When the last magazine is filed into its place, I pick up the short pile of books and walk back toward the desk where Foster is thankfully off the phone, watching my every move.
“Hey,” I say, resting the stack of volumes between us. “Sorry about that. I overstepped my boundaries.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He grabs the top bound edition on molecular mechanics and scans it to be reshelved. “You didn’t know.”
“Still, it was inappropriate.”
“I’m not mad,” Foster states reassuringly while shortening the pile before him. “It’s who you are.”
In silence, I place the remaining books, one by one, into his hand, and he goes through the process of checking the bar code for their location. When the final volume has been scanned, I arrange the organized stacks onto a nearby cart to be filed later in the evening, and then I take a seat once again at Foster’s side behind the desk.
“So, Parker’s giving you a hard time?” I ask, edging into the topic that isn’t being discussed.
“Per usual,” he huffs, sitting up straighter. “Somehow, he’s gotten it into his head that I won’t be able to handle seeing Sasha at the wedding. Apparently, she’s bringing her boyfriend from Europe with her.”
I exhale sharply. “That’s understandable.”
“He’s overreacting. I’m not that pathetic.”
“Of course you aren’t.” I bite my lip. Knowing it’s emotional suicide, I tell him, “But, if you were to ask, I’d go with you…to the wedding.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you. Things are awkward enough between us.”
“I agree, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re still friends. You’ve helped me so many times when I’ve needed it, and maybe it’s time I return the favor.”
“What are you saying?” he questions, his voice desperately low.
“I’d be more than happy to go as your plus-one.” I pause. “Your wingman.” I giggle. “Your arm candy.” I grin. “Or your friend, if that’s what you need.”
“I can’t believe you’re going away with him this weekend,” Chandra comments, leaning into my bedroom doorframe with her arms casually crossed just below her chest. “And to a wedding. You know what that’s going to be like, don’t you?”
“It’s going to be fine,” I insist, stuffing a set of pajamas into an overnight bag filled with my other belongings. I then zip it closed. “It’s just a wedding and just for one night. It’s not like a romantic getaway or anything.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes. He and I discussed it. I’m going as his date but as his friend. Nothing more.”
“Right.” She titters. “His friend…with benefits.”
“I told you, we stopped that. No more sex.”
“So, you thought a night away, at a wedding, while sharing a hotel room would be a genius idea?”
“Are you playing some kind of mom card with me right now?” My fingers lightly comb through the soft highlights of my sideswept locks cascading in waves over my shoulder.
“No. But you do realize that this isn’t the greatest idea. You’re playing with fire, and the burn is going to hurt so bad.”
“Yes. I do know there are potential consequences, but he’s my friend, and whether he wants to admit it or not, he needs some support right now. Plus, weddings blow when you go alone. So, I’m making sure he’s not.”
“And you’re the best person for the job?”
“Yes.” I slip a modest yet classic set of sapphire earrings through my ears and then fasten the matching necklace at the back of my neck. “No one knows how to play a part better than me. I’ve been doing it my entire life.”
Chandra sighs, dropping her hands to her sides. “It’s not healthy.”
“It’s just one night.” Pulling an elegant knee-length dress from my closet, I face my roommate with it draped across torso. “What do you think about this one?”
“It’s stunning.” She sighs. “Not too gaudy, unique enough to be noticed, and not too extravagant to detract from the bride.”
“That’s what I thought. Plus, it’s blue—the color of peace, harmony, and tranquility.”
I quickly slip off my yoga pants and tug the comfy T-shirt over my head, tossing them both into the laundry basket. Releasing the fine clothing from its hanger, I step into the garment and push my arms into the sleeves, opting to dress now in case there’s nowhere to change when we arrive. The zipper on the back sits in an awkward spot, so I step over to Chandra and spin around, nonverbally asking her to help me dress. She does so willingly and then adjusts the fabric at my waist.
I circle around and ask her, “How do I look?”
“Way too pretty for just friends.”
I frown.
“But,” she continues, “you do look beautiful, and this color is perfect.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What shoes are you going to wear?” my fashion-loving roommate asks, her curiosity taking over.
“Nude strappy pumps with a modest heel.”
“Perfection.”
“I’m glad you approve.” I return to my bed, pick up my bag, and then slip into a comfortable pair of shoes for the long three-hour ride to Hillary’s hometown. “What about you? Anything fun planned for the weekend?”
“Just the usual with Jeremy—hanging out and homework.”
“How are things going with him, by the way?”
“Really good.” Chandra steps back from the doorway, out of the way, for me to leave the room. “He’s starting to put in job applications for when he graduates.”
“Oh, yeah?” I close my door, and then we both tread down the hallway toward the living room. “What about you? Are you applying as well?”
“A little here and there.”
“In the same cities as him?”
“So far, yes.”
“It’s that serious, huh?”
“It could be.”
