My thoughts are interrupted by the thunderous applause of the crowd as Dad and Harlow take their first kiss as husband and wife.
I’m standing right here, and I’m missing my own father’s wedding. I have to stop thinking about Seb. Harlow would remind me to breathe, to stay focused on the present and what’s happening around me. So I try. I try really, really hard to see Avery wiggling around in excitement. To see the way Harlow won’t let go of Dad’s hand. Even to see Liz flirting with Dad’s cousin, Adrian. I see all of it, but without focus, like when you have the TV on in the background.
“Congratulations!” I say before they make their way back down the aisle as husband and wife. I will not think about Seb. I will instead think about what a beautiful day this is, and how the sunset is turning the water pink, and look at how well I’m doing, not thinking about Seb. Dad gives me a giant kiss on the cheek, and Harlow lets go of his hand long enough to give me a hug.
There is a giant white tent a few feet away from the ceremony, where the reception will take place. Glowing lanterns hang from the beams, and the tables are decorated with delicate bouquets of baby’s breath. It looks flawless. The living incarnation of a Pinterest board. And Harlow pulled it off almost completely by herself.
The fare is vegetarian but delicious. I eat an apple walnut salad, and unlike most salads, it doesn’t make me want to gag. People are dancing to everything from merengue to Motown. Dad and Harlow sway and slow dance, even during the fast songs. My grandparents hold hands and dance with Avery, who is a jumping bean of energy. In spite of the screaming matches, the cursing, the prayers, my grandparents showed up. Because, ultimately, that’s what family does. They show up, even when a member of the family marries a heathen. Everyone is smiling. I feel like the wedding Grinch, my heart growing three sizes.
But I’m separate from the crowd, just sitting here, crunching on my salad. Wondering how Seb could be missing this. Thinking that I rejected Harris, only to be left with no one. Stressing that in a few minutes I’ll have to stand in front of all these people and read my words to them. The toast is folded into a tiny paper square tucked inside my cleavage. Every time I take a deep breath, the corners pinch my skin.
I send out another text. It feels like every message has been sucked into a black hole. Where are you??
When the music fades out and the lanterns dim, I know it’s coming.
The people who were dancing return to their seats. The DJ lifts the microphone to his lips and announces my name in his big booming voice. I can barely hear how he pronounces it. My heart is beating too loudly.
There’s clapping and smiles in my direction, and still I would rather do anything else in this moment.
No Mom, no Seb, no Harris by my side. The DJ strides over to me, grinning, completely unaware that he’s leading me into my own personal hell. I slide my speech out from the top of my dress, glad that no one can tell how damp the paper is from my sweat.
I take the microphone from him. My hand is so clammy, it feels like the mic will spurt out of my fist and knock someone unconscious.
Just breathe. Deep, meditative yogi breaths. In and out through the nose. Harlow gives me an encouraging smile, and for a millisecond I’m horribly bitter. This is all her fault, making me stand up in front of everyone like this.
I try to put it into perspective. All I’m doing is reading. I do it every Sunday with the kids. There will be no improvising, or off-the-cuff jokes. All I need to do is get through the next minute without dying.
“Hello, everyone,” I start. “My name is Analee.”
My voice comes out louder than I’ve ever heard it, filling up every tented inch of space. “First I want to thank you for attending this beautiful wedding today.”
Shaky hands, flushed cheeks. Turns out yogi breathing doesn’t work when you’re hyperventilating.
I can do this. I can, I can, I can. I am Analee, and I am strong, and this tiny moment is nothing compared to what I’ve been through.
“Before Harlow and Avery came into our lives,” I say, “I didn’t realize how lonely our house had become. Dad and I were lucky to have each other, of course. We tried to ignore the fact that something was lacking. It’s like we were drowning in separate pools, without a way to help each other breathe.
“Then he met Harlow. My dad had a reason to live again, to become the person he wanted to be. Someone calmer, happier . . . someone infinitely better dressed.”
