by Kira Blakely
My heart leaped and I twisted to smile at him, though I knew that he was wrong. “Look who’s talking,” I told him. He wore a dazzling all-black tux with a simple gold silk tie. I sidled closer and slid my fingers over his tie, thinking about unraveling it from around his neck, thinking about him wrapping it over my wrists and securing it to that coat hook in the foyer again.
Maybe Andrew was thinking the same thing because he crowded against me, his warm breath rumbling out against my upturned lips. This suit did nothing to disguise the healthy bulge of a growing erection and I stepped back suddenly, right before our mouths could brush together. “My makeup,” I yelped.
Andrew’s eyes opened, foggy with lust. “Oh, yeah.” He grimaced. “And we have to be there in twenty minutes.”
“And these are your best friends,” I added with a little gleam in my eye, swatting playfully at his erection as I passed him, striding to the front door. “But I’m flattered that you almost ruined their wedding for me.”
“It definitely would’ve been for both of us,” he corrected me as we stepped down the porch and toward his massive truck.
My heart hammered the entire drive, but when Andrew reached his hand out and clasped mine, dragging it into his lap and driving one-handed, I started to think that maybe it was hammering with excitement, not anxiety.
* * *
The wedding was already in full swing by the time the truck jostled over the uneven church parking lot, even though we weren’t technically late.
And I was right about everything.
The place was packed with laughing, yelling people in almost casual clothing, most of them gripping beverages and practically laced arm-in-arm. Great. I couldn’t imagine being a sorer thumb. I was just going to be quietly clinging to Andrew while everyone around us reminisced and made inside jokes. Great.
Andrew dragged me through the chapel, slapping his friends on the back and greeting everyone with excitement. It was so loud in here and, out of nowhere, a little girl came rocketing through the guests, clearing her own path in the bodies. “Dad!” She lunged directly into Andrew’s arms and he let go of my hand to sweep her in a circle mid-air, gangly legs flying out in an arc. I dodged to avoid them and clung to my purse like it was a life preserver.
“Baby girl!” Andrew greeted her, squeezing her hard before letting her down. He grinned and his eyes fluttered over to me and he snapped his fingers, remembering that I had no idea who anyone was. “Connie, this is my new friend, Michelle.” New friend? “Michelle, this is my daughter, Connie.”
I stretched out a tentative hand, and she gave it a curious look before slanting her eyes back to her dad. “You don’t have any new friends,” she reminded Andrew. “You work too much to go out and have fun. Mom tells me all the time.”
“That’s sweet of her to keep you updated on my lack of a life,” Andrew said, “but Michelle actually is my new friend.” Just keep saying it, I thought sourly. “And I like her a lot,” he added, and a warm little firecracker went off in my chest. He likes me a lot. “Where is your mom?” he wondered, and Connie shrugged. Andrew grimaced, and I wondered if he was hoping to see Lola.
When the wedding march first began, most of the church didn’t even hear it, everyone was talking so loudly. I heard it, though, and I tugged on Andrew, trying to tell him. He was gesturing to someone through the crowd, and Connie rushed off to be with another girl her own age. Andrew settled me onto a pew and told me that he had to go join the groom’s court. I felt helpless as I watched him go.
Lisa, a Latina absolutely beaming with pride, sashayed slowly down the center aisle with her father. She wore a plain white sundress, something that probably cost less than sixty dollars, and then they were at the pulpit with all the men. Her father passed her hand to Grant’s, and my heart ached with pure envy.
That was never going to be me, though. I didn’t have a supportive, rowdy group of close, old friends like this couple did. All I had was my very own college degree. That was it. The friends I made at Moritz College were college friends, as in, we would see each other on Facebook for the rest of our lives now. It wasn’t real. Not like all this... This would never be mine. Maybe Andrew would try to pull me into his world, but it wouldn’t work. These people overflowed with warmth and confidence. He would see. He’d get it soon enough. This world wasn’t mine, and I wouldn’t be able to make it here. A part of me was happier before I even tried.
