by Vivian Wood
“It was a gorgeous service,” she says. “Not that you would’ve noticed. I swear, every time I looked at you, you were either staring at me or looking up at the ceiling.”
She elbows me playfully. I look down at her, dropping her hand in favor of slipping my arm around her waist.
“I did well for the first ten minutes of the ceremony. Then I was keeping to myself, staring at you, but you wouldn’t let me leer.”
Cady laughs. “How terrible of me. But what was I supposed to do, just let you sit there and think dirty thoughts? We’re in a church, after all.”
“I didn’t know you were religious enough to care.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not, but I was raised in a Catholic orphanage for a long time.”
“Hmm,” I say as we step out the church doors. It’s dusk outside, and we follow the procession of people toward the banquet hall. “I didn’t know you were raised Catholic.”
“Hey, there is still tons and tons of stuff you don’t know about me,” she says, pulling a face. “Like, for instance… did you know that I went to an all-women’s college.”
“Wait, really?” I ask.
“Yes, really. I went to Agnes Scott College, right next door in Decatur. And then I went to Emory Law School.”
“Hmm. I uh… I never went to college,” I admit.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Yep. You know what? I bet there are lots of things you don’t know about me either.”
We reach the banquet hall doors, and we stop and shake hands with Mary and Danny.
“Congratulations!” Cady says. “That was beautiful.”
“It was,” I affirm. Mary and Danny thank us, and we move inside.
The whole room is so elegant; cherry blossoms drip from the ceiling, and all the tables are elaborately decorated with tiny origami sculptures. The white-clad tables are set up throughout the room, with an area set aside for the band and for dancing.
“Wow,” I say, impressed.
Cady bites her lip. “Let’s look for our names on the table settings.”
She takes my hand and weaves through the light crowd, looking at tiny place cards.
“I bet we’re over there, by where Mason and Alex are awkwardly standing,” I point out. The two of them look pretty slick, Alex in his grey suit and Mason in a navy one.
“Yep, I bet you’re right.” She smiles at me, heading over to them.
“Yo yo yo,” Mason says, brightening. “”You guys looks amazing. Cady, there are no words for how breathtaking you are.”
Cady blushes, her cheeks a shade darker than her lovely dress. “Thank you. You two look very dapper as well.”
“Enough talk, let’s find the bar,” I suggest.
“Oh, there’s a waiter circling with glasses of wine,” Cady says, pointing.
“I don’t think so,” Alex intones. “I think the bar is over there. I’ll make a bar run. What do you guys want?”
“Mmmm, whiskey and soda?” I say. I look to Cady. “What do you want?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll snag a glass of wine from the waiter.”
“I’ll go with you to the bar,” Mason says. He winks. “There’s a cute girl bartending.”
“Save it for her, champ,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Hah hah,” Mason says, strolling off in the direction of the bar.
I turn to Cady. “You probably won’t hear me say this often, but… let’s get drunk.”
I look for the waiter, and find that he’s approaching.
“Why, just because it’s a wedding?” Cady asks.
I pluck two glasses of red wine off of the waiter’s tray, handing them to Cady. “Wait, hold on…”
I grab two more. The waiter couldn’t care less, for which I’m thankful.
“Here,” I say, to Cady. “To getting drunk, because it’s a wedding.”
She accepts my toast, clinking one of her wine glasses with mine. We both take a sip.
I make a face. This wine tastes cheap, like fake berries and stale water. Cady makes a similar expression.
“Ugh, this is awful,” she says. “Maybe we got a bottle that was corked or something.”
“Blugh,” I say. “I grabbed all these glasses, so I feel like I kind of have to drink them.”
“We’ll make a game of it,” Cady suggests. “What should we play?”
I think for a second. “Oh, how about Two Truths and a Lie? I tell you three facts about myself, and you have to guess which one is total bullshit. If you get it wrong, you drink!”
I grin triumphantly. She nods. “Alright. You start.”