I set my bag on the sofa and retrieve a wool three-quarter-length coat from the hall closet, placing it on top of my luggage. Chandra takes a seat in the red chair and begins to thumb through a fashion magazine. As I’m about to join her, there’s a gentle knock at the door.
“I bet that’s Foster,” I say to Chandra.
“Nothing like stating the obvious,” she quips back.
“Behave.”
When I open the entrance, dressed handsomely in a well-tailored charcoal suit accentuated by a cobalt tie to match his eyes is Foster.
“Evelyn,” he gasps. “You look…” His eyes roam over my body. “Nice.”
“Thanks. You’re looking dapper yourself.” I rest a palm on my hip. “I clean up pretty good, don’t I?”
“That is a complete and total understatement. You look amazing.”
“It must be the shoes.” I point the sneaker-clad foot in his direction. “They make the outfit.”
He lowers his gaze, absent of his signature glasses, to the ground and laughs. “Those are something special. Unique.”
“I thought so. I packed a fancy pair for later.” Taking a step backward, I grab my coat, slip my arms into the sleeves, and then shrug the travel bag over my shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’m just waiting on you.”
“Then, you are waiting on no one.” I blow a kiss in Chandra’s direction where she’s still sitting in the chair. “I’ll see you later.”
“You two behave,” she warns, masked in sarcasm.
“Yes, mom.”
“Have a good weekend, Chandra,” Foster says, waving to my roommate.
“You, too, Foster.”
Exiting my apartment, I join Foster in the hallway, and we descend the steps together and head out the building. He takes the bag from my arm, leads me halfway down the block, and stops in front of a black Lexus. He pops the trunk.
“Did you get a new car?” I ask, wondering what happened to his well-loved Honda.
“Nope.” He stows away my bag
, closes the compartment, and then opens the passenger door for me to get in. “This is my grandmother’s. I borrowed it for the drive since it’s a bit of a hike.”
“It’s all fancy.”
I slide into the beige leather interior, and Foster closes the door. He then circles around the rear, takes off his jacket, lays it on the backseat, and then joins me inside the car.
As he turns over the ignition, I ask, “Don’t you need to wear your glasses to drive?”
“No. They’re more for reading.” He offers me a sidelong glance. “You look so different with your hair like that,” he remarks, pulling away from the curb and into the street.
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“You know, I’m not sure yet.”
Over approximately the next three hours, Foster and I enjoy the peaceful scenic drive to Hillary’s hometown. Once we’re outside the city limits and beyond the suburbs, there’s not much to note since it’s all the same—farms and fields with cows and horses. I wonder if the bride grew up doing hoedowns and wrestling cattle.
When we take the designated exit off the highway, I’m relieved to see some semblance of population the farther we travel into a small town center. Passing through the main business area and about a mile farther along the road, Foster banks a right down a long drive where a large stately white historic building comes into view. He pulls up and stops the car under the portico of the local resort and spa. The valets open our doors, and we exit the vehicle to check in to the hotel.
At the desk, we’re told that our room isn’t ready yet, but we can leave our bags with the bellman, and they will be delivered by the time we return after the wedding reception. Since the ceremony is set to start in less than half an hour, I head to the ladies’ room to freshen up, change my shoes, and then meet Foster where he’s lingering in the lobby.
Clicking my heels along the marble floor, I adjust the coat over my shoulders and then take Foster’s waiting arm, looping mine through his.
We are already playing the part so easily.
Through the doors, he steers us past the parking area and down a sidewalk lining the driveway.
“Where are we going?” I ask, confused.
“The church is only two blocks from here. The concierge said we could easily walk there using…” He slows his steps and then turns us down a small paved path. “This walkway. It should take us straight there.”
“Clever.”
About five minutes later, we come to a clearing that opens to a simple Christian church constructed of brick. Pairings of people are filing in for the ceremony, and we follow their lead toward the open large wooden doors.
When we reach the base of the concrete steps, Foster pauses.
“What is it?” I ask, smoothing my fingers over the lapel of his jacket.
He captures my hand at his chest. “My parents are here. I just saw them go in.”
“You mentioned they were coming.”
“I’ll introduce you to them at the reception.”
“Sounds good. Is there anything I need to know?”
His brow crinkles. “No. They’re easy people, but I didn’t tell them anything about you.”
“That’s okay.” I smile. “Parents aren’t a problem for me. I find, the less they know, the better. They often make assumptions based on what they hope rather than what they are told anyhow.”
“That’s an interesting theory.”
“Trust me. But when you introduce me, be sure to call me Evelyn. It will go over better than EJ.”
“But that’s not what you like to be called.”
“By you, I do—well, I tolerate it,” I add sarcastically. “Plus, it’s just for one night, and it’s just a name.”
He tightens his grip around my digits and breathes, “Evelyn.”
“You got it.”
Lowering our joined hands, he says, “Let’s do this,” and he leads me into the church.
