by Daryl Banner
Then the bouquet is thrown.
And Dessie overshoots by a lot.
It flings so far out of reach that almost all of the girls fall over themselves, ending up in a tangle of fabric and lace.
And the bouquet lies on the tile floor, right by my feet.
I crouch down at once and claim my prize. The room cheers.
As all the women gather themselves and cheer me on for being the one to end up with the bouquet, I turn to seek Dmitri’s eyes, but I find no one there. Where did he go?
Holding the bouquet to my chest, I move through the crowd in hot pursuit of my man. I need to tell him something.
And as I search for my Dmitri, I become accidental witness to many happy sights. I see Clayton feeding Dessie a piece of cake, but missing and getting her nose instead. I see Brant snapping a selfie with Nell, who sits on his lap with her arms hooked around his neck. I see Eric and Bailey by the table of finger foods, serving themselves a plate each while teasing each other like a pair of flirty cats.
And somewhere in Georgia, or on a bus to some neighboring city, or in some tour-stop hotel room, my mom and dad might be trying to rekindle something they’ve lost—or something they never had.
Though my parents’ love story may not be the most conventional, it’s one that I can understand now. Not every love story is a straight line. Some of them are interrupted. Some of them are tied in knots. Some of them run parallel to each other.
And in the end, every musical chord finds a way to resolve itself.
Even bassoons can have a happy ending.
I find Dmitri outside of the reception hall. He’s sitting on a bench all by himself in the sunlight staring curiously out at the trees. When I approach his back, he doesn’t seem to hear me, lost in his dreams, I suppose. What is my man dreaming of? Undead donors? Monsters and warriors? His one in a million?
A partner for Poetry class?
Use your hands.
I thwack him over the back of his head with my bouquet. Petals flutter before me in every color of the rainbow, and from that shower of petals, his beautiful face emerges, looking right at me with a playful scowl.
Dmitri’s expression is exactly as it was the day I hit him over the head with a binder in that Poetry class so long ago. It seems like just yesterday when I scratched my name on that seating chart and put myself into this smoldering poet’s orbit.
“That would be twice,” he informs me politely, “that you’ve smacked me over my head to get my attention.”
I come around the bench and sit daintily on his lap. “Let’s make this second time count, then.”
He kisses me with such intensity that I nearly lose my balance, breathing in deeply. He smells so good and inviting, like home.
When we pull apart, I see the longing in his eyes.
Now is the time. “Come with me,” I urge him.
A flicker of surprise hits him. “What?”
“Come with me,” I repeat. “Come with me across the country. We’ll share a place together. You can write anywhere, can’t you, Dmitri? Even if you do get a job at that local magazine. Or else there’s half a million magazines in New York.”
“Sam …”
“I can’t stand not having you in my life,” I tell him. He shuts right up, as if my words have stunned him. We talked about this before, but I don’t think Dmitri ever gave himself enough credit. He needs to hear it again, and today, right now, is the best opportunity I’ll ever have to convince him. “I need you, Dmitri. And you need me just the same. What’s a musician without her harmony?”
He looks into my eyes with pride this time. “What’s a poet without his muse?” he asks right back.
“One sad-ass poet. Come with me,” I beg him.
And his kiss is my answer, though this one is tender and carries with it a hundred promises of our future together. There may be wind in my ears, the noise of a party at my back, and a million trees swaying and tapping their branches … but all I hear is the beautifully strange and harmonic frequency of us, our music, our poetry. And him.
The End.
Keep turning the page for “Through Their Eyes: Five Years Later” – giving us a glimpse of what Dessie, Clayton, Brant, Nell, Sam, and Dmitri are up to five years from now!
Bonus Novella: Through Their Eyes – Five Years Later
Chapter 1
Brant
– Five Years Later –
A four-year-old cackles maniacally as she tears across the room clutching a TV remote. A worn-out, pregnant Nell in sweats shouts out after her from the couch, while our twin two-year-old girls on the floor nearby are apparently trying to out-scream one another.
