked up at Lila, eyes wide with remorse, then burst into tears and ran across the room into Lila’s open arms.

  Tripler reacted quickly and lunged from her seat to collect the falling dress. Within seconds, she had secured the precious cargo and readied it for Lila’s arrival. Eyeing the daunting cascade of buttons, she parted the dress at its back so that it looked like the cavernous maw of a great white whale. She smiled as she waited for Lila and Minnow to come apart, poised for Lila to enter the beast’s belly.

  Finally, the sisters came apart. Eyes were dried and grudges forgotten. Lila stepped toward and into the dress, covering her hair and closing her eyes as it was hoisted to her chest. The girls assumed new positions. Annie took her place crouching on the floor, Weesie took a seat on the bed, Tripler stood at Lila’s back, and they worked in silent concentration to fasten the satin buttons.

  Lacking a task of her own, Laura stood in the middle of the room, folding and unfolding her arms as though she could hide herself by hiding her dress. “What can I do to help?” she asked. As she said it, she felt even more useless than she had a moment before.

  “Oh,” said Lila. She twisted her neck to face Laura and stared for a minute in silence, as though assessing the fit of Laura’s dress.

  Laura stared back, refusing to be intimidated. Surrounded by her bridesmaids, Lila looked like the coach of a small athletic team. “Actually, there is something,” she said finally. “The bouquets are in the fridge in the basement. Could you possibly get them?”

  Laura nodded, checked to see if anyone else needed some last-minute errand run, then turned and headed toward the door, elated for an excuse to exit.

  Alone again, Laura’s thoughts began to decelerate. She took a seat on the basement stairs, relieved to have a moment in private. Coherent insights crystallized at a constant, discernible rate, as opposed to the whirl of sounds and images that had plagued her for the last several hours. Her first thought was a factual one, a reminder to herself: Tom was going to marry Lila. Lila was going to marry Tom. And this long-awaited event would move from the near future to the past tense in just over an hour.

  But why should the nearness of this event change her feelings about the outcome? She had known for months that Tom and Lila would marry, that this day would eventually come, and even though the thought had filled her with jealousy—rage even—she had done little to prevent it. She had simply never believed, she now realized, that it would actually come to pass. But now, as she accepted the possibility—no, the inevitability—of this imminent and ostensibly irreversible act, she was suddenly overcome with panic. Tom was about to marry Lila. Lila was about to marry Tom. With two simple words, Tom would set his and her own life on the wrong—the mediocre and miserable—path, and there was nothing words or will could do about it.

  Remembering her task, Laura opened the refrigerator to find the requested bouquets. The flowers lay on the metal shelves, their petals dewed with condensation. Each one was tied with a bow of grosgrain ribbon and fastened mercilessly with green pins. Four smaller ones were composed of bursting peonies, laced by lilies of the valley, and nestled among gauzy ferns that fell to the same length as the ribbon. Lila’s, the largest among them, was a tight huddle of the same, only with more flowers and on a larger scale. The lilies cascaded just beyond the ribbon like a fountain of poured champagne.

  Ignoring the threat of stain to her dress, Laura gathered the smaller ones in her arms, then, cradling these, reached for Lila’s arrangement at the back of the fridge. As she grasped it, she was suddenly filled with all-consuming rage. Her throat seized up and her head went hot and the room looked suddenly darker. She rose to stand quickly and hurried up the stairs. If Tom lacked the courage to tell Lila the truth, she would simply do it herself.

  She heard her friends even before she’d reached the main stairs. They were already assembled in the sitting room on the parlor floor. The bridesmaids hovered around Lila like hornets around a rose. A photographer lurked behind curtains and furniture, failing at her attempt to be unobtrusive. Lila stood near the window, gazing out at the lawn. Her train extended behind her to span the full length of the room, ending at the opposite end, where it had been draped over a chair. The ritual—designed to straighten the bride’s train in the moments before the procession—required complete immobilization. Trapped, Lila looked to Laura like a rare exotic insect trailed by a sticky white sheen. It was, for all intents and purposes, the perfect time to talk.

