by Sarah Dessen
“You’re his best friend,” Ambrose pointed out.
“Oh, shut up,” she said. Then, turning on her heel, she stomped off. Maya looked at me, like I was supposed to do something, before following her.
“Ambrose!” Bee called from down the hallway. “Steve and Emily just got here with the food. Did you mean to have them buy forty pizzas?”
“Forty?” Roger said. “I didn’t even know we were having pizza. Now we definitely need to do my assigned plate idea.”
“They’re going to be bite-sized!” Ambrose shouted, sounding slightly hysterical. Everyone got quiet, quickly. Until Leo, still outside, knocked again, harder this time.
“I’ll just go to the dollar store,” I said quietly to Ambrose, happy for any reason to put distance between me and Leo. “See you in a bit.”
Everyone started talking again as I slipped out, pulling my keys from my pocket. I exhaled, relieved, when the front screen door swung shut behind me.
I’d just cranked the engine and put my car into gear when I heard a knocking on the back window. As I turned to look, the passenger door rattled open and Ambrose jumped in. “Drive. Fast. Get us out of here,” he said, yanking it shut behind him.
“But—”
“Louna. I’m begging you. Just go.”
I remembered the last time he’d leapt into that seat unexpectedly and told me to floor it. Then, we’d stolen a dog. This time, who knew? Whatever happened, though, it was better than that lonely dusty closet I’d been in earlier, or maybe forever. You gotta live, I heard Ethan say, something I’d almost forgotten. So I drove.
“Man,” Ambrose said, as we stood in the paper goods aisle at $1Dollar. “This place is amazing.”
I looked at the display of napkins before me, then at him. “It’s a dollar store. Surely you’ve seen one before.”
“Nope,” he said, crouching down in front of the tablecloths and riffling through them. “My mom’s not much for discounts.”
After her wedding, and the ongoing prep for Bee’s upcoming one, I actually believed this. Just then, I heard a familiar buzz—his phone. He pulled it out, glancing at it, then put it back in his pocket.
“Hopefully not another crisis,” I said, checking out a stack of hand towels bound with a crooked ribbon.
“No. Just Lauren.” His voice was flat. Of course I noticed.
“So,” I said slowly, “everything okay with you guys? Seemed pretty tense back there.”
He sighed, sitting back on his heels. “She’s just wound tightly with all this. Wanting Maya to be happy and all that.”
“What about you guys, though?” I asked. “You’re still happy, right?”
“I guess,” he replied. Not exactly a ringing endorsement. “It’s harder, you know, going long term. Or maybe it’s just hard with her.”
“Relationships take work,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but the question is, how much. And how soon.” He glanced at me. “I think you might win this bet after all, is what I’m saying.”
I had to admit, this was a surprise. Suddenly, things looked different. I had to think before I answered. “I’d rather you be happy,” I told him
“Yeah?” he asked. I nodded. Then he said, slowly, “Well, that’s good to know.”
We just stood there, looking at each other, and suddenly, I felt it. It wasn’t a beach at night, the perfect moment, or an ideal beginning. Far from it. But something was happening, just like that moment I leaned into him, our hands cutting the cake. I just didn’t know what it was.
Or maybe I did.
“So,” I said quickly, “tablecloths, plates, forks. You said you have napkins?”
“Napkins,” he repeated. “Right. Only about forty.”
“Big ones?”
“Very small. Like cocktail size.” I sighed, then reached out, collecting seven packs of twenty large ones and tossing them in the basket I was holding. “Do we need that many, really? Only thirty people are coming.”
“People are messy and like multiple napkins and they’re a buck each, Roger,” I said.
“Hey,” he said, holding up his hand. “I would never ask you to carry the same plate around for three hours.”
“Thank goodness,” I replied. “If you did, we’d no longer be friends for sure.”
I moved down the aisle, checking out some white crepe paper rolls that were on special for a quarter each. A year or so ago, we’d done some table décor with tulle that could probably be recreated, and it was better than just plain cloths.