* * *
The reception was almost over, and I was picking at half a plate of slimy pasta. I sat at the main table, where Andrew had been assigned, but no one was sitting with me anymore. Everyone wanted to get barefoot and play tag football. Andrew went with them and insisted that I come, too, but I held back. I’d break my neck and rip my dress, anyway. I’ve never been much of an athlete.
I watched as Andrew, barefoot and still in his tux, tackled a blonde woman, barefoot in a green baby doll dress. They crashed onto the field and laughed. Andrew pulled her up and she returned the football to him, which he chucked to Grant. What a world these people lived in. I couldn’t imagine going to a wedding with a buffet featuring fried chicken, much less a wedding where the bride and groom both played football in a field afterward.
“Hey,” a familiar little voice chirped to my right and I glanced down.
“Hey, Connie,” I greeted, placing my fork down on the table. “Your dad is over there, playing football.”
“I know,” Connie chirped. “My mom is over there, too.” She gestured to the blonde, still laughing, raking stiff barrel curls out of her face with a muddy palm. She seemed so vivacious and earthy right now. My eyes shifted away from the football game, and I braced my plastic goblet, filling my mouth with champagne and quickly swallowing. All the bubbles burned my throat and my nose and I cringed like it was deeply-aged whiskey. I went for another drink—I don’t know why. I’m normally not much of a drinker. “So, are you my dad’s girlfriend or what?” Connie wondered, and I spat my drink back into the goblet, spluttering.
“What?” I coughed.
“Well, he never brings girls to stuff like this,” Connie explained. “He has a lot of friends. He doesn’t need more friends.” Her eyes narrowed with scrutiny. “Especially not very pretty ones.”
“Lucky for you, then,” I said with a light laugh. “This is just the mask I wear when I go to scary places.”
Connie giggled. “This isn’t scary,” she assured me. I glanced at the raucous throng of tipsy athletes in cheap evening wear and couldn’t disagree more. I’d rather navigate a silent auction full of dusty billionaires than dive into that rigmarole. Barefoot. “My dad has never shown me a new friend before. And I’m eight. That’s a long time.”
“You don’t know, you can’t remember being a baby,” I replied, reaching for the champagne bottle in the center of the table and hastily refilling my goblet. I hoped that this girl’s incessant questions would soon find their cork. “Maybe the first few years of your life were filled with introductions. In fact, they probably were.” I brought the fresh drink to my lips and chugged.
I brought it back down and felt better. A little loose, a little spacey, but better. I watched Andrew across the field, pounding down the stretch with the football stashed under his arm. Grant crashed into him out of nowhere and they went down hard.
“My dad is awesome,” Connie informed me staunchly, certainly. “You never answered my question.”
“What question?” I wondered, keeping my mouth close to the rim of the goblet, in case I needed an emergency drink. Lisa scooped up a handful of mud and tossed it at Lola, who dissolved into laughter, even though her dress was probably ruined for good now.
“Are you my dad’s girlfriend?”
I swallowed another gulp of champagne. Then another. Then there was only one sip left, so I killed it off. “No,” I answered simply, burping softly. My hand flew up to my lips. “Excuse me.”
Connie giggled. “Well, good. My dad has been awesome for my whole life, and I
don’t want him to start dating. Love ruins people.”
The words brought my attention fully back to Connie. It was just such a dark, bitter thing for an eight-year-old to say. “Um,” I told her, frowning. I put my goblet down. “Why do you say that?”
“My mom has been in love a bajillion times. It makes her a worse person. She goes out all night. Then she’s mad and checking her phone all the time. Then she’s crying and she wants to take me to the mall and buy a ton of stuff. I don’t get it. It ruins people!”
I braced my hand on Connie’s shoulder and peered deeply into her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I promised. “There’s no way a man like your dad would ever fall in love with me. I mean, look at me.” I dropped my hand from her shoulder and shrugged, raising my eyebrows helplessly. My bookish, reclusive lifestyle left me stranded on the sidelines all the time. Someone like Andrew would never be satisfied long-term.
