Hallie moves into motion as well.
“Wait, are we supposed to be in the photos?” I whisper to Hallie as she hangs her dress bag up on a curtain rod and unzips it.
“Yes.” She shoots me a Duh look.
“Why didn’t you say that earlier when I was complaining about leaving so soon?”
“I did,” Hallie replies as she pulls her black bridesmaid dress out of the bag. It’s a sensible A-line style that’s knee-length. “Good to know you weren’t listening.”
I scoff as I copy her. Once we’ve both changed, I head over to the full-length mirror to apply some mascara and lip gloss. I brush my hair and survey my appearance. I still love the dress I chose from Beck’s kitchen counter. I opted for a one-shoulder design with a tight bodice. It’s floor-length, but the flowy chiffon is asymmetrical, showing off flashes of my tan legs every time I move.
“Don’t you look lovely!” Sandra says, coming up behind me. She’s changed into her wedding dress, which is a simple white slip with a lace overlay.
“Thank you,” I respond. “You do, too.”
She beams. “Thank you. And, Saylor, about last night…”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. I hate apologies. Receiving and giving them. “Don’t worry about it.”
Maybe Sandra feels the same because she looks massively relieved when I cut her off.
“Everyone ready?” Sally calls from the vanity. She’s changed as well, into a cap-sleeved dress that falls to mid-calf.
“Ready!” Hallie replies.
We file out of the room and back into the hallway. There’s only one door farther down the hallway on the opposite side, and Sally heads through it first, revealing that it leads out into the gardens behind the church. There’s a stone courtyard in the center, surrounded by an explosion of lush greenery with scattered dots of color provided by the few remaining blooms. My father is already standing in the courtyard, along with my Uncle Jerry and two older men I vaguely recognize as his work partners.
“Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” I whisper to Hallie.
She gives me a dubious glance. “You’re superstitious?”
“I’m an athlete.” Still a blank stare. I sigh. “Never mind.”
The photographer’s instructions stop any further conversation. I’m handed a bouquet of roses and instructed to smile. We take individual photos, group photos, candid shots, posed shots. I lose track. I just keep smiling, and no one seems to notice the expected expression pasted on my face is mostly fake.
I think I’m exaggerating how long the photos are taking, but when the wedding planner instructs us to head inside and take our places for the ceremony, I realize it’s actually the opposite. The hallowed building echoes with audible chatter as we walk down the hallway toward the front of the church. My father and his groomsmen split off to enter the front of the altar.
There’s a man who looks close to eighty waiting in the church vestibule. The front doors to the chapel have been closed, and the oak ones marking the entrance of the nave are shut as well.
Strains of organ music penetrate the ancient wood, halting the chatter that was previously echoing. The older man introduces himself to me and Hallie as Sandra’s father, and the two of them take their place at the back of the line. The music swells and transitions to a melody even I, who have only been to a grand total of two weddings, recognize.
The doors in front of me open, and Hallie starts walking. I count to ten and then follow her down the aisle. I saw the church earlier, but it’s animated now. Lively.
A hush fell as soon as Wagner began to play, but there’s a low hum of voices filled with excited energy as we walk forward. I reach the end of the aisle and take my place beside Hallie at the foot of the altar. Sally takes the next spot, and then I watch the whole congregation rise as the music reaches its crescendo, perfectly coordinated with Sandra’s arrival.
She’s beaming as she floats down the aisle on her father’s arm. She doesn’t look like someone who’s done this twice before. Her smile is giddy when she reaches my dad’s side.
I zone out for most of the ceremony. Sandra must have had some sort of religious upbringing, because I can’t imagine my father selecting the numerous lengthy readings the priest declaims. He seems content to listen to them, though, nodding along and smiling. He looks happy, and it makes standing in heels that are slowly cutting off all circulation in my feet worth it. Regardless of our relationship, I want him to be content. And he seems to be.
The vows come last. Is it impossible to attend a wedding and not imagine saying those words yourself? Hallie’s crying, but I don’t feel emotional.
I feel detached.
Incredulous.
My father’s words from earlier reverberate around in my skull. There was a time I swore to myself I never would again.
So why is he?
The country club where the reception is being held is only one block away, but Hallie insists on driving. I don’t protest; mostly because my shoes are killing me. I stare out the window as Matt and Hallie chat about how smoothly the ceremony went.
The church lawns meld into the sidewalk that traverses the length of the small downtown area. We pass the library, post office, general store, and high school before arriving at the country club. It’s not nearly as posh as it sounds. It’s simply an oversized building set behind an ornate gate and before the golf course.
The front lobby is minimalistic, filled with clean lines and muted colors. The ballroom is just past a double set of doors. It overlooks a stone patio surrounded by the lush grass comprising the golf course, and the entire room is decorated in creams and golds that make me feel like I’m inside a giant wedding cake. Round tables dot the hardwood floor, already decorated with dishes and floral arrangements I recognize from the ends of the pews. Guests are milling about, claiming seats with wraps and clutches. I head toward the first empty one I see.
“Where are you going?” Hallie asks.
