These Are the Moments (7 page)

Chapter 16

Then

With Simon, every upswing had a downswing with ten times the staying power.

Everyone was at Owen’s, watching a movie in the game room. It wasn’t much of a game room. It was a more casual living room. The “games” part of the room was virtual. Video games. Owen and Simon would play for hours, who knew what, who knew why.

It’d been a week since the Christmas party, and nothing had changed. Simon and Erica were still fighting. Simon and Wendy were just friends. Wendy hadn’t expected anything to change, exactly, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hoping. She prayed every night:

God, give me a sign
.

There had been so many already. Simon showing up to the Christmas party alone. Simon taking her to the roller coaster. When she thought back to retreat, she hadn’t known what kind of God-sign she’d been asking for, but all of them seemed to be aimed in Simon’s direction.

“He likes you. That’s obvious,” Mom said. “You should
see
how he looks at you. It’s a sign.”

The problem with signs? They were impossible to read.

The couch order was as follows: Simon, Wendy, Reese, then Owen. It almost felt like a double date, except that none of them were actually dating. Reese and Owen acted like brother and sister. She kicked him, and he teased her about her bad dye job. Wendy and Simon acted like an ex-couple. Barely touching. Barely existing.

“You okay?” she whispered to him.

His elbow sank on the arm rest, his forehead in his hand. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You’re acting weird.”

He looked at her. “How do you want me to act?”

“Never mind,” she said, turning back to the movie.

She was angry now. When Wendy got mad, it was all-consuming. She simply sat in her temper, letting the angry bits of her bubble over the rim.
What was his problem?

He whispered, “It’s Erica.”

She nodded. She didn’t care. “Okay.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, “We haven’t really been in the best of places lately. I doubt this is helping.”

She was tired of being blamed for his relationship problems. He was the one making choices, not her. No one was making him do anything. “I’m sure it’s not.”

He played with his phone, clicking the letters of the keyboard.

“Hey, cut that out,” Owen said.

“Yeah, some of us are trying to make out over here,” Reese deadpanned.

Owen gagged. “Mental image.
Dear God
.”

“You’re welcome,” Reese said.

“Great. Just perfect,” Simon said to himself.

“What’s wrong now?” Wendy whispered.

“I think we’re breaking up.”

The words trailed through her head, spinning across her brain in big, bold letters. She wouldn’t get hopeful or expecting.
Keep it together,
she told herself. But now, they were leg to leg. Her bare thigh pushed up against his shorts. And he was breaking up with Erica. Or she was breaking up with him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“Not really,” he groaned. “I should go. I don’t want to do this here.”

“Okay,” she said. “Maybe . . . maybe it’s for the best. Y’all have been fighting a lot lately. I’m sorry.”

He looked at her. His eyes, usually warm and welcoming, were now a cold, cutting blue. “Are you?”

This he said out loud. Too loud.

Owen piped up, “Reese, care to accompany me to the kitchen and—”

“Yes, I need to go get that thing-a-ma-jig.”

“Right,” Owen said.

They bolted out of the room. Simon stood and Wendy followed.

“What are you trying to say?” she asked.

“Are you
really
sorry that Erica and I are breaking up?”

Her face was getting flushed. Hot. Splotchy. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well. It’s not like you ever have anything nice to say about her. And I don’t know. This might sound bad, but . . . do you want us apart?”

She bit her lip to keep from crying. She felt like she’d been slapped.

How could he
say
that to her?

For all he knew, she’d never been anything but a friend to him, and she’d worked really hard to keep it that way.

“Get over yourself,” she said.

He turned away from her, running both hands through his hair. “It always comes to that. Me being arrogant.”

She hobbled over to the door. The room felt too small, too congested.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after her. “Whatever. I’m just wrong. As usual.”

She left him standing there, alone.

“Take us home,” Wendy ordered Owen, storming out.

That part felt good.

Closing the door.

Walking into the darkness.

Shutting Simon out.

Chapter 17

Now

She’d never been a good drunk, but really, who was? She’d cried in closets, scraped her knees, drunk texted.
God, had she drunk texted
.
Sometimes, she’d get angry, storming off and leaving her friends. Sometimes, she’d get depressed, and you could never be sure what about, crying in bathrooms to anyone who had the ears and the blood alcohol content to listen.

Occasionally, very rarely, there was the unicorn of drunken ventures when she’d reach that sweet spot, where the music was just right and she loved everybody and everybody loved her.

This was not one of those nights.

Directly across the pool from Wendy, Simon ordered a drink. Probably whiskey. Casually, like this was just another bar on just another night.

He
had
to wear blue. This was intentional, and she was 99% sure of it. That
freaking
shade of blue that twinned his eyes, that watery deep mixture that could cut her in half.

“
Shit shit shit,
” Wendy spat. “What do I do?”

Reese chugged the rest of her drink. “No sudden movements.”

Wendy’s mind was stone-cold sober, but her head couldn’t catch up. The world seemed to hinge itself around him, like an acrobat on silk. It was kind of incredible. The insane sort of incredible, in that Simon existed again, in the real physical sense, not just in the overly frosted layers of her memory.

Vivian flitted over. She had another drink in her hand, spilling over the sides of the red cup. “Look,” she tried to whisper. “
Over there
.”

Her volume control needed tuning.

“Okay. Okay. We need a plan,” Wendy said, steadying her head with her palm. “Viv, go say hello.”

“Me? But.” She pointed to her cup, then swayed on her feet.

“Join the club,” Wendy said. “You need to play hostess. This is your party. Your wedding. Your future husband’s best friend.”

