These Are the Moments (13 page)

Chapter 31

Now

There were endless racks of white on either side of them. Hundreds of dresses for brides-to-be. Lacy. Mermaid-like. Big, princess tulle gowns.

“How are you supposed to choose?” Reese asked. “No, really,
look at this place
. It’s like Vera Wang threw up in here.”

They manned the aisles, each of them dividing and conquering.

“Think bride,” Vivian said. “Not too poofy. Not too lacy. Nothing too trashy.”

“So this one’s out, then?” Reese asked, holding up a dress with slits down the side.

Wendy shook her head. “We’ll save that one for your nuptials.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Reese said.

Vivian’s mom came along, insisting on looking at every single dress herself, just in case someone overlooked something. Reese, specifically.

Wendy scanned at a medium pace.

When Wendy imagined herself in a wedding dress, she’d always pictured something out of a storybook. A long train with a flowing skirt, and some birds to hold the slack as she floated down the aisle.

When she thought about it now, in front of the world’s largest museum of keys to marital bliss, she had absolutely no idea what she wanted. Sleeves? No. Strapless? Definitely not. Something classic, but not plain.

Something like.

She pulled a dress from the stuffed rack in front of her. It had a lace, sweetheart neckline and a cinched waist. The skirt was fitted, but not too fitted. And there was a beautiful, unobtrusive train. Wendy studied every last detail. This was her dress. This was that bridal moment of clarity.

But it wasn’t hers.

She considered stuffing it back into the rack. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Hey, Viv,” she called, holding up the dress. “What about this one?”

Vivian’s doe eyes bloomed, and she picked the dress out of Wendy’s hand. “
Oh my goodness.
”

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Not just
yes
,” Vivian said. “I want to have babies with this dress.”

Vivian couldn’t even wait a second more before she darted into the dressing room, dress in tow. Wendy called Reese and Mrs. Claire over. The three of them sat on pillowed chairs, waiting.

“This doesn’t feel real,” Reese said. “It’s like, I know she’s getting married. I know she’s doing the whole happily ever after thing. But I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Will someone zip me?” Vivian called.

Mrs. Claire went to stand, but Vivian said, “Wendy?”

In the dressing room, Vivian glowed under the lights. She looked
outrageously
beautiful, the kind of beautiful that was electric, that lit things on fire, like people and hearts and anything susceptible.

“Oh my God,” Wendy said, hands shaking. “Viv.”

Her hair waved to the left, her shoulder tucked beneath it. “What? Is it okay?”

“You’re a bride,” Wendy choked. “You’re a real-life bride.”

Vivian cracked a smile. A smile that could crack right out of her, right through the mirror. “Am I?”

“I think you found it,” Wendy said, zipping up the dress.

“The dress? The boy? The life? You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Sure,” Wendy said, tiny tears pricking her eyeballs. “All of the above.”

“I’m getting married,” Vivian said.

“You’re getting married.”

“Hurry up!” Reese yelled. “Or I’m coming in there.”

Wendy went first, leading Vivian up to the small podium. In the trifold mirror, she looked even more radiant, like the sun had just spit her into their perception.

Mrs. Claire cried instantly, choking out her words, “You look
so beautiful.
”

“Eh, you look okay,” Reese said, wiping her wrist under her eye.

Vivian studied herself in the mirror. Turn to the left. Turn to the right. Brides weren’t supposed to look this beautiful. They were supposed to be perfect, of course, but they weren’t supposed to be melt-your-heart-kick- you-in-the-stomach radiant. How could anyone else compete?

Wendy tried to picture herself married. She tried to picture the church and the people, as she’d done a million times before. But when she tried to think of the groom, he was always changing. Sometimes, he was just a haze of a person at the end of the aisle, someone who would exist one day, but not now. And sometimes, he’d been real. He’d been too real.

“This is it,” Vivian said, twirling the skirt around her. “This is my dress.”

“Nice going,” Reese said to Wendy, propping herself up on her shoulder. “Looks like you did the honors.”

Wendy smiled. She could picture Vivian’s wedding. She could see it all, so real in her head that it was as if it had already happened. But when it came to imagining her own future, it was just like a painting, blurred and blended and running with water.