“I guess you’re right,” Connie allowed. “Definitely nothing like my mom.”
I glanced over at Lola, who had linked arms with Lisa to down a glass of champagne, and grimaced. Nothing like her. She was lively and intriguing and adventurous. Here I was, at the table with his daughter, shoes still on. He hadn’t even looked over here. It’s his best friend’s wedding. He doesn’t want to babysit you.
The sound of a tinkling glass brought the attention of the wedding party to focus on Andrew, whose bare, muddy feet were firmly planted in front of the microphone on the outdoor stage, next to the DJ booth. The music quieted and Andrew tapped the mic and grinned out at this sea of faces.
“It’s amazing to see everybody could make it out this afternoon,” he greeted, raising his own flute of champagne in welcome. “I know you all had really important court hearings and hangovers to attend today.” A smattering of appreciative laughter bubbled from the crowd. “If you’re here on the groom’s side, you know this is something he’s been planning since the eighth grade... and if you’re here on the bride’s side, you know she’s been trying to find a polite way to decline this invitation for years.” Another laugh. I even felt my own lip twitch. “But most of us are both bride and groom sides because the bride and the groom have been Lisa-and-Grant for longer than they’ve been just Lisa or just Grant.” The crowd softened with feels, but Andrew went on, “Does anyone even remember Lisa before Grant, or Grant before Lisa?”
No one spoke up.
“I do,” Andrew said. “Grant was... prickly.”
The audience responded with a healthy swell of laughter. I wished that I knew these people so I could laugh, too. I also wished that I hadn’t doused my throat with three glasses of champagne back-to-back. I fanned my suddenly perspiring neck and felt a little too loose. Damn my low tolerance.
“He didn’t have the patience for getting to know anyone, so he would have died alone if it wasn’t for Lisa. And Lisa—” He said her name with such drama and despair, the crowd cracked up at the mere expression on his face, and my heart warmed with pride. They loved him here. He was killing it. Even if this wasn’t my world—I was glad he had his own throne here. He deserved one. “Apparently you all remember Lisa,” he said, which got another uproarious laugh. “She was impossible to control—and she wouldn’t listen to anyone. Except Grant,” he added, winking at the groom on the other side of the crowd. “And somehow, he turned that baby hooligan into a lady.” Andrew made a face and tilted his head from one side to the other. “As much of a lady as he could, anyway. He’s not a miracle worker.”
“Hey!” Lisa yelled, waving her fist at Andrew. “This is still my party, Ace!”
“Aaanyway,” Andrew went on, pointedly turning his back on Lisa, getting another giggle to ruffle the audience. “You can tell true love when you see it because it... changes you.” His eyes drifted over to mine and latched for just an instant, over all the tops of these other heads. A blush fluttered to my cheeks. Was he being serious? I swallowed hard. I hadn’t changed him. He hadn’t changed me! The room tilted a little bit to the side and I blinked slowly. “And it makes you better,” he went on. I tipped my eyes back to his and he looked away, eyes settling on Connie next. “It calms you down, or it lifts you up. It’s whatever you need it to be. Whatever you’ve been looking for.” He winked, and my eyes moved away from him, incidentally fixing directly onto Lola.
She glared at me thoughtfully, a pouty, simmering glare that could almost have been mistaken for a glare of desire, it was so overpowering. My heart rampaged in response and I tore my eyes away. Why was she giving me that look? What did that mean? Shit. Shit! I didn’t want any of this. This was exactly why I told him no when he originally invited me. I didn’t want to worry about his catty ex and his kid’s questions. I just wanted to work and resolve my student debt. It was simple. It was all so simple.
As Andrew wrapped up his speech, I stood and lunged toward the church, where I could squirrel away in the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror for the hour or two left of this event. I desperately wanted to check my hair, to give myself a classic bathroom pep talk. Most importantly, I think I needed to puke. My stomach was too empty for half a bottle of champagne.
