I Now Pronounce You Someone Else (15 page)

I felt so terribly tired all the next week.

Whitt noticed immediately and asked me if I was getting sick.

“I’m just tired. Geez,” I snapped at him. Then, “Sorry.”

“You’re allowed to be tired, Bronwen,” he said to me. This was Wednesday. Thursday. Breakfast. Afternoon. I didn’t remember. “I just want to make sure there’s nothing else going on that you might need a little help with,” he continued. “An ear to bend. Mine’s been known to be pretty bendable.”

“So was Kirsten’s,” I said.

“Ah.”

“We’re still—she’s still mad at me,” I said. “That’s all.”

“I’m sure that’s not helping with everything going on for you right now.”

“I just want everyone to stop saying that. I know how much I have going on.” I sighed. “I’ll be back later,” I said, and I just drove around for an hour, listened
to music too loud in the car, thought about absolutely nothing, and began to understand my mother a little better.

Kirsten avoided me for most of the week, and I avoided her right back. And at home, I avoided thinking about the whole mess and other things through the cunning use of naps. I imagined hearing Jared say before each one of these naps, “Dream of me,” which was almost as soothing as counting sheep. Kirsten, Hope, Columbus, dress fittings, Mother, Whitt—everyone and everything but Jared melted away into nothingness as I dropped onto my bed each afternoon and slept until dinner. And twice I slept through it.

On Friday morning, Caitlyn and I talked a few minutes by our lockers. She said she wanted to throw a belated graduation party at the beach sometime in June.

“That sounds great,” I said. “Keep the celebrations going.”

“Exactly.”

Then I turned and saw Kirsten standing behind me.

A couple quiet seconds passed before I asked, “Mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you, Bronwen.”

“But you still think I’m making a mistake?”

“I don’t know what to think. I’m a little worried,” she said gently.

“You don’t need to be.”

“It would help if we talked like we used to. You never have time anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re busy, but too busy for your best friend?”

“No.”

“Good. Then meet me at the Java Bean tonight. Fivethirty.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll get there early to make sure our table’s free,” she said. “But you’re buying the cookies.”

“Okay,” I said again, and I did not remember, did not even realize, until Monday morning that I had stood her up.

Lauren Sondervan had called me that Friday afternoon about four-thirty, which was twenty minutes into my much-needed nap. I didn’t even have time to clear the sleep out of my throat before she said, almost urgently, “Put something cute on, Bronwen. I’m picking you up in thirty minutes. Jared can do without you for one night.”

A few of her bridesmaids surprised her by coming into town that weekend, and Lauren wanted all of us to go out. The bachelorette party had come and gone, and the wedding was two weeks away. It just happened that all these women had free schedules and wanted to spend time with their bride-to-be friend before the wedding festivities dragged her away from them. And a night out sounded like so much fun, so exactly what I needed since
I’d been feeling so confused and blah, that I forgot Kirsten entirely and instantly agreed.

Lauren explained to me in the car that she had absolutely no expectation of enjoying her own wedding. “You only get to spend about two minutes with everyone. You never get to eat, and you’re just exhausted. The bride and groom never have fun at their own wedding. Trust me. I’ve been a bridesmaid enough times to know this.”

Really?

“And you know the worst thing?” she asked and didn’t wait for my predictable
no.
“Whenever anyone hugs you, they end up tugging at your veil, so all night long you’re doing this,” she said and jerked her head back a couple of times. “But you do it smiling. You should start practicing.”

“I’ve always loved weddings,” I said.

“They’re great for guests.”

“You’re not looking forward to yours?”

“Oh, Bronwen, don’t get me wrong. I cannot wait to marry Spence, but the wedding itself? No, not really. Truth is, I can’t wait until it’s over. I’m just looking to get through it so he and I can start our lives together.”

We met the other bridesmaids at Rose’s. They embraced me—literally and figuratively—as one of their own, and we laughed and carried on just like I laughed and carried on with Nikki and Brianna, but without the dancing in the halls. If I had suggested it, though, we probably would have.

But throughout the evening, Lauren’s words in the car earlier echoed in my ears despite my best effort to ignore them.

On Monday morning, I stood, backpack over one shoulder and half sick, staring at Kirsten as she put her things away in her locker. For several seconds, I didn’t move, and she didn’t look at me.

She knew I was there.

“Kirsten, I am so sorry,” I finally said.

She closed her locker, drew a breath as if she were about to speak, changed her mind, and walked away.

