These Are the Moments (27 page)

Chapter 71

The Night Before

They headed up to the hotel together, the moon in their faces. In the lobby, Reese said, “Okay, Owen, say goodnight to Vivian and goodbye to your bachelordom.”

“Gladly,” he said, kissing Viv on the mouth. “And that’s your last premarital kiss. From now on, only washed-up, married kisses for you, Mrs. Landry.”

“Don’t tease me,” she said.

In the hotel room, Reese, Vivian and Wendy climbed into bed.

“I feel like a dead person,” Reese said.

“A corpse? Or a zombie? There’s a difference,” Viv answered.

“Umm, corpse. But a pretty one. Like Sleeping Beauty.”

“So, that speech,” Viv said to Wendy, as she flipped the lights off. “I’m not the only one who got the cryptic
I still love you, Wendy
message, right? I mean, it’s my day and I’m kinda pissed that you’re stealing my wedding thunder, but like, come on.”

“We are not talking about this,” Wendy said, settling her head onto the pillow.

“You never want to talk about this,” Reese said. “You were talking. Then you weren’t talking. Then you told him you didn’t want to just be friends. Then he confesses his love via secret subliminal toasting.
And you don’t want to talk about it?
”

“It’s my day,” Viv said. “You have to talk about it.”

“I’m going to Italy.”

Both of them propped themselves up on their elbows.

“Italy?”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“When?”

Wendy took a breath and explained.

“That’s incredible,” Viv said. “I’m so excited for you.”

“Thanks,” Wendy said, “It’s about time I started pursuing life rather than acting like it’s my own personal lounge chair.”

“What about the gallery?”

“Raven will sell the last few paintings, then that’s it.”

“And you leave?” Reese prodded.

“Two weeks from Sunday.”

Neither of them said much of anything. There was another
good for you
and a
congratulations
, but they fell asleep shortly after.

Wendy believed they were happy for her. But none of them liked change very much. And the whole world was shifting under their feet.

Wendy couldn’t sleep. She could hear the waves through the curtains and glass. Somewhere in the condo, a clock ticked.

If she’d thought to bring her paints, she would have worked on the balcony. Another hour went by. Still, no luck.

“Psst, Viv,” she whispered.

“Hrumpf.”

“I’m going for a walk.”

Outside, the air was cool, and a breeze was returning with the tide. The feel of the night sand on her toes was chilled and soft. She didn’t know where she wanted to walk, so she just headed right, toward the light.

God,
she prayed,
am I doing the right thing? Picking up and leaving like this?

Part of her felt like she was running away. Tapping out of a fight. But the other part of her felt like she was opening doors and windows and shredding curtains, allowing as much light into her life as possible.

It was all waiting for her on the other side of this wedding. Away from home. Away from Simon.

When she got past the lights where the line of hotels ended, she decided to turn back. Over her shoulder, she could see the faint outline of a shadow. She sucked in a breath.

“Wendy?”

Beside her, the shadow halted. Simon in the moon, Simon in sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “You?”

He walked tentatively closer to her, pausing just shy of the water. Hands in his pockets. Hair tangled with sleep.

“Same. Big day tomorrow.”

He didn’t look like he was going anywhere. He planted himself in the sand, squaring off to her. She rubbed her bare arms. Cold. Confused. Unsure.

“Tired?” he asked her.

“Not really,” she admitted.

“Well, since we’re both up.”

He sat down on the bare sand, knees tucked to his chest. And he patted the ground beside him.

An invitation.

If she were angrier, if it weren’t dark, if this weren’t Simon, if she really truly thought about it,
if if if
. Maybe she would have said no. Maybe she would have told him to go to hell. But Vivian was getting married. And Wendy was moving to Italy.

And really,
what did it matter anymore?

So she took a seat beside him.

“I can’t believe they’re really getting married,” he said.

“I’m warming up to the idea.”

A big crash of a wave.

And then, quiet.

He sank back onto his forearms. “What are you thinking about?”

You. Me. Life.

She thought the things she’d never say.

“Privileged information.”

“Want to know what I’m thinking?”

She rested her chin on her knee. Sighed. “Why not?”

“I’m thinking I want to sit here and watch the sunrise.”

A sick feeling pitted her stomach. And like it was just yesterday, the ghost of his words rippled over her brain, and she remembered:

Someday, when we’re old enough to take trips together, I’ll get us a condo. We’ll wake up early, watch the sunrise, then have breakfast somewhere.

“Oh,” she said, realizing she had to say something, “That’s nice.”

“You interested?” he asked her.

Wendy was interested in several things: sleep, the wedding, more sleep. A sunrise with Simon? It was an unexpected and most likely a bad idea, but it was also exciting and intriguing, and Wendy couldn’t help but wonder.