This gets a few encouraging laughs from the audience. I loosen my grip on the microphone.
“I was skeptical when I first met Harlow. This woman was obviously too beautiful, too centered, too . . . everything for me and Dad. I thought, There’s no way she’ll settle for a couple of messes like us. But here’s the thing about Harlow. When you give her a chance, you start to see yourself through her eyes. You realize what you have to offer. Harlow is an amazing person, but not at the expense of others. With her help you recognize how amazing you’ve been all along. It takes someone really special to bring that out in people.”
I let myself look up at this part, straight across the room at Harlow, who’s dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
“But Harlow didn’t enter our lives alone,” I continue. “She brought Avery with her, this little ball of energy barely contained in human form. Avery enjoys saying exactly what’s on her mind, no matter how much you might not want to hear it. And believe me, a lot of the time I don’t want to hear it. But sometimes I need to. Avery truly believes in love, in the purest, most optimistic way. Through knowing her, I’ve had to confront all my cynicism and open myself up to new possibilities . . . because, the thing is, I’ve seen Avery’s belief in love pay off. Harlow and my dad have found a love that lives up to Avery’s idealism. A love that makes them the best possible versions of themselves. A love that understands, encourages, communicates. A love that is exactly what we didn’t know we needed.
“So. Please join me in a toast.” I awkwardly switch my toast to the hand already holding the mic and raise my glass of soda. “To the many different forms that love can take, and the way they fit into our lives.”
“Hear! Hear!” Liz shouts as the crowd raises their champagne glasses. I look out at a sea of smiling faces and liquid bubbles, and I’m filled with this strange ecstasy. It’s absurd. I just stood up and read a minute-long speech, but it feels better than being Kiri and slaying monsters. I’m done. I did it. The scary, looming thing is over.
In the midst of the applause, I see him in the back corner of the tent.
Seb Matias has shown up as promised. He’s alive. He’s here. And he looks really freaking handsome in a suit. I think it’s safe to say that this is the happiest I’ve felt in years. It’s nice to know I’m able to feel like this, when I thought the possibility of being happy died a long time ago.
Before I can overthink it, I squeeze past tables and chairs to make my way over to him. I’m running on pure adrenaline. My brain has decided to stop calling the shots. I throw my arms around him and bury my face against his neck, inhaling the scent of soap and aftershave. If my life were a movie, this would be the climax—I give a triumphant toast and win the cute boy at the end.
But in my arms I feel Seb stiffen. That’s not supposed to happen. He has his arms around me, but they’re not holding me. They’re not moving much at all.
I pull away. “Seb . . . what’s wrong? Where have you been?”
He won’t even make eye contact. A new sense of fear jolts through me. Yes, Seb is here, but he’s not Seb right now. He’s acting like a robot, devoid of any emotion or expression.
“Seb,” I say sharply. Around us people have gotten up to dance. The DJ is playing horrible cheesy music decidedly not on Harlow’s approved wedding playlist.
“I was at Chloe’s,” he says.
My entire body goes cold, the slight ocean breeze sending chills down my arms. He doesn’t keep going, which allows my imagination to run rampant, painting elaborate pictures of all the things they
could have done together today. A lot of naked things.
“And?” I say.
“We talked. A lot.”
Seb is about to break up with me. How can I get dumped by someone I was never with? I knew I wouldn’t be enough for him in real life. I was never anything more than a game.
“What did you talk about?” I ask.
“About . . . what had gone wrong in our relationship, and . . .”
Is he drawing this out to kill me?
“Just say it,” I urge.
“She wants me back.”
“She wants you back,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“And what do you want?” It’s going to be bad. I just know it’s going to be bad. Even though this was the initial goal, Chleb restored, I’ve never felt a larger sense of failure. What I hate even more than this feeling is the part of me still hoping, despite all reasonable logic, that Seb will declare me the chosen one. That someone will finally choose me.