I followed, hurrying a couple of steps to catch up.

“I know. I know you’re mad, and you should be, but I swear I just forgot. I didn’t mean to. It just slipped my mind completely. I was at home and Lauren—”

“Do you honestly think I want to hear that I slipped your mind?” she asked without slowing her pace. “Especially during our last week of school together—ever?”

“I—no—I—I am so sorry.”

“You’ve never slipped my mind, and you know what? You never will.”

“Kirsten, I know. And I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to say it.”

She stopped. I nearly ran into her.

“Bronwen, I know you have a lot going on in your life right now, but if you can’t manage to work me into your busy schedule, then let’s just end this friendship right now.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” I teased.

“This isn’t funny,” she said, turned, and walked away.

No.

It wasn’t funny.

That week, I wrote her a long apology and sent it via e-mail. When that produced no response, I handwrote a card—one with a photo of a heartbreakingly sad puppy on it—and left it in her locker.

Nothing.

I couldn’t say I blamed her, but “grim” was the only way to describe graduation the next Thursday. “Grim” because my best friend still wasn’t speaking to me, and I received five picture frames as presents.

I was going to skip the All Night Party following graduation and even suggested to Jared that we spend it somewhere quiet by ourselves, but he talked me out of it, said I’d especially regret missing it since we’d be moving so soon. And, yes, that made sense, but he turned out to be wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. First of all, whenever you’re in the same vicinity as an ex-boyfriend or ex-best friend, all you see all night long is your ex-whatever having fun without you. And second, my other friends just wanted to talk about Jared’s and my wedding. That was it. All night long. It got to the point where I nearly snapped at Caitlyn, “You know, I’m going to college too.” And in classic Caitlyn style, she bounced a cheery, “I know, silly,” at me, “but who can even think of that when we’re all going to be in a wedding on a beach soon?”

A wedding on a beach soon
was the happy thought
that sustained me for the rest of the night, which was otherwise loud, dark, crowded, and no fun at all—except for Kirsten and everyone else.

On Friday morning, Jared sent me a text message.
Pick u up 2nite. 6. Love u

Lauren and Spence’s rehearsal dinner was that night, downtown in one of the private dining rooms high atop the Amway Grand Plaza Hotel in something called the Glass Tower.

I was dressed and ready at a quarter to six, but then I decided I disliked my outfit. A tag inside my blouse poked at my ribs and drove me insane, and I particularly hated my shoes, which were just wrong, so I rushed upstairs and pulled a few things out of my closet.

This dress he had just seen.

Too many wrinkles in that one.

This—nope. Hated it.

This skirt. This blouse. Yes, but which shoes?

I fumbled through my closet, on my knees, looking for that one particular pair, when there came a knock on my bedroom door and Jared’s tense voice behind it.

“Bronwen, it’s after six,” he said.

“Wait. I’m coming.”

Still couldn’t find the shoes.

He knocked again.

“Bronwen?”

“Just a minute.”

Found one.

Found the other.

Tap, tap.

“Bronwen.”

“It’s open,” I said, and he walked in just as I was slipping on the second pump, and I stood with a
ta-da!
“Perfect fit. Just like Cinderella.”

“Cinderella wasn’t late for the prince,” he said.

It was nearly six twenty.

“That’s right. He kept
her
waiting,” I teased.

“Well, now we’re both late,” he snapped, and we drove in silence to the rehearsal dinner.

The dining room at the Amway Grand Plaza fairly glittered. The food was wonderful, but I ate nothing, and I felt pleased to be able to report back to Mother that Lauren and Spence did not drink to themselves when others made toasts.

Jared’s toast choked him up at the end.

I watched him through the entire thing, except when I gazed abstractedly past him, out the windows, across downtown Grand Rapids with all its many church steeples pointing heavenward, mingling with office towers and skyscrapers.

Spence’s “You’re next, buddy” jolted me back to the moment in time to see Jared smiling down at me, and we obliged the crowd, clinking knives against crystal, with a kiss.

I loved him with all of my heart and wished some moments lasted forever. Literally. Nothing beyond them. Just the moment.

June 4 fell on one of the single most gorgeous and fragrant Saturdays of that particularly gorgeous and fragrant spring. Throughout May, every tulip—God bless the city’s founders—bloomed in every single shade from purple to red to pink, orange, yellow, and white. And now June brought even more—violets, roses, irises, impatiens, geraniums, blossoms I couldn’t identify, and, of course, lilies.