Ever since I was a kid, I always wished I’d grow up to be surrounded by pretty girls.
Maybe I should’ve been more specific.
My mother calls out from the kitchen asking if we need an exorcist, to which my dad lets out a hearty guffaw from upstairs. Our family dog, a pretty black female Scottish Terrier named Pandora, tears across the room after our four-year-old, panting and barking and panting some more.
This is normal. Don’t worry. No one’s being chased by a machete-wielding murderer, despite how it may appear.
On our four-year-old’s fourth lap around the room, I swipe her right off her feet and bring her up to my face. “Zara,” I scold lovingly after giving her a kiss on the cheek. “You know your mommy and I love you ever so dearly, right?”
To that, little Zara just brings the remote to her mouth and giggles, then sheepishly nods. Her tiny squeezing fingers change the TV channel to Discovery.
“So why in the world are you actin’ like you’ve been possessed by spirits of the wild? You’re runnin’ around here scaring your sisters.”
“I don’t know.” She bites the remote. The channel changes to MTV.
“Please hand me the remote, sweetie.”
“No.”
I set her down, then crouch down to bring my eyes level with hers. “You know, someday sooner than you realize, you’re gonna be the big lady of the house. Your little sisters are going to look up to you. You want to be a good older sister, don’t you?”
Zara’s face scrunches up. “I’m not old!” She put some fingers in my face. “I’m only this many!”
“And that includes being a good sister to your new little brother,” I go on, pointing at Nell’s belly.
“It could be another girl,” throws in Nell with a dark smirk. “Don’t count your blessings just yet.”
“I’ll hear none of that,” I retort back to her playfully, then return my stern gaze to Zara. “That’s a lot of responsibility for a little girl, Zara, I know. But part of being a good totally-not-old big sister … is knowing not to steal the remote while we’re watching Nickelodeon.”
“It’s Jersey Shore now,” mumbles Nell.
I give one of Zara’s black curls of hair a playful flick, inspiring another giggle. “Please hand me the remote before you and your dear sisters start seeing things you’re not supposed to see for another ten years.”
“No.”
“I didn’t even know they still ran re-runs of this show,” grumbles Nell, her face scrunched up.
“Ooh, I like the one with the abs!” my mother calls out from the kitchen.
I wiggle my fingers. “Remote, Zara, before we have ourselves a situation.”
“There’s a situation on TV already,” Nell calls out.
“Ooh, the abs guy!” announces my mother at the kitchen doorway, a half-cleaned frying pan in her hand from the breakfast feast we just had.
I ignore my mother and my beautiful wife. “Zara. You wanna be a good girl, right?”
“No.”
I know she’s just playing with me, but I bite my lip and think about what will really convince her. Then I change my tack entirely. “You know, when we get to New York, only good girls and boys are allowed to have a tasty piece of Aunt Dessie’s triple chocolate cake.”
Zara’s eyes grow double. Her lips qui
ver.
“Though, to be fair, it’s not really Aunt Dessie’s cake, per se. It’s cake her mother’s infamous live-in chef makes, but it’s pretty much the stuff of hot, melty chocolate dreams.”
“Ch-Chocolate dreams?” moans Zara, dreaming it.
I lick my lips. “I can taste it now if I close my eyes …”
“I want a piece!” she cries out.
“Hmm.” I pretend to consider it, probably for too long a time to not be considered child cruelty. I mean, cake is a very serious matter. “I’m not so sure, Zara. I mean, only good girls and boys are allowed a piece of the succulent, delicious cake, and since you’re holding the remote hostage—”
The remote slaps my palm the next second. It’s followed by a scowl on Zara’s adorable little face that matches Nell’s so well, it breaks my heart. She’s such a fireball and always has been since birth. Someday, she’s going to ignite the world.
