Six, Maybe Seven

by Katie George

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE ROAD WAS long, deserty, and speculative. Because I’d left a few days later than the other members of the wedding party, I jetted down the road by myself, which gave me ample opportunity to decide what to do about my feelings for Sam, the knowledge that he was a young man who was not necessarily ready to tie himself down. I wasn’t sure about my commitment style either, but I knew that, for whatever reason, my time with Sam was instructional, even if the relationship would not end well. I wanted to be with him physically, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be with him emotionally, spiritually, mentally.

  As I contemplated these things, the phone in the passenger seat buzzed, alerting me that Nina was chiming in, the dear friend who had once been Jamie’s rock. Her feminine voice purred over the line, “Em?”

  “How’s it going, Nina?”

  She sighed into the phone. “Can I come over?”

  “I’m actually heading out to Phoenix for a wedding. What’s up?”

  She began crying into the phone then, the tears evident even across the telephone. “I’m just stressed, that’s all. Not sure if all this work will really pay off anyway.”

  “Oh, Nina, don’t say that. You’re in love, right? I mean, it is stressful, but…”

  “You’re right. I’m in love. But that is the problem: I’m having doubts about this.”

  “Doubt?”

  She breathed heavily, the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. I could imagine her long caramel hair pulled into a pile on her head, her brows drawn in consternation, her eyes blithe but torn. “Doubt as to why I agreed to marry at twenty-two. I’m practically a fetus.”

  “Practically you’re at a marrying age,” I argued, the truth being that she really was at a marrying age. Yet it was not my place to completely disavow her thoughts, especially since I had only recently gotten back on her good side. I decided to begin with, “Why don’t—when I get home—you and I go out for a day of relaxation and joy, okay? Nina, this should be a happy time for you.”

  “You’re absolutely right on that account. You see, Emma, there is a huge problem.”

  “What?”

  “I was sifting through one of those ridiculous gossip magazines.” My heart beat quickly, wondering if my photos with Sam had somehow leaked, but decided against this. Nina would have murdered me already if that had been the case. Instead, she said, “I saw a production photograph in Mexico. I see all these jungle-type pictures, with these famous actors, and then I see a face I would recognize from anywhere.”

  “You saw Jamie,” I iterated, hearing the words as I said them, taking them in. “Nina, this is not good.”

  She affirmed. “It was like my spirit galloped. He’s still as ridiculous as when we were together. Emma, is it possible that I’m still in love with him?”

  “Nina, you haven’t seen him in six months at least, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you can’t just judge your heart’s emotional state by a photo. You need to see him again, and see if that palpitation is still there.”

  “Will you arrange this for me? It’s all I ask.”

  “Is this, in any shape or form, a good idea? You’re engaged to somebody else, my dear.”

  “Emma, I need to make sure—for me, and for my fiancé.”

  “All right, okay, that’s fine. He’s coming home for Thanksgiving; we’ll arrange a time then.” Once I’d hung up the phone, I wondered how I would be able to matchmake between Nina and Jamie while being an intermediary between LA and my Texan family. I wasn’t sure which would be harder. Knowing there was something dangerous in the horizon, I pulled the cross from where it hung on the rearview mirror, and clutched it in my palm, a peace surrounding me, soothing me, urging me on.

  I had places to be: namely, Sena’s wedding.

  But a surreal—even depressing—thought then lodged in my belly. After Sena, there was only one more wedding on my calendar. Only one. Had time already passed that quickly? I knew the dangers of time like anyone else, yet it still stung now and then.

  THE SWAY OF jazz music thrummed in my brain like a bird set free from a cage. It was Friday night, the 17th of October, under a gazebo in a prim Italian restaurant/party venue in the outskirts of Anthem, Arizona. The saxophone created a lithe melody to which the guests buzzed, the mixing of couples gently on the dance floor, the stars lighting hair and jewelry and, obviously, Sena and her fiancé, Steve Blackwood.

  The man was like a brick, probably indestructible. Over six and a half feet tall, and with a burly beard the size of Dallas, he was the epitome of rugged man. His normal brown curls had been shaved to reveal a jagged crew-cut on the eve of his wedding day, but now, at the reception before the wedding day itself, his dancing skills were put to the test. As he spun his fiancée around the gazebo, the thick drift of perfume from the ladies congealing with that of aftershave, he seemed out of place. It was Sena who sparkled like a gem, her svelte frame showcasing her dancing skills. Her long charcoal hair cascaded down her back in waves, a contrast to the midnight blue of her night dress. It was the only time I’d seen her truly relax in the day we’d been in Phoenix preparing for the nuptials.