“To get a table,” I reply.
“We’re sitting up there.” She nods to a long rectangular table set up just past the dance floor.
I sigh but follow her over to it. My grandparents and Sandra’s parents are already seated, and I take the chair at the farthest end, next to the highchair that’s been set up for Matthew Jr.
“When is dinner?” I ask Hallie.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s drinks and appetizers first. Then the first dance. Then dinner. Then cake…”
“Okay, okay,” I reply. “No dinner yet. Got it.”
There’s a round of applause, and I turn to see my dad and Sandra are entering the room. They’re quickly swallowed into the crowd. On cue, I watch black-clad servers start to infiltrate the room. Twinkly lights turn on out on the patio just as dusk begins to fall.
“I’m headed to get sustenance,” I inform Hallie.
“Liquid or solid?”
“Both.” I stand but only get a dozen feet before I run into Great Aunt Eloise.
“Saylor! So wonderful to see you, sugar. How is school?”
I learned my lesson on this question last night. “It’s great.”
“And you’re still playing soccer?”
“Yes.”
Despite my brief answers, Eloise draws out our conversation for a good ten minutes. As soon as I extricate myself, I run into another distant relative. Then another. And another. By the time I make it out onto the patio, half the hors d’oeuvres are gone.
I snag a few mini bruschetta and strike up a conversation with Ashley Martin. Her father works with mine, and we were friendly in high school. We’ve barely started chatting when Hallie appears.
“Here you are! Come on, we need you at the table.”
I groan. “Nice to see you, Ashley. Bridesmaid duty calls.”
I follow Hallie as she weaves through the tables back to ours. My dad and Sandra are just rising from their seats and making their way out onto the dance floor. I plop down on my
chair to watch them waltz, realizing I never even grabbed a drink.
I remember my father having no sense of rhythm, but apparently it’s something he rediscovered along with some paternal instincts. They sway in time to some song that sounds familiar but I can’t name.
The music ends, and Sandra walks over to her father. He rises, and they head back out onto the dance floor. I expect my father to walk over to his mother’s chair, but instead he strides in the opposite direction.
Toward my end of the table.
Toward me.
“Dance with your old man, Saylor?”
My gaze leaps to Hallie, but she doesn’t look the least bit surprised. She knew. She knew he was going to do this.
“Sure,” I manage, standing. What else can I say? We’re in front of a couple hundred people. On his wedding day. No wonder Hallie dragged me off the patio earlier.
We head out onto the dance floor, and my father’s lost his Fred Astaire impression. We sway awkwardly.
“I’m happy for you, Dad,” I finally say, when the silence is so thick it’s choking me.
“That means a lot,” he replies, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Silence falls between us again.
“Maybe we’ll be doing this again one day. At your wedding.”
I tense. “I doubt it.”
“There’s no… special guy?” my father asks, and if I wasn’t immensely uncomfortable, I would laugh. My father checked out back when I thought boys had cooties. We’ve never had a conversation about a guy. I doubt his newfound parenting skills would be thrilled to know about the ways I took advantage of his absence during my high school years.
“Nope.” I almost leave it at that, but then I add “Not a big fan of relying on people.”
“You don’t have to do everything alone, Saylor.”
“Well, I didn’t really have a choice.”
He sighs. “I know. But I hoped you’d learn from my mistakes.”
“I have.”
“Relying on people is not a mistake. Relying entirely on someone who doesn’t rely on you is. That’s what happened with your mother and me. I relied on her for everything, and she didn’t rely on me at all. You’re strong, Saylor. So, so strong. You don’t need someone to hold you up, but it’s nice to have someone to lean on.” He looks over at Sandra, who’s laughing at something her father is saying. “It’s really nice.”
I don’t say anything.
Wisely, my father opts to change the subject. “I was thinking maybe Sandra and I could come up to Lancaster for a weekend this fall. Maybe catch a soccer game?”
“You want to come to one of my games?” I don’t bother to hide the shock in my voice. He nods once. “Why?” I can’t help but ask.
“Well, I’ve never seen you play, and—”
“Exactly! You’ve never seen me play. Why now?”
My father manages to shift uncomfortably while dancing. “I’m trying to do better. If you don’t want us to come, just say that.”
“No, it’s fine. You can come.” We keep dancing. “Just let me know what game you want the tickets for.”
“We can buy our own tickets. I want to support your team.”
I snort. “The entire season is sold out. You won’t be able to get into the game unless I request them.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize…”
“That other people care about seeing me play?” I let a little bitterness seep into my voice.
“No,” he insists, although I’m certain I’m right. “I just—you always said women’s sports don’t get enough attention.”
“They don’t. I’m trying to change that.”
My dad looks at me, and it’s not with the uncertainty or discomfort I’m used to seeing. There’s pride etched in the lines of his face, and it feels good.
Despite our difficult relationship—if you could even call it that—it feels really good for him to look at me like that.
The song ends before either of us can say anything else. We return to our seats to see dinner has already been served. Hallie stares at me from across the table, and I can tell she’s burning to ask what we were talking about, but she restrains herself. I’m guessing the glare I give her has something to do with it, and the fact that she looks sheepish tells me she played a part in the dancefloor ambush.