“So you’re saying we’re friends.”
I turned back to him. “Aren’t we?”
“Well, I was in from the start,” he replied. “But you . . . you’re a harder nut to crack.”
“Now I’m a nut?”
“I’m just saying . . . I’m glad to hear it. That’s all.” He smiled. “You know, you’re not the easiest person to win over.”
“I didn’t realize you were trying to,” I replied, trying to make a joke.
“From the start,” he repeated, not kidding at all.
And just like that, it was back between us, whatever it was, rising up again. I could see it in the seriousness of his face, hear it in the quiet of his voice, the inhale he’d just taken as if he was about to speak. I realized I was scared of what might happen next, that whatever words he chose to say next would be too much for me, but at the same time I was desperate to hear them. What a weird push and pull in this world, at that moment. And yet, I would have stayed there, on the edge, forever.
But then his phone rang, loud between us, and he didn’t say anything. At least to me.
“Hello?” he answered, then listened a second. “Non-alcoholic beer? No. That is not what I ordered. I’m saying tell them that!” A pause. “Fine. I’ll be home in a minute.”
He hung up, looking stressed, then glanced at me again. “We should go,” he said. “The crises keep multiplying.”
“Yeah, let’s do it,” I told him.
Moment passed. I was safe, I told myself. But why was I also sad?
He started down the aisle then, toward the register, and I followed, dropping a few rolls of the crepe paper in the basket as I went. Even as we paid and left, though, heading back to the chaos, I kept thinking back to that moment on the edge of what had been and what could be. When the world had opened up, unfolding a potential that both dazzled and terrified me.
“Wow,” Jilly whispered to me, as we stood together at the back of the crowd. “Those tablecloths look great with the crepe paper. Did you do that?”
I glanced over at the nearest table, lined with two mason jars of sunflowers and a blue glass votive, the candle flickering warmly inside. “I helped. But this was really Ambrose’s thing.”
“Impressive,” she said. “The student becomes the master.”
“What?”
“It’s a martial arts movie thing,” she explained, smiling at Michael Salem, who was standing beside her in a button down and shorts, holding her hand. “His favorite.”
To this, I only nodded, as the groom and Andrew, his friend who was officiating, took their places under the big tree at the end of our makeshift aisle. Roger was in a suit that looked like it was hot and uncomfortable—I hadn’t made it to the wish wall yet, but if I had, I would have considered, for him, breathable fabric—Andrew in khaki pants, sandals, and a flowing white shirt. Off to the side, in William’s typical spot, was Ambrose, who then signaled to Leo to start the music. When he caught my eye, I looked away.
I was still processing what had happened—or not—at the dollar store. We hadn’t talked again, as the entire ride home Ambrose had been putting out fires involving both the beer snafu and a blown breaker due to Leo’s guitar amp. Then, as soon as we’d arrived, Lauren was waiting in the driveway, arms crossed, clearly unhappy and ready for A Discus
sion. I’d slipped inside to help with the keg and everything else, but had to assume whatever had followed had not gone well, as I’d gotten a text from him soon after that said only: CONGRATS. YOU WIN.
Now, as the song on Leo’s phone, attached to a speaker, began, everyone turned to the porch, where Maya stood with her mom. She was a gorgeous bride, in a plain white sheath and her grandmother’s gold cross on a thin necklace, her something old and borrowed. The new was her flower crown, made herself. The blue, the beads on her white sandals, was visible with each step she took as she started down the stairs.
She smiled at me as she passed, and I nodded, then bent down to adjust a bit of her hem that was doubled over, catching on the grass. A tiny detail, but one people would notice. And if you could fix something, why wouldn’t you?
“I still feel weird we’re here,” Jilly said in my ear as Maya and Roger turned to face each other. “We don’t even know these people.”
“You saved everyone from eating nothing but pizza,” I told her again. “You’ve earned an invite.”
