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Wow, didn’t see that coming. “So he has to see her all the time?”
“All the time,” Ethan repeats with an exasperated sigh.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” growls a low voice I’ve come to know well. By the time I glance over my shoulder, he’s right behind me. I turn and take him in. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was completely chill. But I do know better and the ticking of his jaw muscle is a dead giveaway.
“I told you,” I explain very softly, “that I was going with Sam, and you nodded.”
This new information takes a few seconds to process. I see the wheels spinning and know when he recalls it because his chin tips up and jaw relaxes. Looking away, he mutters, “I didn’t hear you.”
In my peripheral vision, I notice Ethan watching Calvin closely, a question in his eyes––though he doesn’t voice it.
“Do you need me? Because I can get Sam out. I’m not leaving him in that thing unattended.” Calvin’s pointed gaze moves to the two nannies talking and not paying any attention to what’s going on around them. “I’m not leaving him,” I repeat and get one of his nods.
“I’m going to need another one of these if I have to last another couple of hours,” Ethan deadpans, rattling the ice in his now empty tumbler.
“Later, counselor. Try not to cause a stampede of single ladies.” Ethan walks away after giving me one of his slaying grins. I glance up and catch Calvin frowning, his lips tight. He doesn’t seem to find my humor amusing, or anything else for that matter. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that your face is going to freeze that way?”
“My mother was too concerned with getting wasted than what my face looked like.”
I’m speechless. It takes me an eternity to recover from that stunner. Mouth hanging open, words caught in my throat, all I manage is a feeble, “Cal…”
His troubled gray stare moves over my shoulder, his full lips pinch. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” He blows out a deep breath and rakes his fingers through his hair. My gaze remains on him, willing him to look at me––but he won’t.
“Let me get Sam.”
At the bouncy castle, Sam and Phoebe are getting out. His face is all sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead, his shirttails falling out of his pants. There’s a wild, excited look in his big eyes I haven’t seen before. “Let’s get you cleaned up before the service starts,” I say, taking his hand. Calvin follows us as we make our way through the crowd, toward the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, we take our seats as the wedding begins. It’s beautiful. The couple is surrounded by a passel of children, some from a prior marriage, some they share. They make quite the stunning pair. Both tall and fit. Him, dark and solemn. Her, pale and bubbly. Their love for each other and their kids permeates everything around them, extending over the crowd like a blanket of warm fuzzies that has me on the verge of shedding tears. The whole day has brought back memories and feelings I was doing a good job keeping at bay.
Calvin’s brooding silence continues throughout the service and dinner. Our table is mostly Titans players and their wives and girlfriends. He doesn’t socialize unless someone approaches him––even though he seems to know everybody. While he continues to ignore the world at large, I watch the bride and groom slow dance like no one else exists and it makes me sad as shit.
Phoebe comes to collect Sam shortly after the meal is over. He leaves Cal and me without a backward glance. Tempting as it is, I resists the urge to give him a standing ovation as I watch them walk away hand in hand. I guess he just needed the right person to come along and change his mind about keeping to himself.
I’m waiting in line at the dessert buffet, ready to drown my gloom in a triple scoop ice cream sunday, when someone taps me on the shoulder.
“How about a dance, darlin’?” Justin is standing behind me, uncharacteristically subdued and wearing a suit.
“What are you up to, Dimples?” I drawl suspiciously.
“Come on. You look like you could use a dance.” Before I can object he takes my hand and drags me onto the dance floor.
I’ve never been much of a dancer. Actually, I suck at it. But if I don’t distract myself at this point, my spirits will hit rock bottom very soon.
Justin clutches my hand like I’m his eighty year old grangran and places his other one respectfully high up my back. Then we proceed to do the white man shuffle, rocking back and forth from foot to foot.
Still sitting at our table, Calvin is staring out at some indefinable point in the distance that seems to have somehow offended him. By the look on his face, not getting his attention would be the best course of action. In this mood, he’s liable to do anything.