What if?

“If I were honest with you right now, I’d tell you that I won’t get married for a long time. That I can’t even picture it in my head as something real. I’d tell you that I’m not happy. That I can’t really remember the last time I was. I’d tell you that there are plenty of things that would do me good in this life. But I don’t plan on doing any of them.”

He tilted his head back and let the liquid from his flask spill down his throat.

“If you
were
honest with me,” she said.

He offered her a sip. “No offense, but I just don’t trust you. I can only be half-honest.”

“Pity.” She yawned. Sipped. Chose to not fight that battle. “If I were honest with you right now, I’d tell you that I hate that I can’t hate you. I’d tell you that ten years later and I’m still realizing that you’re not everything. You’re just one thing. Albeit, one very important thing, but still. Just one thing.”

“Do you think,” he asked, unfazed, “that it’s ever going to go away? That one day, we’ll see each other on the street and we’ll just be people? Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know,” she said, clawing at the sand below. “If I were honest—”

“Yeah,” he cut her off. “Me either.”

Truth? She couldn’t imagine a life where Simon didn’t matter. And she didn’t want to. And the weight of the alternative sent Wendy into a wave of fitful thoughts.

She shifted in the sand, facing him, her right hand poised like a thumbs-up. “Wanna play?”

He rounded his fingers into hers, a smile spreading across his face. “Best two out of three.”

He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Don’t feel bad,” he said. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

“Can’t I, though?” she asked. She relaxed her thumb, and let it fall against his skin. Willed herself to stay awake.

“Two truths and a lie?”

She nodded. “Two truths and a lie.”

“I’m moving back to New Orleans. I’m quitting my job. And I’m seeing someone.”

He had one of the best poker faces. Composed. She poked the edge of his lip, trying to make him break. “This is a trick, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“If I say you’re not seeing anyone, you’ll read into it.”

“So you think I’m not seeing anyone?” he said, a definitive smirk on his face.

She fell back onto the sand. “Pass. Veto. Forfeit.”

And then he was lying beside her, laughing. “For the record? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“For the record,” she breathed, “I’m not supposed to care.”

Before the sun, there was the light, and with the light, there were the colors.

“Tired?” he asked her.

“Not anymore,” she said to the sun and the waves. “It’s wedding day.”

“Think you’ll tell the girls about this?”

She shrugged her shoulders, which felt heavy and knotted. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“So,” he asked her, “what do you think? Is it everything you hoped it’d be?”

That was a loaded question, if there ever was one.

The sun? Yes.

The company? Sure.

The outcome?

“For now,” she said, her hand buried underneath his, “it’s enough.”

When she looked into his eyes, she found questions and answers. But mostly, she found a boy who loved her. Once. Still. And maybe, always. The boy who saw her now would love her forever, in this moment, lasting long after they’d moved on from it.

That’s what she was thinking when he kissed her against the sun.

Desperate.

Feverish.

Fleeting.

His mouth swelled over hers. He pulled her body into him. And his hands were everywhere, searching for all of the things he forgot to say and feel and let himself believe in.

Then they weren’t.

“We should head back,” he told her, through staggered breaths.

His eyes didn’t move away from hers. And they were scared. Withdrawn. And yet happy, too.

That was the thing about wonderful nights with Simon. Life-changing, time-stopping events like these.

They always ended.

Chapter 72

The Morning Of

Simon had kissed her. That was real.

“
I’m getting married!
”

Vivian was twirling around the room, still in her slippers, singing through the condo.

Simon had kissed her.

“Shut up. We know,” Reese groaned, sandwiching her head between pillows.

Vivian vaulted onto the bed. She leaned over Reese, chanting, “Wake up, wake up, it’s my wedding day!”

Simon. Kissed. Her.

Vivian snuggled herself between her friends again. “If you two don’t get excited soon, I’m finding new bridesmaids.”

“Took you long enough,” Reese said.

Vivian turned to Wendy. “You got in late. How was the walk?”

“My walk,” Wendy repeated. “Normal.”

Vivian squinted at Wendy, who was watching the ceiling fan spin. “What happened? Something happened.”

“Bridedom is throwing off your radar,” Wendy said, still not looking at Viv.

“Tell me,” Vivian demanded, pinching Wendy’s arm.

“Ouch,” she winced. “Cut that out.”

“
Tellmetellmetellme
.”

Reese growled, “God.”

“Fine,” Wendy said, bringing her voice to a whisper. “Simon . . . kissed me last night.”

Reese sat up. “You’re
shitting
me right now.”

Vivian’s eyes flew open, so wide they were all white. “No. Way.”