  “Lila,” said Laura.

  “Thank God you’re back. We were starting to think you’d run off with those.” She twisted her neck and gestured at her bridesmaids to collect their bouquets.

  Laura opened her arms and allowed her friends to retrieve the flowers.

  Lila turned back to the window, fixing her gaze on an object in the distance. Laura followed Lila’s gaze to find its subject before a click of the photographer’s camera revealed it was just a pose.

  “I owe you an apology,” Laura said.

  Lila deepened her gaze, said nothing.

  “If I were a stronger person, I would have told you this a lot sooner.”

  Lila turned suddenly to face Laura. “It’s too late,” she said. “Don’t bother.”

  But Laura continued. It wasn’t too late. “What I did to you, no friend should ever do to another. Of course, you did it once to me. But who’s counting?”

  Lila’s eyes flashed wide and bright, lit by true hatred. But her dress and her position restrained her somewhat, and she refused to give Laura the satisfaction of seeing a disturbance.

  “I found Tom last night,” Laura said. “When he was missing.”

  “Great,” said Lila. “Good for you. Would you like some sort of ribbon?”

  “No,” said Laura. “I just thought you should know. He wasn’t lost. He was hiding.”

  Lila closed her eyes as though obscuring Laura might make her disappear. “He came back of his own accord, Laura. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

  “It doesn’t upset me,” Laura said.

  “He’s a groom. I would be concerned if he didn’t get nervous the night before his wedding.”

  Laura paused, rethinking her impulse to confess, to sabotage. But she had come too far to turn back. She took a deep breath and relinquished control. “What if he had been with another woman the night before his wedding? What if he had loved this other woman for every minute since they had met, if all these years, even while he professed to love you, he was actually loving someone else. What if he had proposed to you because you pushed him into it? What if he never loved you at all? Would that concern you?”

  Lila said nothing for several seconds. She simply stared out the window without emotion. When she finally spoke, she did so without moving any muscles in her face. “Unfortunately for you,” she said, “you’ll never know.”

  The photographer emerged at just this moment and snapped a picture of the two friends.

  Lila smiled with chilling indifference, then turned to face her bridesmaids. “For Christ’s sake, can I move yet?”

  But before the girls could protest, Augusta arrived to dismiss her daughter from her post. She ushered the whole group toward the back door. The chairs were filling. The boys were assembled. It was nearly time to process.

  NINETEEN

  The chatter of two hundred fifty guests was a totally surprising sound. It was probably similar, Laura imagined, to a flock of descending locusts. As she emerged from the house, she felt totally displaced, physically disoriented. Her arms felt weightless and her vision warped,
as though she had tried on a friend’s pair of prescription glasses.

  The groomsmen stood outside the back door in a shaded patch of the lawn, jostling each other like restless horses in a stable. They greeted the bridesmaids with all the excitement of students at their college graduation. In many ways, they felt much as they had that day six years ago when they had joined hands and hurtled their caps into the sky, as though the right amount of force would convince gravity to suspend the rules.

  Then, without warning, Laura was being pushed into a line. Chip appeared out of nowhere and he was smiling and offering his elbow, pulling her toward escalating music, matching the beat with his stride. The melody wafted in then out of her consciousness. Then a sea of white chairs, an ocean of eyes, a kaleidoscope of color. In halting steps, she made her way up the aisle, pulled by Chip’s commanding arm. At the last row of chairs, she stalled for a moment, forgetting yesterday’s instructions, then she stumbled forward—thanks to Chip’s nudge—and took her place next to Weesie in a staggered—or was it a straight—line.

  Then there was Tom, standing right in the center of this ghastly vision. In a morning coat and tails, he looked like a child, costumed for a game of dress-up.

