She turns to the mirror. I watch her reflection as her eyes go bright and full and her smile grows impossibly big. Shakes her head slowly, like she can't believe this is her life, like she's looking at a stranger wearing her face.
"Okay," she whispers. "Okay. I'm good. I'm fine. Nobody look at me or I'll ruin everything."
But we can't stop. Erin moves first, stepping forward to adjust the veil, her fingers gentle and precise. I follow, kneeling to straighten the train, smoothing out the fabric so it falls perfectly. Poppy stands between us and reaches down and takes both our hands, one in each of hers. I hold on with everything I have.
"I love you," she says, her voice breaking. "Both of you. I love you and I need you to know that before I go out there and become someone's wife."
She takes a shaky breath. "You two are the reason I'm standing here and not hiding in a bathroom. You're my people. Whatever happens, wherever we go. You are my people. Always."
"You did hide in the bathroom a little," I remind her, because someone has to break the tension or we're all going to dissolve.
"Shut up." She's crying now, smiling and crying at the same time, but the mascara is holding because we planned for this. We planned for all of it. "I'm serious. Whatever happens. Wherever we go. Always."
Erin dabs at her eyes with a tissue. I wipe mine with the back of my hand, less graceful, more aggressive, because that's how I am feeling.
The three of us stand in a room that smells like flowersand hairspray and hold each other's hands and let the moment be as big as it is. Because it is big. It deserves the space.
Wherever we go.
Right now, in this room, with these women, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
38
CAL
I'm losing her in a garden full of people who have no idea.
The reception is loud and bright and everywhere around me, clinking glasses and music from the live band I'm half-listening to, some upbeat song that has couples spinning on the dance floor.
Ramsey has Poppy out there now, his hands on her waist, looking at her like she is his whole world. Everyone is watching them like they're the only two people who exist.
I'm watching Lily. She's across the room, near the makeshift bar, holding a glass of champagne she hasn't sipped from. Erin is beside her, saying something that makes her nod. She's smiling. Bright and wide and perfect, the kind of smile you wear when you're performing joy instead of feeling it.
She is so beautiful I have to look away in intervals. When she walked down the aisle this afternoon, holding flowers, her chin high and her eyes bright, I forgot how to breatheentirely. And then my brain did the cruelest thing, just for a second. It put her in white. Just long enough to destroy me.
I take a drink. It tastes like nothing. Everything has tasted like nothing for weeks.
The evening wears on. The toasts are done. Lily's speech was funny and warm and she made the whole room laugh, made Poppy cry, made everyone fall a little bit in love with her because that's what Lily does. I sat at the head table and watched her command the space like she'd been born for it.
Because she was. Lily was made for rooms full of people. Made to be seen, to be heard, to fill spaces with the energy she carries that makes everyone around her feel more alive. She was made for bigger rooms than this one.
I've known it since the first moment I saw her and understood, with a clarity that felt like a blade, that this woman was going to leave. That she was always going to leave. That Harbor Hill was a stop on her way to somewhere else, and I was just the man who happened to be standing there when she passed through.
I dance with Gran because she's Gran and because her hand on my arm is the kind of steady I need right now. I dance with Erin, who doesn't say anything, but squeezes my shoulder in a way that tells me she sees right through me. I dance with Poppy, briefly, and she leans close to my ear and whispers, "It doesn't have to be this way, honey," squeezing my hand once before spinning back to her husband.
I don't know what to say to that. So I say nothing. I go back to my corner and watch Lily across the room and pretend I'm fine.
Ramsey finds me a few minutes later.
"You good?" He hands me a fresh beer, his tie loose, his eyes bright from the happiest night of his life.
"I'm good," I say, which is a lie we both recognize immediately.
"You're not." He tips his beer toward the bar, toward Lily. "You've been standing in this corner for twenty minutes looking like someone stole your dog."
"My dog died, you evil fucker."
"Exactly my point." He takes a sip, watching me over the rim with patience. "You do know that's your girl over there, right?"