After dinner, I make a beeline for the bar. I’ve just ordered a gin and tonic when I hear a familiar voice.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Saylor Scott.”
I turn to see Andy Jacobson has appeared to my left. “Have we met before?” I ask.
The lopsided grin high school girls fangirled over appears. “Good to see you haven’t changed. Still breaking hearts, Scott?”
“Are you volunteering yours, Jacobson?”
His dimples deepen. “Nah. I learned my lesson in high school.”
“That why you’re stalking me at my dad’s wedding?”
Andy clutches his chest in mock outrage. “Stalking? That’s harsh. I’m here to catch up with old friends.”
“Oh yeah? Who would that be?”
“Who wouldn’t it be? The whole town is here.”
“Yeah.” I let out a long exhale as the bartender hands me my drink. “I noticed.”
“Rare to have a celebrity in our midst.” I scoff. “I’m serious,” Andy insists. “You’re huge. My buddy’s cousin goes to Lancaster and said it’s nuts. You’re ranked first in the country!”
“Yeah, I know,” I say as I take a long sip of my drink. His words aren’t terrible for my ego, though, especially after the past day of conversations with my family.
“Hooking up with you in high school earned me some major cool points, by the way.”
“Still a gentleman, I see.”
Andy grins. “So, what’s it like—”
“Saylor! Finally! We need you for the cake.” Hallie appears.
I let out another long breath, trying to summon some patience. “Why? Do I have to cut it up?”
Andy snorts. Hallie glares.
I down the rest of my cocktail like a shot. “See you, Jacobson.”
“I’ll save you a dance, Scott,” he calls out as Hallie hauls me off.
“Maybe there could be one part of the wedding I don’t have to be front and center for?” I suggest.
“It’s not particularly fun having to track you down for every event.”
“Then don’t,” I reply, a bit sharper than I mean to. “And don’t think I don’t know you had something to do with the dance.”
“If I don’t, then Dad will be upset. Now Sandra too. And if I’d told you about the dance, you probably would have hid in the bathroom or something.”
“Yeah. Obviously.”
We reach the dance floor, which has been cleared for the cake. It’s a massive concoction that matches the room décor perfectly, all white with flowers that have been dyed gold. Or are made of gold-colored frosting. Cressida could probably tell.
Champagne is passed around, and Sandra’s father makes a toast. Rather than the customary sip, I drain the entire glass as my father and Sandra make an impractical dual attempt at slicing through the three-tier cake.
I snag another glass of champagne as everyone oohs and aahs over the slow process.
“How many of those have you had?” Hallie looks over and eyes the glass flute in my hand.
“Not enough.” I take a sip of fizzy liquid.
“Don’t be stupid, Saylor.”
It’s amazing how, after twenty-one years, Hallie still doesn’t know people pushing me only makes me push back. Harder.
I grab another glass from the display, double-fisting champagne. Classy and contrarian, that’s me.
“Me? Act stupid? Never.” I take a sip and send her a shit-eating grin.
Hallie backs down and looks away, just like I knew she would. I also know it’s not because she doesn’t care. She just can’t force herself to engage in confrontation any more than I can walk away from one.
Plates of cake finally start to disseminate amongst the crowd. I grab one and, with my full glass of champagne, disappear outside. The patio is empty now, no longer crammed with wedding guests. I’m guessing it’s the lack of appetizers combined with the slight chill in the air. Coming from Connecticut, the brisker air still feels tropical to me. I settle on one of the concrete benches and stare out at the golf course. It’s pristine. Perfectly manicured.
The flawless grass reminds me of a soccer field.
Reminds me of Kluvberg’s field.
Reminds me of lying on it with Beck.
I blame the recollection for what happens next. I gulp down the rest of the bubbly alcohol and spin so my feet rest on the opposite end of the concrete bench. My stilettos fall to the stone floor as I stretch my toes, luxuriating in the freedom the lack of a pointed prison allows for.
I pull my phone out of the clutch, and it turns out there is something I would do drunk I wouldn’t sober. And that’s call the number I swore to myself I never would again.
Even if I were stranded in the desert and no one else was answering. Well, maybe then.
It rings once, and I take a bite of cake. A choice I regret when he picks up on the second ring.
“Saylor?” His voice is sleepy. Shit. Yeah, it’s… I actually have no idea what time it is here, much less in Germany. But I obviously woke Beck up. I don’t say anything.
Partly because I don’t know what to say.
Partly because I’m listening to hear if he leaves his bed, or if there’s a female voice in the background.
Partly because there’s a lump of flour and sugar blocking my windpipe.
Mostly because I’m contemplating hanging up and pretending it was a butt dial.
“Saylor?” he says again, tone more alert and softer. “Is everything okay?”
I swallow several times. “Yeah, everything is fine.” I pause. “I’m at my dad’s wedding.”
“How is it?” Beck asks. His voice is still quiet, no more than an accented murmur. No background noise.
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