Seb looks down at his sneakers. Somehow the loud shoes and suit combo works on him. It kills me how good he looks, like the universe wanted this final blow delivered as painfully as possible.
“I wasn’t sure,” he says. “I didn’t know what I wanted in that moment. So we . . .”
Another pause.
“You kissed?” I guess.
He looks at me with a wide-eyed expression, and it’s clear that they did more than just kiss.
“Oh,” I say, realizing. “You . . .”
My head is spinning. I’m going to throw up. I’m going to ruin Dad’s wedding by puking right in the middle of the dance floor. “Celebration” by Kool & the Gang will forever be ruined for me.
Bathroom. I have to get to the bathroom.
But then Seb holds me by the shoulders before I can escape, and all my energy drains out of me.
“I have to go,” I say weakly.
“Please.” He looks at me earnestly. “Let me explain.”
The DJ has the bass turned up, and it’s thump-thump-thumping through my stomach.
“We—”
“I get it,” I interrupt. “You don’t have to spell it out for me.”
“The whole time I felt guilty,” he says. “Like I was doing something wrong.”
“But not guilty enough to stop, right?”
“I’m not proud of it,” he says. “But I think I needed to be with Chloe, one more time, to know.”
“To know what?” I snap.
“To know that I don’t want to be with her. I want to be with you.”
I freeze.
There it is. Everything I thought I wanted to hear come out of his mouth.
So why doesn’t it feel good to hear it? Why do I feel so unsatisfied? I picture Seb and Chloe, talking, kissing, having sex, while my texts go to his phone unread. If Seb and I did this, for real, that image would hang over me throughout our relationship. Because while I truly believe Seb when he says he wants to be with me, it doesn’t change the fact that it took sleeping with Chloe one more time to convince him. It doesn’t change that he’s addicted to the adoration of others.
“Analee, talk to me.”
I shake my head. “I can’t stop picturing it.”
My voice is wobbly, shaken. It’s harder to speak now, just me and Seb, than it was in front of fifty wedding guests. It’s not just him. It’s me, too. I was unsure about my feelings for Harris, and something was holding me back from pursuing things with him, too.
“Chloe and I have a lot of history together,” he says. “It’s . . . complicated. But I made my decision. I know what I want.” He reaches out to touch my arm, and I recoil.
“Stop,” I say. “Just . . . stop for a second.”
It’s so loud in here, I can’t think. Why am I so angry? Seb and I never actually committed to each other. I feel like I’ve been cheated on, but on top of it all I feel anxious about whether I have the right to feel this way. Our relationship was a sham, after all. He didn’t owe me any degree of fidelity. My brain knows this fact, but my heart will not be convinced.
“Please, Analee,” he says, his eyes pleading with me. It would be easier to give in to him like everyone else does, try to put this Chloe thing behind me.
“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” I ask instead.
“What?”
“You could have told me you didn’t know what you wanted. You could have texted me that you were going to be late tonight.”
Seb starts to speak, then pauses. “I should have.”
“It bothers me that you didn’t. It also bothers me that you were out having sex with Chloe when you were supposed to be here, with me.”
“I am here, with you.”
“You are now. But what happens if Chloe calls you again? What happens if I agree to date you, for real, and all I can do is worry that you’ll leave me for her, or for someone else?”
“Look at me,” Seb says. I do. It’s not easy to look him straight in the face because it makes my head feel fuzzy. All I want to do is turn away. “Chloe and I are finished. For good.”
“There will always be other Chloes,” I say softly.
“I don’t understand.”
I see things clearly now. I finally do. Seb isn’t ready. And neither am I.
“Seb,” I say. “I’m a mess.”
“I don’t care—”
“I know you don’t. Or at least not now you don’t. But I have a lot of crap I have to work through. I mean layers and layers of issues. I’m like a diseased onion.”
“I don’t care,” he says again. He leans forward, kissing me right in front of the entire wedding, and my body wants to melt into his like it has done before. Then I think, How long ago was it when his lips were on Chloe’s instead of mine? I step away.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not? Why are you so scared of being with me?” he asks.