“Let’s sit down while I think of which ones to start with,” I say. I scope out our place cards, and sit in an uncomfortable metal chair. I set my wine glasses down, and watch Cady do the same. “This chair leaves something to be desired.”
“Shhh,” Cady says, her eyes twinkling. “Wait until we leave to complain.”
“Okay. Alright, are you ready?” I ask.
“Always,” she fires back.
I grin. “Alright. Number one. I was completely and entirely obsessed with Babe Ruth as a kid.”
She looks thoughtful. “Hmmm. I mean, you did grow to play major league baseball for a few years.”
“I did! Ummm…. number two. The worst job I ever had was at Taco Bell as a teenager. I worked on the food line.”
“Can’t tell,” she says, shaking her head. “This would be a lot easier if you were a terrible liar.”
“Hey, maybe I am!” I say. “You don’t know.”
“No, I don’t.” She sighs dramatically.
“Last one. Number three. I have been to Machu Picchu, twice.”
“Whhhhattttt,” she says. “How am I supposed to choose?”
“Very carefully,” I recommend. “Which one do you think is the lie?”
“Mmmm… maybe the one about Machu Picchu?” she guesses.
“Nope,” I say with a grin. “I have, in fact, been there twice.”
Cady takes the smallest sip of her wine. “Okay. Then it’s got to be the Taco Bell thing?”
“Incorrect! I did actually work at Taco Bell for a summer. That job sucked.”
She gapes for a second. “So you didn’t care about baseball when you were little?”
“I did, but not Babe Ruth. I was all about Ken Griffey Jr. I had all his stats memorized.” I sip from my wine. “All right…”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the lead singer of the wedding band cuts in over a microphone. “You have about fifteen minutes of mingling before we introduce the bride and groom for their first dance.”
I wiggle my eyebrows at Cady. “Perfect. Just the amount of time I need to guess which of your facts is a lie.”
“Okay,” she says, thinking. “Oh! Number one. I’ve never been out of the continental U.S.”
I screw up my face. “That can’t be true. Can it?”
“I don’t know, you tell me. Second — I have a collection of tiny sweaters for Milo.”
“Well, I know that has to be true,” I laugh.
“Yeah, yeah. Alright, the third one is the charm. I wanted to be a grocery bagger when I was a kid.”
“A grocery bagger?” I say, wrinkling my nose. “I think that’s the lie.”
“Haha!” she says. “No. I went through a phase were I thought that grocery bagging was the bee’s knees.”
“So… you haven’t been outside the U.S.? Not even to Hawaii?” I say, cocking my head.
“That’s true. Until I was twenty five, I had never left the state of Georgia.”
I shake my head. “That seems impossible. I honestly would never have thought you were untravelled. I’ve been everywhere, except the whole Indian subcontinent.”
“This is fun,” she says, sitting back in her seat. “I like this game a lot.”
“Okay. Let’s go again,” I say, sipping the wine. “One — I hate spiders. Two — I’m crazy good at water skiing. Three — I’ve been i
n a weird competition with Jax for years, over who is the taller one. It involves us sending each other selfies while next to abnormally small things, like miniature ponies.”
“Hmm,” she says, squinting. “Interesting. I’m going to go with…. the spider thing?”
“Yes!” I grin. “Does that mean I drink?”
“Yes it does. In the very strict rules of this game that you definitely did not make up.” She raises her wine glass to me, and I clink mine against hers.
I take a couple long swallows, letting the wine slide down my throat.
“Definitely not made up,” I say. “Now you go.”
“Okay, let’s see. Uhhhh… one, I got offered a promotion at work recently.”
“You did?” I ask.
“I don’t know, did I?” she says coyly. “Two — in middle school, I was OBSESSED with Leonardo diCaprio. I would lie in bed at night, wondering when — not if — we would meet.”
I raise my eyebrows. “That’s a little too believable.”
She cracks up. “You are impossible to play this game with.”