But before that happens, I simply mend the situation by swinging her up into my arms, tossing the remote to Nell, and showering my daughter’s face with an abundance of wet, slobbery kisses, which earns a whole new explosion of giggles and squeals of protest.
Yeah, gross. I know. I’m one of those daddy’s-girl kind of daddies now.
And it’s my new favorite thing.
Time flies by so fast, I’m in the kitchen hugging my parents goodbye already. “It’s just for the weekend. As long as the twins have their Batty and Lady, they’ll be happy.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” My mother gives me a wink and a nudge, then eyes the twins who are gathered up in my dad’s arms. “They’ll be just fine with us. But are you sure Nell is up for the trip?”
“Yeah, she said she’s excited to see New York.”
“Pack some crackers in her purse. Or maybe something for the plane in case she gets …” My mom makes a gesture at her belly. “Morning sickness was bad her last pregnancy, too.”
“I remember. We’ll grab something from the pantry before we head out. Pad our luggage with snacks too, just in case.”
“I worry about her making this big trip.” My mom wrings her hands and stares off at the other room where Nell and Zara are on the couch.
“We’ll be fine.”
“Another on the way,” my mom mumbles on, her tone turning sassy, “and then what, you big baby-maker you? Yet another?”
“We’re stopping after this one.”
She narrows her eyes. “You said that after the twins.”
“But we mean it this time.”
“Even if it’s another girl?”
“It’s going to be a boy.”
My mom shakes her head. “Brant, you need to get yourself clipped. Overpopulation is a serious issue in this world.”
My father, still holding our two-year-olds, gives one a squeeze in his left arm while planting a kiss on the forehead of the other, then nods at me. “You should let us watch your girls more often.”
I chuckle at him. “If you can tell the twins apart by now, then you’re more than welcome.”
The truth is, the twins couldn’t be more different. Little Dalia is clutching Batty, her furry black bat with white squishy fangs, while Eden hugs her favorite doll to her chest—a Disney princess whose real name has been traded for what Eden prefers to call her: Lady. I love my twins to death, but I won’t lie, there have been a few times in the beginning when I called one by the other’s name. I’m not proud of it. But then Dalia started taking an unnatural liking to skulls and furry black bats (seriously, just seeing one makes her giggle), and Eden gravitated towards green dresses and rebellious Disney princesses. Now they look like mirror images of one another—the wicked and the dainty. They both look exactly like Nell, though maybe they have my eyes.
“You packed that new jacket I got Zara, right?” asks my mom.
“Oh, that big puffy thing? Of course.” I wink at her. “I wouldn’t let my little girl experience the New York December frigidness without being properly armored.”
“You might even see snow!” She smiles wistfully, gives my shirt a tug, then pats me on the cheek. “You all should probably get going. The traffic is going to be nuts tonight.”
My chest flutters with a bit of anxiousness. It’s like I keep forgetting where we’re about to head off to and why. “Nell and I were idiots planning this trip so last minute, huh?”
“And with Christmas just a few weeks away? You’ll be lucky to even get there at all. If you don’t make it in time, can’t Clayton change your tickets to tomorrow, or—?”
“No, no. They don’t know. That’s the whole thing. It’s a surprise. Orchestrated by Sam, of all people,” I add with a nervous chuckle. “Of course, it also isn’t too late to cancel, especially since I—”
“You declined the last three times they invited you to New York,” my dad reminds me with a lift of an eyebrow, lightly bouncing the twins in his arms. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding seeing them at all.”
“I’m not avoiding them,” I retort too quickly. “I’m just … It was just …”
“Your babies,” my mom answers for me, saving me the trouble. “You and Nell popped them out back to back with already another on the way. Really, do Clayton and his wife seriously expect you to just drop everything and run up to New York every time they have a new show debuting? It’s not like they have any little ones, otherwise they might actually understand what it’s like.”