  A chorus of gasps drew Laura’s attention back to the seated guests. A new melody began, and a manic hush replaced the whispers. The rustle of clothing and turning heads announced Lila’s entrance.

  Walking briskly, on her father’s arm, Lila began her procession. Her pace was a heartbeat faster than the beat of the music. Her eyes were bright as she surveyed the chairs, scanning the rows for familiar, important faces. Her hair was upswept in an elegant twist but for the few delicate tendrils falling to her shoulders. Her lips were moist as though she’d just emerged from a kiss. The satin of her dress shimmered in the sunlight, while the lace seemed to hold its shadows. As she glided along the grass, she was undeniably flow-less From the fit of her dress, guests could never have guessed its recent disarray. The satin was smooth as vanilla ice cream, revealing neither seams nor a hint of damage. The fabric itself might as well have been stitched from the cloth of a cumulus cloud. But perhaps this was a bad omen, for the moment Lila completed her march up the aisle, something cold and wet landed on her bare shoulders. Luckily, she was too nervous to notice.

  A few feet away, Tripler eyed Weesie. “Did you feel that?” she whispered.

  “What?” mouthed Weesie.

  Weesie paused and waited for confirmation. “No,” she said. “I didn’t.”

  Next to Weesie, Laura was jarred from her trance by another raindrop. She looked up to find the sky had changed. It had darkened in a matter of minutes to a decidedly dark shade of gray.

  Lila smiled as her father lifted her veil. She received his good-luck kiss without hesitation. Then she took her position next to Tom and squeezed his hand to steady herself.

  The string quartet sounded their last note. The guests held their breath on cue.

  The Reverend Hipp scanned the guests, then began his sermon. “When I first met Tom McDevon, it was on a day much like today, a day so glorious it provided final, irrefutable proof that God exists.” He paused. “Or at least that Augusta had had a word with him.”

  The guests paused, checking each other for permission before exhaling with polite laughter.

  “Augusta had invited me over for iced tea, and we were catching up on her porch. Tom arrived, after a long drive from New York and that endless ferry ride. And, let me tell you.” He shook his head in wonder. “The look on his face when he saw Lila was unlike any look—and I’ve seen many in my day—any look I’d ever seen.”

  Laura scanned the crowd as she listened, studying the guests’ reactions. Looking at Lila or Tom was out of the question. Watching the audience was a good compromise, like watching a scary movie through the spaces in between your fingers.

  “I’ve known Lila forever,” the Reverend Hipp continued. “Since she was one of several towheads stumbling around the courts at the club. It will come as no surprise that she was an adorable child long before she was a beautiful woman. And yet, I have never seen her look more radiant, more delighted, more certain of her place in the world than she did that day as she greeted Tom in the driveway of this house. These two are not only graced with an abundance of God’s earthly gifts, they have been graced with the ultimate reward: everlasting love.”

  Laura kept her eyes on the guests, anxious for their interpretation. Their beatific smiles confirmed her worst fear; they agreed with the minister. All at once, her hope disappeared. She had been foolish, delusional. She was the single body in a crowd of two hundred fifty who had yet to acknowledge reality.

  “Love,” the Reverend Hipp continued, “is like the ocean. Vast, seemingly endless.” He paused to allow the guests a token chuckle. “Rocky, at times. Peaceful, at others. Daunting for all its unexplored depths. But a constant source of wonder and amazement.”

  It was settled, Laura decided. Tom would live and die surrounded by—sated by—clichés.

  “Marriage,” the minister went on, “is like a raft. Imperfect but sound so long as the builders fortify the structure and, once afloat, pledge to strive for balance.”

  The guests rewarded the Reverend Hipp’s awkward simile with a saccharine sigh.

  Finally, Laura looked away, accepting defeat. She fought the urge to scream, to run, to dive into the bay. She had known it for years but ignored it even still. She had outgrown these people—this world.

  “Now,” said the Reverend Hipp, “if you’ll turn with me to page three hundred and fifty-seven, I would like to read from First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verse four.”

