“Holy shit, man,” Jules said breathlessly, sidling up to me. “This is feeling really real all of a sudden.”
I chuckled. “Gettin’ cold feet?”
“Oh hell no, dude. I’m ready. It’s just … it’s a big fucking deal, you know? We’ve been engaged for a year and a half, and I feel like I only just got used to calling her my fiancée.”
“Gonna be addin’ ‘wife’ to your vocabulary in just a few hours,” I said with a gentle smirk.
Jules shook his hands out and shuffled his feet. “Don’t tell these other guys I said it, but damn, I’m fucking nervous.”
“You’ll be fine,” I assured him, and I pushed my shoulder against his as the front door of Naomi’s parents’ house opened to reveal three bridesmaids.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jules chanted beside me, and I felt that pang of envy sear through my bones. Would I ever know what he was feeling?
All three ladies were dressed in dark blue gowns, all dolled up for their friend’s big day. I smiled at the Matron of Honor as she approached us, tipping my head in a greeting, and she smiled back. She looked pretty, and I told her so, but as the words were spoken, all I could think was, “But not as pretty as my Lindsey.”
My Lindsey.
I didn’t have the chance to linger on the possessive thought, because it was time to watch my best friend see his bride for the first time. Breaking tradition to take pictures before the wedding, the grand reveal was happening on the front lawn. The other men, the bridesmaids, and I stood behind him, waiting.
And it was then, in that moment, that I watched my best friend cry for the first time since we were seven.
With his back turned to her, facing me, he said, “Is she behind me yet, bro?” I shook my head as Naomi walked down the porch steps. Dressed in white and a stunning smile, she walked with steady intent along the stone pathway. She met Jules’s back, reached around and placed a hand over his eyes, and dammit if the moment didn’t bring my eyes to scratch irritably with the onset of emotion.
He took her hand from his eyes, brought it to his lips—that feckin’ Casanova—and turned to gasp and clap a hand over his mouth.
“Baby, you’re so beautiful,” he finally breathed, a blubbery mess, and wrapped his arms around her.
“So are you, my handsome man,” she said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with trembling fingertips. Over his shoulder, she caught sight of us groomsmen, and she gasped. “Will you look at you guys! Oh my Lord, you look so good!”
She pulled from Jules’s grasp to rush over to us, giving the other guys a hug, and when she came to me, she pressed her hands to my cheeks. “Get down here, you big Leprechaun,” she said, and with a laugh, I bent to wrap my arms around all five-feet and two inches of her. She planted a big kiss on my cheek, and said, “You clean up so nice! I’m loving the beard—and the glasses!”
“Lindsey likes them,” I said with a shrug, as the others began to file into the limo.
“That girl is the one, Sean,” she said, shaking a finger at me. “Don’t let her get away.”
“Everybody keeps tellin’ me that,” I mumbled, scratching the back of my neck.
Jules came to stand at his bride’s side, nodding. “Listen to this woman, Seanie. She told me the night she met me, that she would marry me one day.”
“Regular ol’ fortune teller, ya are,” I said with a smirk in Naomi’s direction.
I hoped to God she was.
❧
The picture session was long and tedious.
All of those wasted hours, pretending my date was the married Matron of Honor.
All of those lost kisses, pretending she and I were something we weren’t.
When we got to the wedding venue, I didn’t get a chance to see Lindsey before the ceremony. I knew my family was there, I heard their voices from downstairs in the foyer. I headed down for a few stolen moments to see if I could catch a glimpse of her. But Patrick told me she had slipped into the bathroom with Kinsey, and I was left with an aggravating disappointment as I was called back upstairs to get ready for the nuptials.
“Okay, now you’re more nervous than I am,” Jules pointed out, checking his reflection one last time.
I was pacing. Working my fingers into a tangled mess. “This is it man,” I said, feeling pathetic and hopeless. Helpless. “I’m tellin’ her how I feel tonight. I have nothin’ to lose at this point. Well, except my sanity, and the rest of my integrity, and let’s not forget my pride—”
“Dude.” He pressed a hand to my chest, putting a stop to my endless walk around the suite. “Chill. Out. Whatever’s meant to happen is gonna happen, okay?”