“
Your
ex-boyfriend.
Your
ex-love of
your
love,” Vivian chanted back.

“Vivan,” Reese groaned, lying flat on the lounge chair, and pointed. “Go.”

Something about the gruff bark of Reese’s order sent Vivian stumbling right over. She linked arms with Owen, who was big gesture-talking with Simon. Vivian waved to Simon, then gave an awkward curtsy. Wendy sunk back into the chair.

“So, initial thoughts?” Reese asked. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just got a big dose of Novocaine.”

“Need another drink?”

“Yes. Water.”

Wendy needed to sober up, doing her best to not look directly at him. But her eyes kept crawling into his general vicinity, so she could see the blur of his body, as if he were smeared over the whole canvas of her world.

So now, Wendy had to have feelings. They were there somewhere beneath all of the shock, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what they were and exactly what that meant.

Are you happy? Are you sad? Scale of one to ten?

No use.

True or False: You still love Simon Guidry.

False. Wow. False.

True or False: You wish you could talk to him.

True. That was normal, right?

True or False: You are fully moved on. Over it. Done.

Umm.

False.

She forced herself to look directly at him. The slump of his back in the way he stood. The wispy blond hair. His profile, serious and etched. He looked the same. But Wendy didn’t
feel
the same.

The after-party was Owen’s idea. When the guests started to leave, Owen was just getting started, exercising his dance muscles and tipping back drinks. Vivian morphed into a rag doll, her twiggy arms and legs flopping to her sides, still chanting, “
I’m fine, I’m fine.
” They had managed to sit her into a lawn chair, pouring water down her throat, when Owen suggested the going-out idea.

“She’s not going to make it,” Reese said.

But Vivian perked up, reenergized, and said, “
I wanna go!”

And that’s how Wendy wound up at the bar, slightly sober, with an out-of-control bridal party and Simon Guidry. They shuffled into the bar, which smelled like cigarettes and sweat, forging their way through the crowd.

“Wait here,” Wendy yelled to Vivian. “I’ll get you some water.”

“With vodka!” she requested.

“Sure thing.” Lies.

Simon glued himself to Owen and Owen’s cousin, Katherine. She was the only bridesmaid Wendy hadn’t met before, and in talking to her tonight, Wendy had learned she was a pageant queen, taking note of the fake white teeth and unnatural tan. She had a hand on Simon’s shoulder. Nothing overly flirtatious, but still. Her mere existence—caramel hair with a cleavage rack—demanded attention.

In bars, there never seemed to be enough air, and the little that was available reeked of smoke and bad decisions. Reese hung on a guy with gauges in his earlobes, while Ben obliviously lit a cigar. Pressed up against her, a couple beside Wendy slipped their tongues into each other’s mouths, while the bartender poured her a gin and tonic.

She found herself scanning the room for Simon. She didn’t even realize it until their eyes clicked, and she didn’t budge. For a second, they were caught in this strange moment of
I’m looking and you’re looking and what now?
Then he broke and it was over, lost in the lilt of Katherine’s laugh.

Reese threw an arm over Wendy, while gauge guy lingered behind. “What’s the story there?”

“She’s a double D. What more is there to know?”

Reese dragged Wendy out to the dance floor. One drink led to two and two led to four. She let herself slowly sink into the gin, but wanted to stay right at the border, right at that place where she was too drunk to care, but not drunk enough to do anything stupid. It was a balancing act.

Owen tried to dip Vivian, but barely cleared his shoulder. He held her hand to his chest, whispering something to her, and then kissed her cheek.

“Do you promise to marry me forever and ever?” Vivian slurred.

“Forever and ever,” he answered, twirling her around.

Simon waited at the bar with Katherine, as she played with the tiny drink straw in her mouth, twisting it in her fingers.

“You love me?” Owen asked, really low and quiet.

“The most,” Vivian said. “I love you
so much
that it’s gross.”

He laughed and pulled her tight. “I gross love you, too.”

When the world glossed over into an alcoholic pool, Wendy waded through her own head. She stumbled. Blinked. If everything could just pause, if everyone could just be, she could adjust. She could be okay. Instead, she felt like she was trying to catch up to everyone who was moving on without her.

This time, she felt his eyes first.

Simon’s eyes stayed deliberate as she met them, even as Katherine talked, even as the minutes moved. Wendy felt a thousand things at once:

The sweat of her drink on her palms.

The chill down the back of her neck.

The flaking residue of something inside her.

Feeling.

Oh God,
she thought.

Then, he smiled.
His smile
. The one he used when she was in the room. It was the kind of smile with years stored inside of it, before he pressed his lips and shut it down.

What felt like an hour later became a closed bar, a belligerent bride and groom to be, and a series of cabs.

“We’re married!” Vivian shouted throwing her hands into the air.

“Close enough,” Reese said.

“I’m engaged,” Owen slurred. “Engaged to be married
to be married
.”

Simon broke into the circle, slapping a hand to Owen’s back. “It’s a miracle,” he said. Then to Vivian, “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

It was the closest Wendy and Simon had been all night.

“Ok, man, I’m gonna take off,” Simon said. “Get some sleep.”

“You too, best of all men,” Owen said.

“Bye, guys,” Simon said, with a semblance of a wave to Wendy and Reese. No eye contact.

When Simon slid into the cab, he wasn’t alone. Katherine, beautiful and modelesque, slunk in behind him, her pointed black heel slipping in last, before the door slammed and they disappeared into the night.

Wendy froze.

“So,” Reese said.

“Happy almost wedding?” Viv said.

Wendy cracked a smile, allowing herself to thaw. He wouldn’t win. Not this time. “Happy. Almost. Wedding.”