She couldn’t picture that. Even if she tried.

Chapter 32

Then

She waited for him. The rain pouring down. Her heart the only thing she could feel, running around in its chamber, doing everything but staying still inside of her.

She expected the worst. Maybe it was because she knew him so well.
God, she knew him so well
.

In the past week, he’d been pulling away. Short responses. Even shorter phone conversations. He’d been “busy.” He’d been so unavailable that part of her felt like he was already out of her life, not just on the way there.

She knew it.

When his car pulled up, she pinched her leg. She wanted to feel a lesser pain, the kind that came in a smaller dosage, the kind that would go away after a second or two.

When he sat down next to her, he didn’t touch her. He didn’t even look at her, really. He was steeling himself.

“Hey,” she said, touching his back.

There was too much space between them. Space that would only get bigger if she didn’t try to close it right there and then.

“Hey,” he said. Stiff.

He’d changed his mind.

She knew it.

But still, she had to hear him say it. She had to watch his mouth form the words.

“Wendy,” he said, his voice soft and rough. “I know that I said that I wanted this . . .”

This.

Her? Their future?

He loved her. That wasn’t the question. He’d told her, shown her, done everything a person in love is supposed to do.

The real question was this: if he loved her, and she loved him, then what was he doing?

“. . . but it’s too hard. I can’t fight like this miles away from you. It won’t work.”

This wasn’t up for debate. It was decided. His speech well-thought, the scenario examined from every angle. Simon had made a decision, and this time, it wasn’t her.

She wanted to cry, scream, plead, beg, do the things that other girls would do. But those girls didn’t know Simon. Those girls didn’t know that Simon’s mind was immovable, a wall of bricks stacked against her.

She cried, but only a little.

“I’m going to start moving up tomorrow,” he told her. “I got approved for an early move-in date.”

He didn’t look at her. He was already far away, even sitting right beside her.

“You
changed
your mind.”

Minds were easy to change. They were like dough, one minute balled up and the next pressed flat. But what about hearts? Those couldn’t be that malleable, could they? His heart couldn’t have changed that quickly. But, she guessed, Simon’s mind came first. Heart last.

He cried, too, into his hands. “I don’t have a choice.”

Things snapped inside of her. Bones, maybe. No. Something that wasn’t physical, but felt damn close.

She could’ve said he was wrong. She didn’t.

“What about my choice? What about what I want?”

Past him, it was raining. Water splitting the air sideways, cutting across the sky.

Please, let it storm.

Please, God. If you’re there.

Don’t let this end
.

Simon didn’t answer.

“So,” Wendy said, “It’s over.”

He nodded, blotting his palms over his eyes.

“But,” she said, in a voice that didn’t feel like her own, “I love you.”

It felt like a valid argument. She loved him and he loved her. It was supposed to be simple. He’d promised her. He said. She said. Things that didn’t matter anymore.

When he looked at her, the boy she knew was no longer there.

This boy was already packed, already one foot out the door, enrolled and ready to leave her behind. This boy’s face confused her, broken up into blocks of emotion she couldn’t begin to read. Through the tears, he still looked cold, like a statue. He didn’t look like someone whose heart was breaking. He looked utterly unbreakable.

He shoved his face against hers, his lips pushed onto hers, and he kissed her like he hadn’t kissed her before. Like he was making up for something. Like he was repaying a debt.

Don’t go. Please. Don’t go.

She curled her fingers through his hair.

She knew it.

This moment was already a memory.

When they broke apart, he looked away from her.

He’s really going
, she told herself,
when he steps off of this porch, it’s over. It’s already done.

“I love you too,” he told her, so fast that he could pretend he’d never said it, never felt it at all.

He stood, straight and fixed over her. She grabbed for his hand. “Wait,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” He pulled his hand free and walked over to the steps.

He paused at the edge of the stairs, looking out into the rain, like he was allowing himself one moment of doubt. Just one. And then he charged into the rain.

The car door opened. The car door slammed. Through a tangle of shrubs, Wendy saw the red lights flicker on, then fade from sight.