“The thing is . . .” An unnatural laugh escapes me, even though none of this is particularly funny. “I’m not scared of being with you. I used to be.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m scared of not being with you.”
“Too much talking, not enough dancing!” Liz stumbles over to us, her martini splashing out of its glass and narrowly missing my dress.
“Maybe later,” Seb mutters, but she doesn’t hear us. She whips her hair around and grinds against a chair. The visual would be funny if it weren’t taking place at such an awful moment.
“Come on, Analee. Let’s see your moves!” she slurs.
“Later,” I lie. I motion for Seb to follow me outside the tent. As we walk out, Liz calls behind me, “Your makeup still looks fab! I knew you could be pretty!”
Outside, I feel like I can breathe a little better. I slip my heels off and scrunch my toes into the sand, concentrating on the grainy feeling between my toes instead of the terror running through my body.
“Liz is in fine form tonight,” Seb comments. He keeps his sneakers on, because why wouldn’t he? It’s such a Seb trademark that it breaks my heart a little.
“Are we really going to do the small talk thing right now?” I ask.
“It seemed like you were going to say something bad, so yeah. I’m sticking to safer topics.”
He looks ahead, out to where the ocean meets the sky. Out here the sky swirls deep purple and gold hues at twilight. Sometimes East Bay can be strikingly beautiful, when you remember to take a look around.
“If you’re scared to not be with me, it seems like there’s an easy solution,” Seb finally says.
“I can’t,” I reply. “That’s not a good enough reason.”
“So you don’t have feelings for me?”
“Of course I have feelings for you.”
“Then I don’t get it, Analee.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to be with you,” I say. “Or anybody else. I’m barely comfortable with just me.”
He links his hand with mine, presses his lips agains
t my knuckles, and I am this close to saying, Screw it. Let’s do this. Instead I squeeze his hand tight, and let go.
“I’m going to change your mind,” he says. He has his determined soccer-player face on, the one he wears right before he shoots the ball above the goalie’s head.
“Maybe,” I say. “Just not right now.”
I hope he’s still around by the time I have my shit together, but I’m not counting on it.
If I keep looking at the sky, at the stars appearing little by little, twinkling against streaks of color . . . being scared is small in comparison. My whole life has been lived in fear. I was scared of Mom dying, but she did. I was scared of losing Lily, but I did. I was scared to try this thing with Seb and throw myself into the spotlight, but I did. And I’m still here.
I summon all my inner warrior strength, whatever I save up for Kiri. “You should go. I think it’ll be too hard for me, the longer you stay.”
I expect him to fight me on this. Maybe I kind of want him to.
He doesn’t fight me, though. He nods slowly. “This is it, then?”
“Just for now.”
He asks me how much time I need, and I say I’m not sure. I don’t even know where to begin. Therapy? Extensive use of Harlow’s meditation room?
“I’m going to miss you,” he says. His voice catches, and I swear I feel a piece of myself break off at the sound of it.
“I’ll miss you too.”
He gives me one more kiss, this one on the cheek. And just like that, we’re back to level one.
“Tell your dad and Harlow I said congratulations.”
“I will.”
He hesitates. I want to run back into his arms. I want to spend the rest of the night kissing him, pretending he’ll be mine forever. I want, I want, I want.
“Bye, Anally,” he says. I smile. I miss the days when the biggest problem in my life was a stupid nickname.
“Bye, Seb.” He gives my hand one more squeeze before he walks away.
I wait until he’s a safe distance away before I start crying. I’m alone again. Currently it feels pretty crappy. It always does when you have to say good-bye. But I know that at some point it’ll feel okay. I’ve been here before. I sit down on the sand, in my ugly bridesmaid dress, and bring my knees to my chest. Inside the tent, I hear laughter and shouting and music, and I swear I can make out Liz’s voice on top of it all.
Analee, in Real Life Page 30