Inside, we’re ushered into a pew on the groom’s side toward the rear of the sanctuary. Muted violins play in the background as more guests take their seats for the upcoming ceremony. Not long after we’ve settled in, the groom, Parker, and his groomsmen appear near the altar. The music changes as the bridesmaids begin to make their way up the aisle. All of the guests turn to watch the procession, one by one, of women in gowns of slate and silver, their hair sparkling with gemstones.
Foster, like everyone else, follows the path of each one until they reach a point out of view. However, he pauses after the third girl passes, instead fixated on the pews near the front. I lean into his shoulder, trying to decipher what has caught his attention. There, in a dress of celery and adorned in pearls, is a woman with dark hair and eyes that mirror Parker’s. Staring back at the man at my side, she releases an impish smile and then raises her hand, a gesture in greeting.
Foster returns her hello with a small wave.
“Is that Sasha?” I whisper, my words brushing against his ear.
He nods once in reply.
I lace my fingers with his and then press my lips to the corner of his mouth without any thought.
Slowly and with noted control, Foster tilts his head, connecting his soft orbs with my own, as I try to backpedal in my mind what made me kiss him just now.
The tune changes once again, and the audience begins to stand in preparation for the bride to make her way down the aisle. Foster plants his mouth on my forehead and then rises at my side. I do the same, lifting myself from the pew and holding myself high, hoping to catch my fluttering heart that is thumping steadily toward the sky.
The wedding was beautiful, romantic, and heartfelt. It was everything one would hope for in a ceremony where two people committed themselves to one another for the rest of their lives. The couple glowed with pride and an overwhelming amount of emotions.
Along with the other guests, Foster and I make our way to the reception hall located within the hotel where we will be staying at tonight. We’re ushered into a large room for a social cocktail hour while the wedding party partakes in the picture-taking formalities.
We have a drink and nibble on some hors d’oeuvres as people mingle around the room in conversation, and I’m casually introduced to two of Foster’s friends from childhood and their dates.
When our drinks are finished and his acquaintances have left us to socialize with others, Foster takes my empty glass and places it on the high table to our right.
“C’mon,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me across the room of chatty people.
“Are we making an escape?”
“Hardly. I want to introduce you to my parents before they start muttering vile things about me for not saying hello yet.”
“Would they really do that?”
“No. They’re easygoing people. You’ll see. I just don’t want to be rude.”
Hand in hand, Foster and I weave through the smattering of circular tables and meandering guests toward the center of the room while a gentleman begins to play a classic melody on the nearby piano. We come to a stop where two older couples are immersed in a lively conversation. The light-haired brunette and a man with hair of honeyed amber are unmistakably Foster’s parents.
“Excuse me,” Foster says, interrupting their conversation. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
His parents smile, gleaming with happiness, as they observe the sight of Foster…and then me standing close at his side.
“Foster,” his father greets, approaching us, “we were wondering when you would come over and say hello.”
“Does that mean I missed my nomination for Son of the Year?” he kids.
“Hush now,” his mother says, closing the gap between us. She embraces Foster and then kisses him on the cheek—twice. “It’s just good to see you.”
“We were all together not too long ago. You’re acting like it’s been years.”
“We weren’t sure if you would come.”
“Of course I came. It’s Parker.”
/> The couple his parents were speaking to excuse themselves, stating that they need to freshen up their beverages. I smile politely and then turn my attention back to the reason we walked across the room—his parents.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Foster’s father questions.
Foster places his hand at my lower back and says, “Evelyn, this is my parents, Susan and Clayton. Mom, Dad, this is Evelyn. She’s—”
“Delighted to meet you,” I interject, offering my hand to his father and then his mother. “It was a beautiful ceremony, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes,” Foster’s mother states, flowing easily with my conversation direction. “They make a lovely couple.”
“I’ve only met Hillary and Parker once, but I can tell, it was meant to be.”
“We’ve known Parker for years,” his father tells me. “He’s fortunate to have found a girl who will put up with his shenanigans. He’s had many. Foster can attest to that.”
Releasing the charming smile I stow away for these occasions, I say, “That might be true, but something tells me that Hillary feels like she’s the lucky one.”
“I’m sure she does,” his mother agrees, her smile widening in approval. “So, how do you and Foster know one another?”
“We go to school together.”
“Oh? So, you’re in the engineering program, too?”
“No, Mother,” Fosters corrects her. “E—Evelyn and I work together at the library. She and I are just—”
“Getting to know one another,” I finish for him. “He’s been helping me with a project as well. I don’t know how I would be doing it without him.”
“That’s…really nice to hear.”
To seal the deal for any questions his parents might have, I thread Foster’s fingers with my own. It’s an innocent gesture but one people easily read into. His mother notices and smiles wider.
“If I can have your attention,” an attendant announces over the microphone, “the bride and groom will be joining us shortly. At this time, we would like to move all guests into the dining hall.”
More Than Water Page 22
