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He rolled his eyes skyward for guidance. “Be your second witness, dummy.”
“No need to call names,” I said. “You’ll do it though? Really?”
“Under one condition.”
I braced myself. “What is it?”
“Tell me the truth, no bullshit.” He met my eyes. “Are you marrying him because you love him, truly? Or are you doing it for some other reason?”
He held my gaze as a blush crept up my neck and spread throughout my face. My watch beeped frantically, and I took a deep breath. No number or depth of breaths could stop my heart’s crazy, erratic pounding.
I’m doing it to forget,I wanted to say. I remember everything about us, when there was a possibility that we could be something great together. Every laugh, every hug, every touch. I play it over and over in my mind to see if I could’ve predicted it. To see if I could lessen the blow.
I felt like we could’ve had a shot at love. Did you feel it, too?
It was on the tip of my tongue. I knew that if I said yes, that I was doing it for some other reason and not love, Andrew would stop me from making a mistake.
But I had to marry Michael. He was already so ingrained in my family. And Andrew would never love me like I loved him.
Instead, I said, “Of course I’m doing it because I love him.” It was my turn to fiddle with the sleeve of my coffee. “I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
Maybe I imagined it, but a little more of the fire went out of his eyes as he sighed. He pasted on his awkward kid smile, and my watch beeped again.
“Well,” he said. “Good. Then I’ll do it.”
My heart broke a little more. He didn’t realize it, and I didn’t want to admit it, but I was hoping he would give me a reason not to marry Michael. I wanted him to give me the only reason that counted: because he couldn’t stand to see me be with someone else. Because he, Andrew Parker, loved me too.
* * *
Michael insisted that we dress up for the courthouse wedding.
For once, Cat agreed with him. “This is supposed to be a momentous occasion,” she said. Her voice fell a little flat. “Emphasis on ‘supposed to.’”
I caught her eyes in the mirror as she applied gel to my curls. “Cat. I need you to be my support today.”
She stopped doing my hair and turned me around. When I looked at her, she smiled a sad smile identical to Andrew’s. “You know I just want you to be with someone who makes you happy,” she said. “Whether it’s Andrew, or Michael, or some complete rando, as long as you can look at this part of your life and be content with your choice, I will support you. Can you say that you will be content with your decision to marry Michael?”
I thought back to the last two years with Michael. Between the play pillow fights, and the dinners he made, and all the romantic gestures in between, I knew in that moment that I would live quite the content life with Michael.
But the fabric of my life had been gathering wrinkles and small rips, sullying the perfection that was my future. While some of those rips were caused by my time with the Leroys—when you tour with a band, even for a little while, what life is there afterward?—most of those wrinkles held a particular essence. An essence of cherry-wood-colored eyes and bonfire smoke.
Tell the truth, no bullshit, he had said. Do you love him?
If only I could tell him the truth,I thought. But we can never go back. It’ll always be different.
And he’ll never love me the way I need to be loved. He doesn’t believe in love that lasts forever; he told me himself. And I can’t abide by that.
I met Catalina’s grave look with a cheerful look of my own. “Yes. I am content. For all of his flaws, and all of my history with men, Michael is the love of my life. And I can’t wait to be his wife.”
Cat’s gaze fastened on my hair as she went back to fixing it. “I sure hope so.”
When she finally finished with me, I felt way too luxurious to be the bride at a courthouse wedding. My hair fell gently to my shoulders in looser, elongated curls. Somehow, Cat had found a non-wedding white dress that was actually my size—a feat in and of itself. The dress hugged my curves and fell just below my knees. Pearls sat primly on my collarbone, matching the pearl drop earrings Catalina let me borrow. My mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick were perfect; my dress was regal. Yet and still, it felt like all for naught; it covered the body of a fraud. It was the costume of someone who just wasn’t willing to admit that marrying to gain a parent’s love and approval, or to fulfill some misguided fantasy, or to outrun feelings for someone who would not return them, was not the right reason to get married.
“Despite what your mom thinks, this is a big day,” Cat sniffed. “This is the day you legally become Mrs. Alicia Smith. You have to look like a boss-ass bitch. I won’t have my bestie looking busted out in these streets.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “All right then,” I said. “Time to go.”
We arrived at the courthouse exactly at 1:30 p.m., thirty minutes before Michael and I agreed to meet. As Cat and I walked up the steps, I could feel my feet getting heavier and heavier. Soon, I was wading through molasses with nothing but tunnel vision—which was getting rapidly narrower.