I can tell my mom is getting a touch heated—as this is a hot button for her—so I step in and give her back a quick rub. “Nah, I doubt they blame us. Clay-boy is super happy that we’re building a family. He’s especially excited that we did the whole sign language thing with Zara. She can’t wait to show off her super skills in person. Skype and FaceTime just don’t do her cuteness justice.”
My mom’s face softens, but only a touch. “Someday, Clayton is going to realize the man you’ve grown into. They need to take you more seriously, he and his wife. You’re not the boy who plays video games until sunrise and takes a different girl to every school dance anymore.”
I catch sight of Nell in the other room talking to Zara on her lap, the pair of them looking like they just recovered from laughing at some joke. It seems like just yesterday that I was posing naked in her art class, showing off my junk to a room full of strangers. It was the best day of my life, the day I risked it all just to get a flicker of attention from that hot chick with the black hair and the dark, up-to-no-good glint in her eyes.
“Nope,” I agree, still watching Nell. “Definitely not that boy anymore.”
Then my mom pulls me into the tightest hug I’ve felt in years, and over the sound of laughter and whatever’s mumbling on the TV, I tell my mom I love her and wish her the best of luck with my twin demon spawn, which she will need.
Soon, I’m sitting on a bench in the airport next to the love of my life, and we’re waiting on our flight. Zara sits in the chair next to me swinging her feet like axe-wielding pendulums. Nell hugs a bag to her chest, her lips pursed in thought as she stares across the hum of the enormous crowded room.
I guess I’m lost in a few thoughts myself as I watch the side of her face. A thought cuts into the general murmur. “Nell, did you remember the—?”
“Yes,” she cuts me off with a crooked smile. “And the champagne bottle. And the gift for Sam and Dmitri, our generous hosts.”
“And the crackers I packed in your purse for you.”
“Yep. Just in case our unborn daughter gives me the delightful sensation of wanting to hurl.”
“Or unborn son.”
“Likely daughter.” She smirks at me. “Relax, Brant. I’m fine. It’s even so early, yet. I’m not even showing.”
I nod, then take a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m …” I let out a short burst of air. “I don’t know what I am.”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Clayton,” Nell points out. “Over a year, hasn’t it been?”
I bite my lip and shru
g. I’d lie if I said I hadn’t given it a lot of thought. In truth, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past week. Clayton and I grew up together. We used to be the best of friends, and nothing short of a category ten hurricane could separate us. Then that category ten hurricane came in the form of a talented, special young woman named Dessie who stole his dark little heart, and they have been inseparable ever since. I’m happy for him—really, I am—but there are many times when I find myself missing my best friend. We text each other fairly often, but it doesn’t compare to how things used to be. The fact is, I miss seeing his stupid face. I miss his dumb jokes that used to make me laugh so hard, I’d snort Dr. Pepper out of my flared nostrils. I miss fumbling with my hands before I produced an actual sign that his deaf ass could understand. I regret never having given a genuine effort to learning sign language so that I could really talk to my best friend the way our old roommate and buddy Dmitri can. Shit, I’ll be seeing Dmitri again, too—staying at his and Sam’s place, no less.
“Don’t let it get to you,” Nell whispers to me. “He’s going to be happy as shit to see your face. Even if you turned down his offers to visit him a hundred times.”
“Why doesn’t his ass come down to Texas?” I argue, feeling a pinch of the frustration my mom was trying to express in the kitchen before we left. “He knows I have a family now. He knows it isn’t easy for me to—”
“Brant. Stop. It’s okay. I seriously doubt he blames you.”
“Maybe.” My leg bounces in place as I pick at my cuticles, staring down at my lap.
Nell keeps fishing. “Is it … the whole surprise thing that’s got your head in a mess?”
“I’m not … in a mess.” I smirk, abandon my half-picked fingers, and turn my head to my loving wife. “Listen, though I’d be lying if I didn’t say that staying with Sam and Dmitri is … a little weird …”