“I know,” I said, picking a microscopic piece of lint off of my lapel. “I just … Christ, I don’t want to feel how bad it’s gonna hurt when she turns me down.”
“Yeah,” he nodded sympathetically, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I know, man, but hey, whatever happens, just don’t make a scene, okay? If you need to have a temper tantrum, do it outside. I mean, I love you man, but it’s still my fuckin’ wedding day, you know what I’m saying? I don’t need your salty tears watering down the champagne.”
I rolled my eyes and grumbled, “Noted.”
She was my Juliet.
Tragic and beautiful.
Jules and Naomi stood at the altar, just to my right. They were exchanging their self-written vows, tears flowing freely. I’m sure it was lovely, I’m sure it was worthy of all their blubbering, but just go ahead and ask me if I had a clue as to what either of them were saying. Because, I couldn’t tell you, and I hoped to Christ I wouldn’t be quizzed later on.
But what I could tell you is that Lindsey was sandwiched between Kinsey and Mam. I could tell you that she turned to smile over at Patrick, and I saw her giggling with Kinsey at something the idiot had said. I could tell you with certainty, that she more than once looked at me, that she blushed, blowing a kiss my way, and it took everything in my power to remain standing up there.
“Seanie?” Jules hissed, obviously annoyed, and I glanced over to him, unaware that I had been trapped in some kind of trance. “You have the rings, bro.”
“Oh, ehm … Right …” The crowd in front of me laughed, and my cheeks burned a glorious red flame as I dug into my jacket pocket. My eyes met Lindsey’s, and I pointed an accusatory finger at her and she blushed right along with me, while my mother nudged her shoulder.
I was going to crash and burn so hard.
❧
The cocktail hour ensued, and I found her standing with a glass of champagne in the corner, away from the crowd. I grabbed a glass of my own from a passing waiter, and walked over to where she stood, surprising her with my mouth against her ear.
“Come here often?” I whispered the cheesy line, and she spun around, hand clapped to her chest.
“Jesus Christ, Romeo,” she hissed, and her eyes darted around the bustling room, flustered by her dramatically petrified outburst. I floated at the nickname, and she softened, playfully smacking my chest but keeping her hand firmly planted. “You made an ass of yourself up there, and it was adorable.”
“I was a little distracted,” I admitted, my mouth curling into a lopsided smile. “Can I say ya look gorgeous?”
And it wasn’t a lie—she was. She was mind-bogglingly beautiful, completely unlike anything I had ever seen before. In the floor-length black dress, her figure was an elongated hourglass. It clung to every luxurious curve, and the back dipped so low, I had to wonder if she had in fact worn anything underneath.
I hoped she didn’t, for myself.
I hoped she did, for every other wandering eye in the place.
“You can,” she said, stepping forward, pressing her chest against mine. Her shoes made her taller, putting her forehead in line with my mouth, and I touched her there with my lips. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed. “It really is amazing,” she said, stepping back to look up into my eyes.
“What is?”
�
�This. With you.”
I sipped the champagne, keeping my eyes locked with hers. “What would ya do if you weren’t afraid?” I asked her, and she bit her lip and shifted her gaze.
“I’d say, we should get drunk tonight. Not totally wasted, but enough,” she said, wildfire dancing in her eyes.
“That’s really what you wanna do?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, and she nodded eagerly.
Lindsey elicited an excited giggle. “And then, we can go outside to one of those beautiful gardens, and have crazy sex.”
“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” I laughed.
“Have you ever gotten kicked out of a wedding before?” she asked, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Can’t say that I have.” I wrapped an arm around her waist.
“What if this is your last chance?”
I smiled. “I’m not sure that’s somethin’ I want on my resume.”
“But what if it’s your last chance with me?”