I rode to the ceremony with Mother and Whitt, and would ride to the reception with Jared. He had gone early to the church for the groomsmen’s photos and made sure to be my usher when I arrived, escorting me down the aisle behind Mother and Whitt to the fifth pew, bride’s side, in Grace Episcopal Church.

“Good practice, huh?” Jared said happily.

“Good practice.”

One of the niftier things about Episcopalian weddings is the strict adherence to a form that generally takes no more than one hour, start to finish, just like church services. And funerals. There’s a reception to attend, after all. (After Sundays and funerals, it’s brunch at the Club.)

So Lauren and Spence’s wedding took one hour, start to finish, and she looked more gorgeous than the day itself.

And calm.

And happy.

I longed to be just like her when I got married.

By that point in my life, I had been to so many weddings, including my mother’s, that I practically knew the
ceremony by heart, and I silently repeated the vows right along with Lauren.

“In the name of God, I, Lauren, take you, Spencer, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

And if it doesn’t work, you just get divorced.

Okay, kidding. Kidding. I was still a little tired. I had only had two naps that day.

One of Spence’s brothers read the standard “Love is patient, love is kind,” etc. Heard it. Got it. And then Mr. Sondervan read something unfamiliar. Mostly. I tuned into it late and heard him say, “…leave his father and mother and join to his wife, and the two shall be one flesh; so then they are no more two, but one flesh.”

No longer two
, I thought. And then again.
No longer two? Not one half of a couple with “dream of me,” “drive carefully,” and “call me when you get there.” Not coming and going, doing your own thing and going home early if you don’t like it. But one. One attached and blended life, and where am I in that? A condo in Columbus, Ohio?

Bronwen Alexis Oliver. That’s what it says on the invitations, so it must be me, but that doesn’t help. I’m going to become Someone Else in almost exactly two months, and I’m having some trouble just being me. How can I go become an Us for all time?

But that’s what I wanted.

Isn’t that what I wanted?

I thought of Jared’s smile, the one that was all for
me, that he gave to no one else, and, even if he had, no one would have recognized it. It was for me. Something uniquely special that bespoke our connection, and when I caught a glimpse of it there as he stood with all the other groomsmen, I felt nauseated by my thoughts. Suddenly, I wanted some air.

Later, after all the guests had departed and the wedding party was having their joint pictures taken in the sanctuary, I told Jared I was just going to step outside for a few minutes.

“This is pretty boring, isn’t it?” he asked.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just a little tired of sitting. And it’s so pretty outside.”

“Okay. I’ll come find you in a little bit.”

Outside, I breathed the cool spring air into my lungs and stood on the church steps until my stomach settled. It settled some more as I walked down the steps, across the circular front drive, past the churchyard, past the parking lot, down Hall Street.

Hall Street to San Jose Drive.

San Jose to Lovett.

Lovett to Wealthy.

And Wealthy all the way to its end, across Lakeside Drive to John A. Collins Park and all two hundred and eighty-three gorgeous acres of Reeds Lake.

It was here, half an hour later and an hour since walking away from the church, where Jared found me.

Here, which used to be one of my two Most Favorite Places on Earth.

I dropped myself onto the very spot where I once sat watching fireworks. Well, nearly the very spot since the very spot, secure in my father’s arms, no longer existed. Gone but for memories. Maybe this is why Mother packed away so many of hers. Sometimes, even the best memories hurt. This one did. And it was why I came here.

Not to hurt, but to feel it. To feel my dad again, to feel his arms around me, to see his smile that I recognized as mine alone, to hear him say once more, “That’s my girl.” He would know what to do, what to say, and how to explain to Jared what I knew in my heart to be true. And then my dad would be there to pick up the pieces and put us all back together as we should be.

“How am I going to do this?” I asked my dad.

No answers came to me. No inspiration. Just the knowledge that I and I alone had to confront this.

I heard Jared’s car door slam and knew it was him before I heard him on his phone, drawing closer, saying to someone—probably his mother—”I found her. She’s
fine.” And I heard his footsteps, even in the grass, long, fast steps marching closer to where I sat barefoot, legs drawn up to my chest, chin resting on knees.

He called my name twice before he stood in front of me, arms outstretched in anger mixed with worry, too rattled to say anything at first.

And then finally: “What the hell is going on, Bronwen? You scared me half to death. I didn’t know where you were. If something happened. What is this?”

