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“The Wedding Report.”
“Well, the only person I know getting married in town is…” Mildred stopped mid-sentence and turned to face Lance. “Lance Taylor.” Her eyes diverted between the two of them. She cleared her throat, taking up her notepad and pen in her hand once more. “What can I get you two?”
“I’ll have the cheeseburger and fries,” Chantelle said.
“I’ll have the same.” Lance sipped his glass of water.
“Coming right up. Good to see you, Chantelle.” Mildred took their menus and walked away.
“Awkward.” Lance rested his forearms on the table.
Chantelle didn’t blame Mildred’s response. The history between her and Lance? No secret. For those who knew, they sympathized with the young couple. Some even said they were two kids trying to right their wrongs.
Chantelle recalled her first Sunday in church after the... incident. Pastor Franklin and the community church had embraced her, sending her off to college with a care basket. Even some women in the women’s group sent cards and letters to encourage her.
As she sat across from Lance, who scrolled on his phone, she couldn’t help but remember their mistakes. Her parents had been right. What did they know about love back then? Her mouth twisted into a grin, recalling how Lance would sing to her what he called their song, “Young Love” by Chris Brown.
Chantelle had believed him. He had told her it was them against the world, but that was the calm before the storm. Life had trampled them as ruthlessly as the hoof of a horse trampled a rose.
She played with the bracelet on her wrist. “It doesn’t have to be.”
Lance raised his head from his phone. “So profiling your ex’s wedding doesn’t bother you?”
She licked her lips. “No.” Liar.
He gave a half smile. “I’m glad.” He ran a hand down his face. Setting his phone to the side, he focused on her. “So what’s up with you?”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “How’s Chicago? Any friends? How’s work outside of the story you’re writing about me?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “What do you want to know?”
“How come I haven’t talked to you in ten years?”
She sat back in her seat. “I would come home to visit family, Lance. You were off at school or traveling for work. It’s not as if I haven’t been here.”
“For ten years? Not one phone call.” He frowned.
“It’s not like I heard from you either.”
“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just as guilty.”
“What would we have said to each other, anyway? There was... nothing to talk about, I thought.”
He didn’t respond. Did he agree?
Moving on, Chantelle answered his question. “Work’s good though. I’ve come up as a reporter.”
Lance
took another sip from his chilled glass of water. “I see, but why weddings? I thought you’d be international by now, reporting on more... serious issues in the world or owning your own newspaper.”
He thought she was that good? If only her colleagues thought so. “I like weddings.” That would suffice for now.
Lance’s nose wrinkled. “That’s it?”
“I enjoy writing and I want more serious toned stories, but I enjoy showcasing true love. It inspires the readers. What about you? Still happy at your dad’s law firm?”