And then my heart shattered at the fragmented sound of her voice. A break between “chance” and “with.” A tear pooled at the inner corner of one dark chocolate eye. Her hands, still on my neck, gripped at my hair, and I thought about those hours ahead of us. The hours that would soon be our past. The hours that would soon feel like no more than a blink of an eye, and she would be gone, out of my life, and somewhere far away.
My eyes fell to the bubbles in my champagne. Popping against the glass. So temporary, before new ones appeared. An endless, monotonous cycle, and no matter the bubble pattern, it was always, always, champagne. There would always be those fleeting bubbles. It would always be expected, and in its own right, mundane.
How did I ever think I could be different?
“Sean?”
Her forehead tipped to rest against my jaw, and I sighed.
“If this is my last chance with you, I will get myself banned for life, if that’s what it takes.”
She nodded against me, and I downed the rest of my glass.
❧
Paddy looked up from his glass of whatever-it-was he was drinking and said, “Here she comes again, Seanie.” And I turned to see Lindsey, barefoot and weaving through the crowd at the beginning notes of a slow song.
Ryan laughed and wrapped his arm around Snow’s shoulders, saying something about being glad she was too pregnant to dance, and Snow rolled her eyes.
“He says this like I dance, ever,” she said dryly, sipping casually at her water while sideyeing her husband.
My parents chuckled as Lindsey tugged at my arm for the eighth time that night. “Come on,” she pressed, and I laughed, pulling her down to sit on my lap.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” I asked, looking up into her eyes that were starting to glaze over, and they rolled.
“I’m fine,” she said, leaning in to kiss me. “Naomi has great taste in drinks, by the way. Tell her to order you the pink thing. It’s so good.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said with a laugh and handed her a glass of water. “Drink some of this. Dinner should be out soon.”
She had requested that we get drunk, but she was one sheet away from being three sheets to the wind and I wanted to enjoy the night. Not to carry her home, unconscious.
Nodding, she slumped into her seat beside me and sipped at the water, while picking at a buttered roll. “Did you all have this type of wedding?” she asked my family, making conversation.
Kinsey shrugged. “We had a wedding, but it wasn’t this extravagant. We got married in my parents’ backyard and we had the reception in Helen and Collin’s yard.”
Patrick nodded. “We saved a lot on renting out a place.”
Kinsey laughed. “And it was nice being able to walk your drunk ass home instead of renting a limo …”
I smiled. “Yeah, you guys had a nice wedding,” I agreed.
“And I didn’t?” Ryan asked, raising his eyebrows.
“I loved your wedding,” Kinsey said, nodding. “I mean, I was there in yoga pants and a sweater,” she said with a shrug. “It was so relaxed and cool.”
Lindsey turned to me, slipping a hand over my thigh as her mouth chewed around a bite of buttered roll. “What kind of wedding would you have?”
All eyes were on me. Awkward glances, silent stares. All I wanted to say was, “The only wedding I’d want is the kind where I’m marrying you,” but I couldn’t say that. Not after only a week, not when she was leaving, not when she hadn’t the slightest clue about how I truly felt. And luckily, the question was thwarted by our dinners arriving to the table, and I thanked Christ for perfect timing.
The conversation was steered toward the food. Casual chatter about how buttery the chicken was, how tender the steak was, and how much the asparagus tasted like “bitter arse,” according to Ryan, and Patrick and I bit back our laughter while Mam smacked him upside the head.
“Ya better start watchin’ your mouth,” she scolded. “Ya have a son comin’ and God help ya if he gives you the grief you gave us.”
Da picked up his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
Lindsey laughed. “You’re Irish. Don’t you drink to everything?”
He wagged a finger at her and narrowed his eyes. A pinch of color washed his freckled cheeks. “She’s a smart lass, this one.”
A waiter came and took the plates away. I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d have to get up and dance again, and I wouldn’t complain. Just to have her in my arms. My wish was granted when the expertly composed piano notes began to play through the speakers, I didn’t even give her a chance to grab my hand. I had hers wrapped in mine, and as my brothers shouted their teasing jabs from the table, I pulled her out under the fragments of multi-colored lights.