That had been another wrinkle. Ambrose’s list for the friends who’d gone grocery shopping had requested pizzas on the front, with frozen egg rolls and meatballs and other finger food continued on the back. When they didn’t turn it over and then did their own strange math about how many they’d need, we ended up with forty frozen pies and nothing else. Luckily, Jilly and Michael Salem hadn’t left her house yet, and between their two trucks were able to produce enough grilled cheese and ham and chicken biscuits on the fly to nicely round out the menu. It had taken only a quick canvas of the early arriving guests to find a couple of people happy to preheat the oven and arrange things on cookie sheets, all of which were now warming up as Maya and Roger said their vows. Then all we had to do was plop them on trays and we’d be good.
Now I watched as the bride and groom took each other’s hands, their very short ceremony already speeding toward its pinnacle and conclusion. When they began their vows, I looked up at the twinkling lights in the trees as a breeze blew across the yard and all of us assembled. Then I looked up at Ambrose again, his face in profile, watching as Maya slid a ring on Roger’s finger. What had he meant, that it was good to know I wanted him to be happy? I wanted to think about it, and yet didn’t, at the same time.
Moments later, the bride and groom came back down the aisle, Roger flushed and actually smiling, Maya waving her bouquet over her head. As everyone cheered, throwing the flower petals we’d collected from pruning Bee’s older roses, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out: Ben.
OFF AT 8. DINNER?
I glanced up at Ambrose, who was talking to Andrew, shaking his hand. Leo was starting the playlist that was his gift to the bride and groom. I’d looked at it earlier when he’d been taking a smoke break. It was mostly slow, folky music mixed with the occasional rap song, not exactly ideal for dancing. Not that I was going to say anything. At that point, I’d planned to be long gone by the time the party really got going, yet somehow I was still here. And now, I realized, I wanted to stay.
KIND OF GOT CAUGHT UP, I wrote back. TOMORROW? Then I slid it back in my pocket, not waiting for a response.
A half hour later, three of the six tablecloths were ripped, we were out of grilled cheese squares, and Leo had been overthrown as DJ by a group of people demanding danceable music. Michael Salem had started up the GRAVY Truck to produce some more biscuits, while Jilly and I took our turn at the wish wall, which had been set up just by the backyard gate. As I straightened the box of cards and replaced the pens in their holder, I wondered if I’d ever attend any wedding without lapsing into organizer mode. Probably not.
“So what’s the idea here again?” Jilly asked.
“You write a wish for the bride and groom,” I told her.
“What if you don’t know them at all?”
“Then you write what you would want someone to wish for you at your wedding,” I said. “Peace, friendship, never fighting over who washes the dishes. That kind of thing.”
“I love washing dishes, though,” she said, considering her card. “Maybe I’ll just wish for lots of good food. That’s what my parents say is key to their marriage.”
“You can go a long way on grilled cheese sandwiches, I guess.”
“Or they can.” She bent over the table and began to write. “What are you going to say?”
I wasn’t actually sure, at that moment. As I thought, I glanced around the yard again, taking in the crowd of people dancing by that big tree, the white tables lined with candles, one guest’s baby toddling over to Ira, who had a white, bejeweled bandana tied around his neck for the occasion. I didn’t realize I’d been actually looking for something—or someone—specific until I spotted Ambrose, standing at the back of the GRAVY Truck talking to Michael Salem. He was in the middle of saying something, using his hands to make a point, and I watched him for a minute, surprising myself again with how much I wanted him to see me, as well. When he did, and broke into a grin, I felt my face flush.
“I don’t think you can wish that for the bride and groom,” Jilly said. “Maybe for you, though.”
I looked at her. “What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Louna. You and Ambrose have so much chemistry you’re basically flammable.”
“Jilly,” I said, my voice low, “he could not be more on the rebound.”
“Which means you won the bet, and so can pick yourself for him to go out with next,” she replied, folding her card and sticking it on the wall. “It’s perfect. You can act like you can’t stand him all you want. But that blush doesn’t lie.”