  A rustle of pages was followed by a collective exhalation. The ceremony was nearing its close.

  “Love is patient; love is kind and envies no one,” said the minister. “Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude; never selfish, not quick to take offense. There is nothing love cannot face; there is no limit to its faith, its hope, and endurance. In a word, there are three things that last forever: faith, hope, and love; but the greatest of them all is love.” He paused with decorous formality. “Tom and Lila have written their own vows as an expression of their love and creativity.”

  Finally, Laura forced herself to watch the proceedings. The reverend closed his Bible and turned to the couple, gazing with import.

  Lila closed her eyes, a decelerated blink used to stave off tears.

  Tom inhaled as though he were preparing to rappel down the side of a building.

  “Tom,” said Lila, “the day we met was the happiest day of my life. Ever since I’ve known you, I knew you were the one. Even when you didn’t know it. Every day you amaze me in some new incredible and amazing way. I promise to love and honor you each and every day of our life.”

  Laura stomached despair as Lila concluded her vow. This was what Tom had chosen over her, this mediocrity, this utter lack of inspiration.

  “Lila,” said Tom, “I look at you. And I’m speechless. I literally have nothing to say.”

  Tom paused for a second—two, three—staring at the ground, as though he was attempting to count the blades of grass in a particular clump.

  Laura focused. She recognized the dull stare. It was the same blinded feeling she had experienced while delivering Lila’s toast the night before.

  “Words fail the depth and complexity of my feelings for you,” he went on. “I need canons of literature, unwritten poetry, an entirely new language.”

  Laura’s heart sank. He had saved himself.

  “But the thing is.” Here, he paused again. “Without words, I have nothing to offer. Words are my only riches,” he said. “Words,” he said, then he trailed off again. He looked back at the ground but, finding the grass a hopeless ally, turned to survey the bewildered guests, his eyes wide and mouth parted like a runner at the end of a race.

  Without further warning, rain tumbled from the darkened sky, the drops accelerating rapidly into a rush that sounded like a shouted whi
sper. A ghastly yellow lightning bolt bisected the bay, sending horrified guests dashing from their chairs, running toward the wedding tent.

  Lila thought only of her dress. She grabbed what she could of its endless train and sprinted across the lawn.

  Weesie and Annie hustled behind, doing their best to hoist the train from the ground.

  Tripler followed at a more leisurely pace. She hated her dress and so felt no compulsion to protect it. And the rain felt warm and sweet on her skin, a welcome refreshment.

  Oscar, Pete, and Jake moved as a single contingent. Before long, they forgot the problem at hand and gave in to the temptation of a three-man race, thrilled to have found a new forum for competition.

  Augusta surveyed the scene from her chair during the first desperate moments. As she watched, she felt she knew what it was to be the captain of a sinking ship. First, there was the acknowledgment of disaster, then the assessment of its scope, followed by the realization—and finally, the acceptance—of helplessness. As her guests dispersed, she remained very still, standing in front of her chair. On instinct, she opened her palms to the sky as though to discern whether it was truly raining. Then, accepting that a calm response could not intimidate the rain into submission, she clutched her dress and followed her guests’ migration. The ship was sinking, but who would be served by her going down with it?

  Within thirty seconds, all but a few of the guests had evacuated the lawn, leaving the grass, flowers, and chairs defenseless to the rain but for the wasted, if steadfast, protection of two remaining bodies.

  Laura stood, her face streaked with rain, oblivious to the downpour.

  Tom faced Laura, shaking his head, his clothes as soaked as his soul.

  “I can’t do this,” he said.

  “Then don’t,” she said.

  “I feel like I’m drowning,” he said.

  The rattle of raindrops on nearby chairs created a drumroll of sorts. Laura thought of the china on the tables under the tent, the champagne flutes huddled on servers’ trays. Two hundred fifty glasses filled to their brims even before hors d’oeuvres had been passed.