“You don’t seem fine. Are you upset because today will officially prove that Jason loves Cristina more than you?”
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he nudges at my chin with the tip of his nose. “Who told you?”
“Lucky guess,” I answer.
We sink deeper into the chair and he brushes the front strands of my hair off my face as he kisses me. Despite his gentleness, he still seems somehow absent.
“Are you sure you’re...” He cuts me off with a searing kiss and I’m lulled into a state where I forget my worries. Right now, in my head and my heart, nothing exists outside of us.
17
Cristina and Jason’s wedding is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. The venue, Manhattan Penthouse on Fifth, seems perched above the world, with the arched windows revealing jaw-dropping views of the Freedom Tower to the south and the Empire State Building to the north. Flowers and candles are everywhere, mixing seamlessly with the elegant but modern decor.
The ceremony drifts by, smooth as a dream as Cristina floats down the aisle to Canon in D, played live on a solo acoustic guitar. Jason has noticeable tears in his eyes as he watches her walk towards him, and I can only thank the Lord that I wrapped tissues around the base of my bouquet because I needed every single one plus twenty-five more.
They recite traditional vows and I try not to melt as Ryan steals looks at me as they speak them. I can’t stop from thinking that maybe, one day, this could be us—that we could have this.
After the ceremony, we take pictures in the street, working through the cocktail hour. We pose in every scenario humanly possible and then some. Ryan and I are never paired together since I’m matched up with the best man, Jason’s balding but very nice older brother. At one point I stand next to Ryan for a group shot and he holds my hand behind our backs, leaving me feeling as nauseously excited as I did the first time a boy held my hand in a movie theater when I was thirteen.
Cristina and Jason are now having their first dance as all two hundred and eighty guests circle the dance floor, smiling and catching the eyes of their dates—enjoying watching how in love they are.
I’m about to go on the hunt for more tissues when I feel a familiar hand on the small of my back.
“What’s the verdict, Sullivan? You think they’ll make it?” Ryan’s breath is warm on my ear as he leans in close. He smells like shaving cream, whiskey and home.
I keep watching Jason and Cristina and breathe in deep. “Of course they’ll make it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Their romantic song reaches its final notes and the fifteen-piece band slides right into another romantic slow number. One of the singers invites all couples onto the dance floor and Ryan silently slips his fingers through mine, pulling us into the mix. I link my arms around his broad shoulders as he holds my hand and waist. We leave zero room for the Holy Spirit as we both instinctually step closer, swaying and spinning to the soft melody.
“I’m just sure,” I say. “Jason and Cristina both know what they want and they know who they are.”
“That must be nice.”
“What makes you say that? You don’t know who you are?”
“I used to think I did. I was positive I was exactly who I was supposed to be.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“And then, you.” Ryan gives me a twirl and I try to channel my inner Ginger Rogers as he pulls me back in. I probably look closer to Big Foot. “When I went out with the guys the day we got our tuxes, Jason and Beau told me I was different. They said they had forgotten I was funny.”
“Ouch.”
“Honestly, I wasn’t even offended because they were right. After we broke up, I think I went into a kind of survival mode. I’d go through the motions with everything, but nothing felt as good as it should. And now I don’t know if I’m going back to who I used to be or if I’m changing into someone different.”
“Maybe you’re just acting like who you really are.”
“And maybe that only happens when I’m with you.”
The music fades out, the song ending. I can tell Ryan wants to kiss me as bad as I want to kiss him, but we both hold back. There are too many eyes around us, and too many questions would follow. Instead we stand there, in the middle of the crowded dance floor, grinning and looking at each other with an intimacy that only we can see.
The band whips into a lively salsa song next, and Ryan takes my hand, leading me back towards the tables.
“I’m going to head for the bar. You want a champagne or are you trying to get wild with a bay breeze?”
“Let’s just go full throttle and start with a bay breeze. You only live once.”
“I like where your head’s at, Sullivan. I’ll be right back.”
I sit down at our assigned table and take a much-needed sip of water. Looking at the delicate calligraphy on the place card in front of me, I chuckle when I see that Cristina once again seated me next to Ryan. Good thing we’re at the point we are in our relationship. If we weren’t, we’d probably be royally peeved with the arranged marriage my best friend is trying to force us into.
I’m just beginning to scan the menu tucked into my napkin when a woman I don’t recognize approaches our table, scrunching down a bit to check the place cards. She looks like a beautiful Southern belle with a bright floral dress and voluminous red-blond hair styled flawlessly over her left shoulder. Her makeup is YouTube tutorial caliber, and I mean that as in she makes the tutorials, not watches them. Something about her looks