Applause swelled up behind me as Andrew finished his speech, and I smiled softly for his success, even though I was also relieved to be out of the crowd. I was almost to the church now. Dizzy and overheated, but almost there.
“Hey,” a female voice chirped behind me, drawing my attention away from that wonderful door across the parking lot. “You’re Michelle, right?”
I whirled and a wave of vertigo washed over me, partly because of the champagne and partly because Andrew’s ex had stalked me across the field and to the chapel. She took long strides to catch up with me quickly.
“Yes,” I answered meekly, praying this wouldn’t develop into a thing between us. “I’m Michelle.”
“Andrew’s new girlfriend,” she went on, reaching me. I realized that she was a tall girl. She loomed a few inches over me, and I thought that she might be here to kick my ass.
“Oh,” I said, blushing and smiling awkwardly. “I’m not his new anything.”
“Don’t be coy,” she instructed me, her tone both acidic and teasing, so I couldn’t tell if she was threatening me or if I was just too nervous. “He would never bring just anyone to this wedding.” She hesitated and her eyes flashed over me with intense assessment. “He must really like you.”
I was going to throw up soon, and it was so hot out there. I fanned myself and tried to focus on this unpleasant conversation. “You’re Lola, right? Connie’s mom?”
Lola straightened herself to her full height and glowered down at me with a cold pride. “That’s right. You must know that Andrew is a very devoted father, if you know him at all.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m not trying to do anything, Lola.” I waved my hands in the air, exhausted by this entire exchange. “We’re just friends.” Semi-true.
“Sure.” The look in Lola’s eyes confirmed that she was thinking the same exact thing. “He hasn’t had a girlfriend since he was with me, Michelle. What do you think that means?”
That he hadn’t met me yet. The comeback popped into my conscious mind without any prompting and I intentionally disregarded it. No way. I wasn’t going to fight with this woman over Andrew. No way.
“I don’t know,” I said instead. “Haven’t you two been separated for a long time?”
Lola furrowed her brow at me. “Finding ourselves,” she answered. “You can come around, Michelle,” she told me, taking another step, glowering down at me. She seemed a little tipsy herself. “Help my baby find himself. But just know, at the end of this long day, he’s going to find his way back to the mother of his child.”
“The mother of somebody’s child, anyway,” I snapped, and then my fingers flew to my lips. I couldn’t believe I’d just said something so combative. That wasn’t like me at all.
“What?” Lola sneered. “What did you just say?”
“I was actually on my
way to the bathroom,” I told her, turning and scurrying into the church. I pushed on the bar over the door and it fell open and my relief tripled as the air conditioning circulated around me. I was surrounded by shadows and alone now.
I glanced over my shoulder to see if Lola followed, but no one was there. The door shuddered closed, and I didn’t see Lola standing on the other side anymore.
Feeling like a little mouse, I stepped to the door and watched Lola through the glass pane as she marched across the field, back to the covered tent and platform of the reception. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and told myself to breathe. I was still dizzy. I needed water. I needed—
I twisted and rushed through the chapel toward the bathroom, losing one high heel along the way. I needed that toilet right now. I pushed my way through a series of doors before finally collapsing in a sweaty pile on the tile floor in front of the women’s toilet, losing half a plate of pasta and three or four glasses of champagne in one heave. I gave a few more gags for good measure.
When my roiling insides felt calmed, I leaned back and gathered the hair off my neck. I sighed and let myself cool.
Even though I hadn’t washed my mouth yet, I smiled a little bit to myself. I even giggled.
Ever since meeting Andrew again, this little voice in the back of my mind told me again and again that nothing would seriously happen. Not long-term. He was too perfect; something was bound to go wrong. I kept telling myself this. It wouldn’t last. We were too different. This was ill-advised and temporary, ephemeral.
But Lola wouldn’t have approached me if she wasn’t threatened.
My lip quirked and my eyes opened, gazing up at the ceiling of the bathroom stall, feeling oddly victorious.