I was a little buzzed, high on good food, celebration and booze, but I remembered the lyrics to the song I had loved ever since I watched that Disney movie with my parents. Enchanted ...
God, how did they know to play that song? How did they know to make this moment happen for me?
It had been a movie picked by Mam, one Da and I had groaned over. I couldn’t say I liked it much, but there was this one moment. A moment in which I was grateful to be sitting away from them, grateful the living room was dark apart from the glow from the television. Grateful my brothers hadn’t been there to shove my arm and tease me for clearing my throat and dabbing casually at my eye with my thumb.
I’d watched Patrick Dempsey and Amy Adams dance to that song—“So Close” by Jon McLaughlin—and I had felt my throat constricting around the bundle of immediate emotion. At the time, I had blamed it on being freshly single, worried I would always be alone, but as I danced with Lindsey and the world around us faded to nothing, I wondered … Was it ever that at all? Or was it my soul’s desperation to speed things along? To get through my twenties, to march into my thirties, to wait for her to ride that elevator to my floor? To finally, once and for all, find my place to call home?
And there I was, pulling her to dance with me, to … What? Recreate the scene I had once seen in a movie when I was twenty-two? Did I think I could squeeze my life into this picturesque portrayal of how love should be?
I dipped my lips to her ear, with the growing ache in my heart, reminding me of just how close we were to being over, and I whispered those remembered lyrics into her ear—so close, still so far—and when she gently pulled away to turn her head and look into my eyes, I felt the very beginning of heartbreak rip at the seams of my soul. A reminder that life wasn’t a fairytale.
Especially not for me.
“Now you’re singing to me,” she said, hushed. I noticed the delicate tremble of fingers on my shoulder.
My mouth quirked, and I hoped the smile could cover my world-crushing sadness. “Yeah, well …”
“You’re such a romantic, Sean Kinney.”
I urged my spirits to lift, urged my heart to hold itself together for just a little longer, and I twirled her gracefully during that moment when the song
really takes off. She grinned, her eyes glittered under the multi-colored speckles of light, and I wondered how many people were watching. How many people were wondering about us—how long have they been together, how long has he loved her, how long until she leaves him. How many people were dancing around us, because I couldn’t see them. There was only her. Her and that smile and that dress, and the ever-increasing beat of my feckin’ heart.
“God, Romeo,” she sighed, pressing her forehead to my shoulder. “Where did you learn to dance?”
“Mam,” I said, my lips against her ear.
“She taught all of you to dance?”
“Nah, just Patrick and me,” I explained. “When Patrick and Kinsey were gettin’ ready for prom, Mam taught them to dance with me as her feckin’ partner.” I chuckled lightly, remembering my fourteen-year-old disgruntled annoyance at spending an afternoon in my living room with my mother, older brother, and his girlfriend.
“That is … the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, turning to lightly nuzzle her nose along the collar of my shirt. “You know what?”
“What?”
She tipped her head back, looking into my eyes as Jon sang about romantic dreams dying and about coming so far. “I am so happy I burnt that mattress.”
There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t result in something embarrassing. Something to be caught on camera, caught on video, caught by my brothers for them to hold against me for all of my feckin’ life. And so, I leaned forward, pressing my temple to hers, and we danced until the song was over.
We separated and she smiled up at me. A goodbye lingered in the air, drifting down from the ceiling like a feather in slow-motion, and I knew this had to be it. There would be no other moment to confess what I was feeling.
It was my last chance.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked, holding both of her hands in mine, and she nodded.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN |
Fear of Love & Letting Go
We walked through the Waveny House gardens, her shoes dangling from one hand as she attempted a balance beam act along the raised bricks lining the path. I walked with my hands stuffed into my pant pockets, enjoying the late-Spring breeze against my arms and chest.
Last Chance to Fall Page 13