“Yeahhhhh.”

“Where? On the beach? Who initiated? Was it good?” Reese fired questions.

“Yes. He did. And are you kidding me?”

Vivian sank back into the bed. “No. Not today. Not today.”

“It’s fine,” Wendy reassured her. “We talked. We kissed. He walked me back to the room. That’s all.”

Reese raised her eyebrows. “
That’s all?
Two words never used in the Simon and Wendy story.”

“The Simon and Wendy
epic,
” Vivian added.

“There is no Simon and Wendy anything,” Wendy sighed. “I’m going to Italy. He’s never going to get his shit together. This is it. End of the road. Insert last line here.”

“Right. Ten years just comes screeching to an anti-climactic halt. That’s definitely how this will go.”

Vivian didn’t say anything.

“Viv,” Wendy said, “
you’re getting married today
.”

“Yeah, yeah, you kissed Simon.”

Wendy planted her feet on the ground and yanked the blanket off of her. “Snap out of it. No more Simon talk. This is your day!”

Two mimosas and a round of
name that celebrity
later, Vivian finally reached her pre-Simon peak of wedding bliss. And Wendy kept a brave face. She wouldn’t think about the way Simon’s lips felt after all these years, the way she could taste sea air on them. She wouldn’t imagine what it would be like if she stayed here, if she’d never thought to go to Italy, if she asked him what all of this meant.

But still. Simon kissed her. And she couldn’t just go back from that.

The rest of the day was a fog.

Mrs. Claire and the rest of the bridesmaids showed up.

Makeup, hair, nails and dresses.

The wedding planner running over the itinerary.

The wedding was at 6. Sunset. Show time.

It wasn’t just that the dress was perfect, and it wasn’t just that she had a bridal smile. It was the whole thing. The beach with its perfectly warm breeze. The way the sun hovered over the horizon. The way that against Vivan’s perfectly cast setting, she was still the most beautiful thing for miles.

There wasn’t much time left.

Vivian clutched Wendy’s hand. “Go look for me.”

“What?”

“Go out there and see if everything is all set up and that people are in their seats and that—I don’t know. The sky isn’t falling.”

“I heard that was rescheduled for tomorrow.”

Vivian pushed her out of the door.

Outside, the view was perfect. If she stood at the right angle, the backdrop was all ocean and sky and sun. Nothing was out of place.

“Nice evening. Maybe I’ll get married or something.”

Behind her, Owen stood with his hands in his pockets, wearing a tan suit and white tie, a small white blossom in his pocket. He looked like an adult.

“Wow. Owen. You look—“

“Stunning? Dashing? Debonaire? Please. You flatter me.”

Wendy crossed her arms and smiled. “Exactly. Exactly all of those things.”

“How’s the bride-to-be? Sneaking out of the nearest window and running away with a hot surfer?”

“Eh. Most likely.”

“Figured as much.”

Wendy elbowed him. “She’s perfect. And ready. And not nervous at all.”

“So she’s a cyborg?”

Wendy laughed. “Something like that. What about you? Nervous?”

“Nah. Why would I be? I get to marry somebody who makes me laugh. I get to marry this perfectly cool person. I get to marry Vivian.”

“Well, good.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “How are you doing?”

“Mostly excited. Half ready to get this whole thing over with. No offense.”

“None taken,” he said. “Can I tell you something?”

She laughed. She was getting that a lot lately. “Sure.”

“Simon’s my best friend. And he might be a complete an utter disaster, but he loves you.”

She closed her eyes.

“If he is going to be in love, it’s only going to be with you. And if y’all don’t happen, he’ll settle. With anyone. It doesn’t matter. It’s easier than admitting he fucked up. That y’all fucked up.”

Her stomach dissolved. “I kind of wish you hadn’t said that.”

“My point is,” he said, putting his hands up and backing away, “you make a big impact.”

Wendy went back to the room. Pictures were snapped. Glasses were clinked. And then they were lining up.

Wendy told herself to breathe. She imagined her bouquet as a paint brush, steady in her hands. She thought about painting the sky and drawing a thick gray line right down the center.

Then and Now.

She’d draw the line so thick that nothing would cross. Not even the brightest of paint could bleed through.

One by one, the bridesmaids walked.

Then Reese, with her newly yellow hair.

Then Wendy.

She curled her fingers around her bouquet and paced her steps.

Simon waited. Pretending to smile at her. But never actually meeting her eye. In tan, he looked grown up, too. But not like Owen. Simon looked harder, like he didn’t fit with the softness of the beach, the calm swish of the waves. He looked ready to get this over with.

She linked her arm through his.

Simon had kissed her, but that didn’t change one damn thing.