  As I huddled beside Sena’s cousin—who, like me, was twentysomething and uncommitted to any man—my mind fizzled when I saw Sena’s older, pretentious-minded brother, Charles, step away from the dance floor. He locked eyes with me, no doubt remembering our awkward San Francisco run-in. Sena had taken me to her parents’ mansion in the Bay area for a week-long soiree, and her brother had made it clear he hated me. It did not go well when I accused him of being a no-good bottom feeder, to which he called me a conservative Trump activist, to which I did not wish to argue for loss of breath.

  Since then, I had not seen him, but he walked up to me anyway, a glass of wine firmly placed in his hands, an automatic turn-off. “Why, if it isn’t my favorite woman in the world. Emma, what a pleasure, as always.”

  “Cut it now, Charles. Let’s be honest: We are here to celebrate the marriage of your sister, not to debate over politics, not to debate over anything, really.”

  “Like the fact that you’re already debating over what we’re going to talk about.”

  I rolled my eyes, not in the mood for this, because I really would have rather enjoyed watching Sena amble about as she danced, a firefly drifting back and forth, weaving between her loved ones. Somehow, though, I was caught in a position with her brother, the favorite, the Stanford boy. “You know, you must be bored to chat with me.”

  “No, most people bite their tongues, so I don’t get to debate very often. It livens everything, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Move to Alabama, experience a change of life. You can debate all day long, then.”

  “I don’t think I’d like it there.”

  “You can’t handle a difference of opinion? I went from Texas to California.”

  He shook his head, watching as his sister slowly drifted with her fiancé. “Texas and California aren’t that much different.”

  “Give me a break, Charles.”

  “I wish I could, Emma, but let me prove a point here. The point is that a dear sister showed me a photograph of you in a certain tabloid.”

  “Excuse me?” I croaked.

  “Lying on a beach with a certain film star. A sizzling Sam Woodshaw, who happens to be a playboy if I’ve ever heard of one.”

  I rolled my eyes then, my skin flaring, my brain frying. “What do you mean?”

  “No one’s shown or told you? On a beautiful strip of beach, under a Los Angeles sky…”

  Suddenly my drink was on his jacket, and he scowled at me. No one had noticed our foray, and he tensed, the ice chilling his visible skin. “You see, Emma, I actually came to talk to you to offer a word of advice. But now you’re just playing it rude.”

  “That was your way of advice? Basically calling me out for something that is my personal decision?”

  “See, you do have California in you
r blood.”

  “Shut up, Charles. I really don’t need to hear anything from you.”

  He nodded, taking off his suit jacket, bringing the glass of wine to his lips. “From what I’ve heard about Sam—and what I know about you, Em—I think this is a mistake.” His eyes got serious then, a different person taking root, the competitive nature an evaporating mist.

  “I already told you, Charles. I don’t need your advice.”

  He nodded then, the seriousness still there, the jerk vacant. He began to walk off, and then waved, and then he was back into the shadows from where he’d come.

  I stood by, whipping a bottled water from a table, drinking the whole thing in one sitting. As the figures gleamed nearby, I knew Charles was honest, even if his tactics were quite obnoxious, but that was Charles. Innately, it was true. Jamie had warned me; Charles had warned me, too. It was like there was an unspoken guy code, something I did not know, and like that, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

  “Jamie?” I asked, my mind numb to what I’d just thought at the mention of my best friend.

  “Hello?” His voice was golden, a return to normalcy. “Em! Guess who is coming home in only two weeks.”

  “Earlier than expected?” I shrieked at a minimal volume.

  “Yup. That means you and I are going to have an all-day horror marathon at that darned apartment. You won’t believe it, either. I’m already being invited to all these Hollywood parties, and I’d like it so much if you’d come with me.”

  Then I thought about the fact that, in the lesser known media world, I was already known as Sam’s girl of the week. Confused, I bit this information down, and smiled at the playfulness in Jamie’s tone. “I can’t believe it. This helps my endurance.”

  “Hey, and you’ve only got two more weddings. Two weddings and Hollywood at your feet.” He said it as a joke, but he seemed to backtrack when he realized I wasn’t laughing. “Em, you know that whenever I call you, everybody always teases me about my lady. They think we’re lovers.”

  I tensed, taken aback by this Jamie, this person who seemed equivocally comedic and open. “Lovers, huh? Did you tell them our children would probably have red afros?”

  “I did tell them you are my lady, but only as my best pal. They don’t believe me. So if you come with me to these events, we can prove that it is possible that a man and a woman can be the best of friends without romantic entanglements.” He was serious, I realized, which dampened my spirits.

