She reached over and took one of his hands, and he squeezed her hand and held it for a full minute before he gently let it go. She felt herself glowing with joy. They were together. Maybe not forever, but for today. This felt like a date, only better. It felt like a date where they didn’t have to speak at all.
When they exited back into the upscale mall again, the sense of beauty and quiet lingered in the spaces between their words. She had taken a taxi to the exhibit while he ran errands for Paul all morning, but now he offered to drive her back to the hotel. His car was small and practical, a toddler’s car seat locked permanently into place.
She looked out the window, knowing that this time tomorrow she would be on a plane back home. The music on his car radio was a series of sad, lingering songs by singer-songwriters; it wasn’t at all the kind of music that Ren had listened to in college. Back then, he had been all about Serge Gainsbourg, Air, and Stereolab: elegant, hip music with a layer of emotional remove. Now his preference for heartfelt songwriters like Ray LaMontagne and Lord Huron felt startling.
Ren was sitting in his feelings, now. This was new.
An hour later, as she slipped into her wedding-day party dress alone in her hotel room, she took a moment to consider what her sense of connection with Ren really meant. He lived in Las Vegas and couldn’t move because of his son. Her work was in Toronto. But at least they were friends again. At least they could have that. The important thing was that she knew that he cared about her. She mattered to him.
Had he really believed that she would agree with his wife during his divorce? The idea nagged at her. She had always thought he knew her, could guess at her thoughts, but he had gotten that so wrong.
Las Vegas haddozens of wedding chapels, and Trish had selected one with a garden theme, filled with garlands of fake roses and a white arbor decorated with cloth lilies. Sarah couldn’t fault Trish’s taste; if you had to pick a Vegas chapel, this one was the closest you could get to an elegant countryside wedding with zero Elvis involved. If Trish was this laid-back, Sarah thought again, if she was relaxed enough to do a Vegas wedding, then maybe Trish and Paul had a chance to work out as a couple. Maybe Trish could scale her expectations down to what Newfoundland had to offer.
Trish appeared a few minutes later in a lovely white wedding dress that was silky and loose, minimalist to the point of being almost a slip-dress, her blond hair delicately pinned in a low bun. She looked radiantly gorgeous walking down the aisle, and in spite of herself, Sarah got emotional as she watched Paul’s expression melt at the sight of her.
This was love, Sarah thought. No need for anything fancy. Trish and Paul had learned to bend and adjust for each other. Maybe she could find someone who would do that for her, too.
Sarah tried not to make eye contact with Ren during the ceremony, but she caught him looking at her once, and he smiled before they both looked away. The event itself was over quickly; the chapel had another ceremony starting in a little over an hour. They all headed to the rented party room that Trish and Paul had reserved back at their hotel, the same hotel where Sarah was staying.
Ren caught up with her again and offered to drive her to the reception, and again she was happy to accept the ride; she wanted more time listening to sad music with him, regretting what they couldn’t have.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly when they were alone in his car. “That’s a great dress.”
“Thank you,” she replied, smoothing down the rich green fabric. “It’s a thrift store find. I know those are your favorites.”
“I always liked your clothes,” he said. “I liked that nobody but you would have them.” She looked away, unsure what to do with his compliments.
“Trish looked stunning.”
“She did,” he agreed. She watched his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. The old, restless energy was still there. Why was he nervous? It occurred to her that maybe Ren was wondering if they might sleep together tonight. Or was he worried that was what she wanted and he wasn’t sure how to tell her no?
They couldn’t have a relationship, she thought, but they could have a one-night stand. One night where they showed that they cared about each other, one night where they could touch each other the way she had wanted to touch him since forever. She could picture kissing his face, running her hands through his hair, laughing in bed together. That would still be meaningful even if nothing else followed, wouldn’t it?
Now that she was more experienced, she found that her feelings about casual sex had shifted dramatically. When she was twenty-one, hooking up with Ren would have been a devastating mistake, and she had been right to avoid it. But this felt different. They lived a thousand miles away. They couldn’t make commitments. They were just two friends seizing a little time together, exorcising the hurts of the past. She could hold him, kiss him over and over, and go home knowing that they had shared something special with each other. She thought about the redhead from the day before. If Ren could sleep with a stranger, surely he could sleep with Sarah. Surely Sarah would be judged worthy for one night of passion, especially if she was leaving the next day.
Sex could be healing. Ren had said it himself, all those years ago. Maybe he had been right.
The thought made her feel shy around him. It made her feel shy when they entered a small party room with a sparkling view of the Las Vegas sunset. It made her feel shy when he brought her a glass of champagne. All the single women’s eyes were on him, of course, and that made it feel even more strange that he was so focused on her. There were Trish’s actress and model friends, long-legged and artfully coiffed, but Ren didn’t leave her side.
The speeches came after the meal, fast and funny. Paul’s buddy Ian, who knew the bride and groom from a play they’d all been in, told amusingly pointed stories about meeting them both—stories that made Trish sound finicky and Paul sound prone to self-sabotage. Trish’s sister Eleanor spoke about how marvelous Paul was, gushing over him in a way that Sarah found wonderfully accurate. Then there was music from a DJ, and Sarah tried to focus on dancing with the whole crowd, scared to find out what it would be like to dance just with Ren. Finally, he came close to her, moving in that understated way that she had found sexy at Kristie’s parties back in undergrad, and it was almost too much.
A slow song came on, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He slipped his hands around her waist, his fingers warm, his breath against her shoulder. The music filled the air around them like a thick blanket. She rested against his shoulder and shook her head.
“What is it?” Ren asked in her ear.
“It’s just…” She hesitated. “Being around you again. It’s strange. It’s a nice strange.”
“It is,” he agreed, looking into her eyes. He really was looking at her like he was going to kiss her and she looked up at him until the tension grew almost unbearable.
The music grew faster then, and they slowly parted, returning to their chairs. He brought her a drink of water when she said she was worried about a hangover on her flight, and when he handed it to her, his fingertips touched hers like a promise.
It finally grew late, so she said goodnight to Paul and Trish, then told Ren that she was going to bed. Ren followed her out. If this raised any eyebrows, Sarah couldn’t find it within herself to care. Her heart was beating faster, her breath shallow.
They stood inside the hotel elevator in silence as it went down from the penthouse floor where they had held the small reception down to the floor where she was staying. Ren was parked in the basement somewhere, and she waited to see what he would do.
“Wait. What time are you leaving tomorrow?” Ren asked at last as the elevator arrived at her floor. He stepped out of the elevator and stood with her there.
“Noon tomorrow. I should probably leave for the airport around ten.”