“I’ll stop, I swear. What’s the third fact?”
“I love all eighties music. Michael Jackson, Steely Dan, a-ha, Van Halen… I could listen to that all day.”
“I’m going to go all in on the odds that number two is the lie,” I guess.
Cady shakes her head. “Nope. I had Leo’s name written everywhere that I could doodle. I was really convinced that we were meant to be.”
“What?” I say. I take a gulp of my wine, finishing the glass. “Okay… then… eighties music?”
“Yep!” she says, triumphant. “I hate most eighties music. Obviously there are exceptions, but… yeah. It mostly makes me want to rip my ears off.”
“Descriptive! But I think you’d look weird without your ears.”
“Then you’d be stuck trying to explain to people that I ripped my own ears off. I would be deaf, in this scenario.”
“You have a strange imagination,” I say. “Come on, the wine isn’t that bad, is it? You’ve hardly drank any.”
She opens her mouth, but she’s cut off.
“Alright, everyone,” the lead singer says into the microphone. “It’s my pleasure to introduce to you all Mr. and Mrs. Burns! They’re going to be doing their first dance now.”
The band starts playing their own cover of Bonnie Raitt’s “Something To Talk About”, and Danny leads Mary out onto the dance floor. As I watch, Danny takes Mary in his arms and starts to slow dance. They grin at each other, and Mary whispers something.
Whatever Mary says, it makes Danny cup her face and kiss her.
“Awww,” Cady sighs beside me. “They really, really love each other.”
The band transitions to playing an older Sade song. The singer announces, “Everyone is invited to dance with the new couple!”
I stand up, offering Cady my hand. She glances at me, then laughs. “Oh, are we doing this now?”
“We are.”
She puts her hand in mine, and I tug her to her feet. Leading the way to the dance floor, I pull her into my arms, settling into a comfortable cadence. Chest to chest, hips pressed to hips, we sway.
Cady lays her head against my chest. I hold her hand in mine, my other arm around her waist. I feel lucky to be holding her, lucky to have met her on that rooftop at all.
My chest feels suddenly tight, like my chest can’t possibly contain all of my emotions. They’re too big and too bright for the space.
I love her, I realize. This is what love feels like.
The question remains, how do I tell her?
Chapter Twenty-One
Cady
“Jett,” I whisper. “Are you awake?”
I’m checking to make sure that Jett is definitely asleep. He’s sprawled out like a king in my bed, his mouth open a little. I move around a bit, but it appears he’s out.
That’s good, because I am feeling super nauseated… and I think I know why.
Getting up, I duck into my walk-in closet and put on my robe. Sneaking into my bathroom, I close the door as quietly as possible, then turn on the light. I go to the toilet and crouch down, my mouth filling with saliva.
Without any further warning, I suddenly start vomiting. I try to be quiet as I throw up all the food I ate for dinner, my eyes watering. When I am out of food, I dry heave for a while, producing nothing but bile.
At length, I sit back on the floor in the space between the toilet and the sink. I grab a bit of toilet paper and close my eyes, wiping at my mouth. I’m still super nauseated, but nothing more seems to want to come up.
I’m willing to bet that I didn’t just happen to eat something bad. I think I’m pregnant, just like I wanted. Except now I’m extremely stressed about the possibility of being knocked up.
It’s just… too soon. I never thought I would feel this way, especially not when I cried in my car after that doctor’s appointment.
But here I am. After a bit, I stand up on shaky legs. I go to the sink, biting my lip as I open the cabinet below, pulling out a small brown paper bag.
I hesitate, then lock the bathroom door. Upending the brown paper bag, I empty the contents into the sink.
Three different brands of pregnancy tests stare back at me. I pick up the first one, my fingers trembling a little. I read the instructions thoroughly, then open the box. I peel away the cellophane wrapper on the stick.
Glancing up at my reflection in the mirror, I steel myself.
You won’t gain anything by not taking the test, I warn myself. Just do it. It’s better to know.