“It’s not like that,” I said, although if asked, I wasn’t sure I could say what it was like, actually. I opened my card. “And I never planned to pick me.”
“Plans change,” she said. “You know that better than anyone.”
She was right. But so was I. Even driving back with the tables earlier, I’d had no idea I might be where I was now, on the edge of something with the last person I’d ever expect. You would think I’d have learned that the world is full of surprises, though, and maybe not just the kind that break your heart.
I put my pen to the paper and began to write. I’d made so many wishes for so many couples quietly in my head as they drove away, but writing the words out made it seem more real, possible. For them, and maybe for me.
FOR YOU, I WISH FOR SECOND CHANCES.
I folded it shut, then put it on the wall before I could change my mind, right above Jilly’s. As Michael Salem called out to her and she started his way, I crossed the backyard, moving toward the music. When I looked back at the wish wall from a distance, it was a sea of squares: I couldn’t even find mine among them. So many things we ask for, hope for, prayers put out into a world so wide: there was no way they could all be answered. But you had to keep asking. If you didn’t, nothing even had a chance of coming true.
On the dance floor, Roger and Maya were in the center, holding hands, him even sweatier, her flower crown lopsided. Andrew, his white shirt also damp, bopped beside them, along with Maya’s mom and some other friends, all in a circle. Behind them, Bee was twirling in the arms of the contractor neighbor, while Lauren boogied with Kevin Yu, Bee’s med student groom-to-be. Yet again, I found myself on the outside of all this, a line only I could see dividing us. This time, though, there was no rule: I could cross over it. Isn’t that the way everything begins? A night, a love, a once and for all.
When I saw Ambrose coming toward me from the other side of the floor, the moment seemed even more fated, like my wish had come true. All this time I’d been waiting for my second chance. Maybe he’d been here all along.
“Hey,” I said to him, holding out my hand. “Dancing is healing. Want to heal?”
“Yeah. Sure. Of course,” he said quickly, but didn’t move. “It’s about time, right?”
I cocked my head to the side. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, equally fast, too fast. He flashed me a smile, compensating, then dropped it when he saw my own serious expression. Behind me, I could hear someone whooping: a girl in a black dress twirled past, her hem brushing my leg. “I was just . . . at the truck, talking with Jilly.”
“Oh,” I said, confused. “Okay.”
He looked over at Bee, doing a shimmy as Kevin clapped his hands. “I told her . . . how I feel about you. How I’ve felt.”
This was big, I knew. Huge. But it didn’t match—what he was saying and how he was saying it. Like a rhythm slightly off, the beat you somehow can’t clap to. “And?”
His face softened, and he stepped closer. Around us, the music was picking up, faster, people whooping it up. “Why didn’t you tell me? About the shooting? About Ethan?”
Ethan. It was the last name I wanted to hear. It didn’t belong in this place, at this moment. All around me people were happy, flushed and in motion, the way the world had been on that crisp fall morning not even a year ago. How stupid I was to think Ambrose and I could somehow be happy, too, after such a bumpy, uneven beginning. To really be happy, you needed epic, like Ethan, and we weren’t that. Not even close.
“Jilly told you?” I said, my voice sounding light, like it was rising away from me.
“She was looking out for you,” he said. “She’s protective. I get it. What you went through . . .”
“Don’t pity me,” I said quickly, stepping back. “Don’t do that. I don’t need it.”
“I’m not,” he replied, moving closer to close the gap between us. “I just feel like an idiot, all that stuff I said about breakups and you being cynical. You must have felt—”
“I don’t feel anything,” I said, cutting him off. “It’s fine.”
“Hey.” He reached out for my arm, but I shook him off, the response reflexive, immediate. “Look. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t know. And if I said stupid things. I’m just . . . sorry.”
The music was changing now, the current song winding down, another, slower one coming in behind it. A perfect transition, and how common is that? I hated that I noticed.