Wendy didn’t move.

She kicked off the ground, and let herself swing back and forth, listening to the wallow of the rain.

Alone.

Chapter 33

Now

Donald and Carrie were arguing about guns again.

“Situational awareness, Carrie,” Donald bellowed. “I’m defending the household. Goddamnit, just let me be a man.”

It was impossible to get any work done in this kind of environment. Lucky for Wendy, she had no work whatsoever. When this happened, she normally played around on the internet. Online shopping. Reading articles. Today, it was travel. Places to See in Italy. Things to Do in Greece. How to Travel on a Budget.

She wasn’t going anywhere, but she liked knowing she could. Someday.

“The girl? How should I know?” Pause. “Yes, I’m sure her dad has a gun.” Pause. “Hey, Wendy?”

“Yes?”

“Your dad got a gun?”

“Absolutely.”

“Goddamnit, Carrie, everybody in their right mind’s got a gun.”

Wendy glanced at the clock. 11:15. She grabbed her purse. “Taking my lunch break.”

Outside, the small downtown area was preparing for Halloween. A bright orange flyer latched itself onto a telephone, announcing, “A Frightful Affair,” a downtown block party with drink specials and live music. Witches fashioned out of lights lined the main street, and shop owners decorated their stores with pumpkins and burnt orange garland.

Wendy wasn’t hungry. She just felt like walking. And thinking.

Hey God,
she found herself saying in her head,
I know our conversations have been, uhh, scattered these days. That’s my bad. I’m not really sure what happened with me and you. Well, with me.

A crowd gathered outside the cafe. Mostly moms. Some professional types. A couple of nurses clad in scrubs hustled back to their cars with to-go boxes.

I just stopped going to church. A little and then a lot. The praying went the same way, and then before I knew it, I just stopped caring altogether. But. I think I need you now. For Claudia. I’m worried.

Wendy rounded the corner by the coffee shop. An elderly couple strolled into the Southern Hotel, a historic landmark that had just reopened the previous year.

I’m worried about me, too. Not actively worried in the way I’m worried about Claudia. This is more of a passive understanding that if I don’t do something soon, I’m going to lose my mind. I eat, sleep, work and paint. But I’m not moving anywhere. I’m not pushing for anything important to take place. I’m scared that if I don’t make a move, I’m going to live this life forever. I’m going to repeat myself until I don’t even know what it means to really live anymore.

Her walking quickened to a cross between a skip and a power walk. She rounded the corner again. Shops lined after shops. Women’s clothing stores. Shoes. A small photography studio.

I need to make a move. God, if you’re still in the business of making signs, I could use one right about now.

And she crossed the street. There was no sign, exactly, but there was a definite pull. Whatever the reason, she found herself stepping into the Raven DuBois Studio. Empty-handed. Unprepared.

Raven, her hair black and braided, perched on a step-stool, adjusting a painting. “Need some help?”

“Yes,” Wendy said, clear-voiced and confident. “You can hang my paintings.”

She didn’t even feel herself say it, but she heard the words leave her mouth.
What the hell was she doing?

Raven surveyed her prospect with doubtful eyes. “What medium?”

“Watercolor. Mostly landscapes.”

Raven stepped down, landing on her pointy heels. “What’s your name?”

“Wendy Lake. I’m 24 and I’m a law clerk. And when you hang my paintings, I’m going to be the best artist you’ve ever worked with. Guaranteed.”

Wendy didn’t know where this sales pitch was coming from. This was so un-Wendy. She was never afraid to go for what she wanted, but she’d never been so abrasive about it before.

Raven didn’t know what to make of her, either. She folded her arms, her hands resting noncommittally over them. “You’re interesting. I like that.”

“Thank you,” Wendy said.

“And you’re local. That’s good, too. Watercolor is big again. So yeah, I’ll take a look at your stuff.”

“Perfect,” Wendy said. “I’ll bring them over this time on Wednesday.”

Raven just nodded, still a little thrown. Wendy walked out into the sun, rejuvenated.

God
, she thought up at the clouds,
Thank you. For not quitting on me.