  “Jamie,” the lie slipped from my lips like evaporated liquor. “I’m still at the reception dinner, and I’ve got to go. Call you soon?” I have nowhere to go.

  “Bye, Texas.”

  “See you.”

  When we hung up, I stood underneath a wispy palm, the chilly desert air tingling the fine hairs on my skin. The wedding party and guests were drifting from the dancefloor to a dessert reception nearby, where waiters sped around to fulfill every person’s wish. There was a sweet melody still playing at the piano under a trellis of white lights, but the tear that was set to drift down my skin was blinked back into my eye. I wasn’t sure why Jamie’s comments stung, because I had to fulfill something for Nina. She wasn’t sure if she was in love with him or not, and I was to be their mediator. I would have to talk to Jamie about this, to make sure he was all right with seeing her again; then he would not need me for any Hollywood red carpets. Terrified of what the future held, I mingled back into the crowd, ignoring Charles’s scowls and the fake smiles of the other bridesmaids. After these wedding fiestas were over, I would need a year-long vacation to the icy, polar slopes of Switzerland.

  THE NEXT MORNING brought forth the rays of a new marriage ceremony under a sprinkle of palm trees in the depths of a desert garden venue. Yet we were at the hotel, and around nine o’clock, I burst forth into Sena’s hotel room, where she was hurriedly doing a set of fifty push-ups. Her hair was pulled into an inky ponytail that hung over the sinews of her taut body.

  She was quiet for a few moments, as I continued to watch her complete this intensive work-out. When she was done, she fell onto the ground, and then she urged me to lay down beside her. “You see, I did not want anyone in here until ten, because I knew they would force me to get ready before I was even ready.”

  “Why’d you let me in?”

  “Because you’re Emma Richmond, the kid who offers snarky wisdom in the midst of immediate suffering. I’m used to pushovers, especially in the realty world, but in my own family? It’s suffocating. That’s why I believe family is more than just your immediate parents.”

  “See, why are you so perfect?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You always have everything together. You’re in love, you make the best of every decision, and you always light up the room.”

  “Emma, you’re making it sound as if I’m about to become a corpse.” She sat up, the sweat dripping from her chin. “You are so crazy. If you haven’t noticed, nobody’s perfect, and you sound like you’re the perfect candidate for something totally ridiculous.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sena stood up, pulling me with her. “We’re going to break out of here, just for thirty minutes, and we’re going to literally jump into the Jacuzzi.”

  “Isn’t that…”

  Sena shushed me, the dance in her eyes unmistakable. She did have a wild streak in her, which I had missed by skipping out on the bachelorette party (as I’d been in the midst of unbearable LA traffic), but together, we were aflame. We exited the hotel room, checking the hallway to make sure the coast was clear. Then we hurried to the stairs, jogging down a few flights to the first level, where the crystal blue pool awaited. Weirdly enough, no one was swimming, so Sena dove head-first into the water. Laughter burst from my lungs, and then I was jumping too, fully clothed in my nightwear, but also armed with a happy sense of friendship.

  We bobbed at the top of the water, Sena’s eyes streaked with smiles. “Come on, first to make twenty laps gets to skip the wedding.”

  “Yeah, that makes total sense!”

  “I’m so darn nervous, Emma!”

  “I’m so darn screwed, Sena!”

  The ruckus from two women equaled the power of a whale, and then the door opened and in flurried Sena’s mother, Elizabeth, tapping her foot on wet tile. Sena and I could not control the mirth that tickled our souls.

  “What are you two doing!”

  Sena finally calmed down, offering, “Mama, I’m nervous as heck, and Emma here is facing destruction herself. So, if you wouldn’t mind, let us be, so we can wallow in our fear and excited joy and terror and all of the qualities that Jesus advises us not to wallow in. I am in love with Steve Blackwood, but I’m also getting married to him, so I need this.”

  Elizabeth stared at Sena as if her confession was a brick wall. The speech had not only dismayed her mother, but Sena was now tired, as if the anxious tick had been replaced by the emotion needed to overcome the long day and the fact that tonight, Sena would be a Blackwood and a wife.

  We stepped out of the pool together, soaked and stressed, and Sena laid her head on my shoulder. “We do stupid things together, Emma.”

  “Yes, and I love us for it.”

  Elizabeth shouted, “I don’t even know what to say to the both of you. There are times, Sena, when I doubt your father’s judgment in giving part of the business to you, and then I remember that you’re barely a woman.”