I was crying when I looked up at him, and my tears startled the anger out of him.

“What? What is it?” he asked, dropping to his knees beside me.

“I can’t do this,” I said.

“You can’t do what?”

For a moment, maybe two, I couldn’t speak.

And then finally, quietly, “I can’t get married.”

“What? Why not? Bronwen. What is this—is this about Lauren’s wedding? Is it nerves? Is it Columbus?”

“It’s about Lauren’s wedding, and it’s about nerves. It’s Columbus. It’s Hope. It’s me.”

“Okay. Okay,” he said. “Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. You should have seen Lauren two hours ago. We can talk about this. We’ll figure it out. But not right now. Right now we have a reception to get to.”

I shook my head, tried to breathe deeply.

“No,” I said. “No.”

“Bronwen,” he pleaded, “what is going on? You have to tell me.”

“I know. I know what I have to do, but I don’t want to do it.”

“Do what? What is going on?”

I opened up my hand that I had, until then, held in a fist, and in it lay my engagement ring.

“What is this?” he asked. “You…” He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair. “You’re giving this back to me?”

I nodded.

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“I have to,” I sobbed. “We have to.”

He folded his fingers around mine and mine around the ring.

“No. No, we don’t. Bronwen, I love you.”

“I know,” I cried. “I love you too.”

“Okay. Okay, so then, we wait. We just put the wedding on hold.”

“It won’t work,” I said.
Sniff.
“Not for me.”

“What won’t work? Us? We work.”

“I mailed the roommate form. The questionnaire. To Hope. I’m going to Hope in the fall, and I’m going to live in a dorm.”

“You…” He stood up abruptly, turned his back to me, stared out over the water, and let some seconds pass. “When were you going to tell me this? Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Columbus and the job?” I snapped, and that got his attention. I stood. “You made that decision without ever asking me how I felt about it. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to live in Ohio.”

“I did that for us,” he nearly shouted.

“You did that for you. That was what you wanted.”

“I did it for us,” he said, and gently took hold of my arms. “I thought you and I wanted the same things.”

“You didn’t ask me what I want.”

“You—we want a life together. Don’t we?”

“I…Maybe. Someday.”

“Maybe someday?” He raised his voice some but didn’t lose his temper before saying, “Tell me what you want, Bronwen. Tell me what you want, because I want to start a life with you, and I thought you wanted to start one with me.”

“I thought I did too,” I said and exhaled slowly. “But I don’t. I don’t right now. I don’t want to be married. I don’t want to live in Columbus. I don’t want to be engaged. I don’t even want to think about a wedding.”

I stopped. He let go and stared abstractedly over my shoulder a moment before shaking his head, focusing on my eyes again. His were filling with tears.

“You don’t want me?” he asked.

I could only cry.

“I don’t know,” I said, and he laughed, rudely—a mix of anger, sadness. “I’m so sorry, Jared,” I said. “It’s not you, and I know how that sounds, but this is all me. I want to go to Hope and live in a dorm and join a sorority and take May Terms in England or Mexico, I don’t know, or wherever. I want to stay up all night talking with friends and go home for weekends with them and hug and cry with them at graduation.” I caught my breath
some. “I don’t know what the next four years are going to mean to either of us, but I know I want to…I know I need to go figure them out on my own, and I can’t do that if I’m feeling so attached to you that I’m not Bronwen anymore.”

“You’re not Bronwen?” Jared asked.

“No. I’m Bronwen-and-Jared. I’m Us. And I’m just not ready to be Us,” I cried. “I feel like I’m lost in this, like my life is lost in this, and too much is changing, and I can’t breathe. And all I want to do is just go away and be left alone by everyone and be by myself. And just be myself, alone, for, I don’t know, a while. However long it takes to figure myself out.”

Jared wiped tears out of his eyes.

“I’d have waited,” he said, and I couldn’t speak for crying, so I just nodded.

He understood and said what I could not.

“You’re not sure how you’re going to feel about me in a few years, are you?”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

He nodded. We said nothing. What could we say? For some time, I dropped my face into my hands and just sobbed.

Finally, Jared held his hand out for me. I took it, and we looked plaintively at each other, still not knowing what to say. I gave way to more tears. Jared swallowed his back.

“This is yours,” I said, holding the ring out to him, which he took and then looked away from me, at the water again.

“I have to go,” he finally said. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I’ll walk.”

So I did.

No looking back.

I just walked.