Taking a deep breath, I take the stick with me to the toilet. After a minute, I am able to actually pee, and I make sure to saturate the stick.
I flush, then set the stick on the counter. I only have to wait two to three minutes. I can do that.
I wash my hands, then try to find a comfortable standing position in the bathroom. I refuse to simply stand over the stick, staring down at it. So I keep shifting positions, crossing and uncrossing my arms while I wait impatiently.
This is it, I tell myself. If the test is positive, you have to make a decision. Either tell Jett your feelings and risk losing him and being rejected… or tell him you’re through, even though that might be the worst decision possible.
Focusing on my breathing, I close my eyes. The idea of never seeing Jett again… of waking up alone. It’s almost too much to bear. I tear up at the thought of Jett leaving my apartment, never to return.
The scary thing is, that could be the outcome either way. Either because I’m brave enough to say what’s in my heart, or because I’m too chickenshit to explain why I can’t continue to see him.
I take a deep breath and open my eyes. Looking down at the stick, my stomach does flips.
It’s positive.
I’m pregnant.
Never in my life have I been so damned giddy and yet so desperately depressed at once.
This, this baby, is what I wanted. What I worked for. The reason I sought Jett out in the first place. I press my hands against my perfectly flat abdomen and look at myself in the mirror.
A woman looks back at me, clad in her robe, dark hair streaming around her face.
She’s a stranger.
She’s a mother.
Someone who isn’t alone.
I’ve always been alone.
I cup my hands over my face, my tears overflowing. I’m crying tears of joy, but there are tears of anguish, too. I feel like I’m gaining a baby, which is amazing… but I’m suddenly wholly certain that I am going to lose Jett.
I wrap my arms around myself, imagining the many ways that the conversation I don’t want to have will go. Tears stream down my face as I picture it. Me going out there and telling him that I’m pregnant… and I have all these feelings for him, too.
I also imagine it going the opposite way. I tell him that I can’t see him anymore, and refuse to explain why.
Both ways make my heart twist in
my chest. Both ways have an equal chance of Jett walking out on me, right here and now.
I see myself in the mirror, my shoulders hunched, my tears making my mascara run. I force myself to take slow, deliberate breaths. Wiping at my eyes, I use a big handful of toilet paper to remove the worst of the mascara from around my eyes.
Remember, this is positive news. You both knew this was coming. You told him from the start that this is what you wanted.
I tidy up the tests, throwing away the used one. My nausea has disappeared, gone as soon as I found out I am pregnant.
I square my shoulders, turning off the bathroom light as I leave. I pad back to the bedroom, the moonlight coming from the window throwing stripes across Jett. I push back the covers, hesitating.
Do I curl up with Jett and pretend nothing happened?
Part of me says yes. Part of me wants nothing more than to let Jett spoon me, drifting off to sleep peacefully.
Jett stirs. His voice is pure gravel. “You okay?”
I can’t help the tears that spring forward. “No. No, I’m not.”
He sits up, befuddled and sleepy.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, taking one of my hands.
I take a deep breath. It’s now or never, I figure.
“I just took a pregnancy test,” I say, my voice shaking.
“Uhhh… okay…” He looks more confused than before.
“I’m pregnant,” I admit, sniffling.
He goes stiff as a board. “Oh. Oh, fuck. Really?”
“Yeah. You’re going to be a daddy,” I say, barely able to rein in my tears.
He looks at my flat stomach, and grazes it with the back of his knuckles. “I can’t believe we made a person.”
“Well, it’s just a mass of cells at the moment.” I reach for his hand, but he pulls away.
Oh god, it’s already happening. With those two words, I’m pregnant, I made myself unattractive.
Jett glances at my petrified face and takes my hand.
“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he says, shaking his head. “Congratulations, of course.”
I feel disappointment coming off of him in waves, and I panic. What can I say that will relieve both of us of any obligation to one another?