  “I’m a woman in love,” Sena said, her words a lighter incinerating a cigarette. “You see, Mama, since I’ll probably never have the courage to say it again, I’ll say it: Why don’t you save the love for Charles, your pretty little son, the rat who—and Dad even knows—is jeopardizing the entire business by dealing with a drug cartel dealer from Guadalajara. Good riddance.”

  Elizabeth huffed and puffed, yelling at her daughter, and still Sena pulled me with her out the door, through a mist of power and some regret. We were wet and watering the elevator, and then Sena was dro
pping me off at my hotel room, and she whispered into my ear, “You think that hurt or helped?”

  “Of course it hurt.”

  “Too bad. I’m getting married.”

  SENA’S MENTAL BREAKDOWN and my own culpability in that process brought forth anger for me in the day. Through the morning breakfast, the afternoon feast in the cacophony of prep, and the bitter tone Elizabeth had set for the rest of the day, life struggled on. By three o’clock, an hour and a half before we were due to depart the hotel, I sat by Sena, who munched on a Twinkie as the hair stylist wrapped her hair into a braided up-do.

  “Well, there’s this thing I’m going to ask of you, Emma, something I could not ask of anyone else in this world.”

  “Yes?” I asked, careful not to move too much due to my butter-yellow dress and recent waved hair.

  “I want you to live life to the fullest, duh, but I also want you to have a carefree, adventurous wedding. This isn’t you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This type of wedding. I mean, really, do you envision yourself getting pampered and dolled up, surrounded by fifty-five women? No offense meant by that, Darian,” Sena said, licking her fingers. She was in a mood, a peculiar mood; it was the wedding, I assumed.

  Darian nodded, tousling a tendril of Sena’s hair. “Trust me, I know. When my baby sister got married last fall, I about had it. I think there’s too much fuss about these weddings. Why not just hit the justice of the peace is my question.”

  “I plan on marrying at my church back in Stephenville.”

  “Only invite the preacher, two witnesses, that funny cat of yours, and the groom. That’s my suggestion.”

  “I thought you wanted me to promise you something,” I said, laughing.

  Sena stood once her hair was in place, and, like a princess, said, “Well, then you better promise me right now.”

  “Sure,” I said, not meaning it.

  THE CEREMONY WAS due to start in ten minutes, but Sena was complaining of a queasy stomach, and she was being fanned by some of the bridesmaids while receiving advice from her mom and a few of her relatives. I peeked out of the little dressing station at the venue, watching as the guests filed into their seats, all one hundred of them, along with the appearance of the groom and his pals. The pastor, a family friend named Brother Rob, was greeting Sena’s Japanese grandparents. An infinity symbol of red roses was shaped out in the aisle between the white pews. The mountains and twinkling sunset cast an ethereal mood over the wedding as the sun began to slip beyond. An altar of white roses was dawning gold from the slipping sun, and the addition of our butter yellow bridesmaid dresses would add more color to the desert slopes lurking miles away.

  Finally, Sena stood, clutching her bouquet of forget-me-nots closer to her bosom, a smile quivering on her lips. I had never seen my friend so nervous, but there was nothing I could do at this point, especially not when a woman pushed us into a line. A harp began to strum, and then my feet were on gravel, following the others across the aisle, stepping on the beautiful roses, feeling them squish under my feet.

  Pastor Rob stood by Steve, who looked like a calm demigod, a Perseus-type. The man was large as it was, but the addition of a suit and the jutting peaks behind him reinforced this stereotype. In fact, I wasn’t sure if he was that handsome; it was his impressive stalwart physique that thoroughly intimidated me.

  Then, once I had taken my place, the harpist changed tune, mixing in with violins and cellos, and the bride appeared, a woman cast in the glow of fading light, a beautiful rose herself, a sharp contrast to the darkening shadows behind her. The satiny dress she’d chosen was the perfect touch of classic, the lace covering her decollate like finery on a china doll. The wide smile crafting her lips revealed the heavenliness inside, a treasure not only of love, but of human life.

  With each step she took, Sena radiated confidence, not the sporadic nervousness she’d displayed earlier in the day. As the sun’s final descent clouded above, she took her place by her husband, gripping his hands in her own, right in front of Brother Rob. As they spoke their vows, highlighting the semblance of togetherness rather than individuality, the emotion from their friends and family was evident. I watched the crowd, seeing a few stray texters, some others staring at the mountain vista, but the majority was overcome by the emotional palpability spread before them like butter on bread.

  The sky became a blanket of stars hanging suspended above a group of homo sapiens experiencing something thousands had already partaken in. Yet with the surreal aura of the here and now, I winked upwards, where I assumed God awaited his flock, and thanked Him—for all He’d blessed not only me with, but the entire universe as a principle.