All I have to do is avoid silences. Any time there’s a break in our conversation, I become hyperaware of his hand on my waist, the warmth of his skin through the fabric of this horrible green dress.
“They’re a sweet couple,” he says, nodding toward where the grooms are clutching each other, softly swaying. “Did you see Graham’s face when he noticed Josh had taped a note to the bottom of his shoe? Wasn’t that incredible?”
I did in fact see it, and I did not have the same reaction. “Oh no. Are we starting this back up again?” If we can laugh about it, maybe that means we’re past what happened last year. Maybe we’re back to bickering, which has always been so much easier.
“We have to,” he says. “It’s the only way for me to prove you’re wrong.”
I blink up at him, trying to seem as innocent as possible. “So college didn’t change you at all. You’re still the sappiest person I know.”
His mouth twitches, his eyes bright. This. This is the Tarek I recognize. “While I don’t take offense at the word ‘sappy,’ I prefer a word like… sentimental. Dare I say… romantic.” He says it with an overly cartoonish lift of his eyebrows, knowing how much I hate it.
“Having strangers in your wedding photos is extremely romantic. Can’t argue with you there.”
“It’s not about the photos,” he says. “It’s about—okay, you see everyone here? They all came because they wanted to celebrate Josh and Graham.”
“Or they wanted the free food.”
“Such a cynic.”
“Thank you.”
“It breaks my heart, honestly, all the great things you can’t appreciate. I still can’t understand how you don’t think the ending of Sleepless in Seattle is romantic,” he says, resurrecting one of our old arguments.
Tarek used to beg me to watch his favorite movies, all romantic comedies, and I’d come back the next weekend with a scathing review. He’d just shake his head, and that was part of the fun too: how cute he looked when he was defending these things he loved. I never told him I thought I might like one of his movies if he’d watch it next to me, if we held hands, if I could rest my head on his shoulder.
“Because Meg Ryan is a stalker!” I say, a little too loudly, given the heads that swivel toward us. “And she breaks up with her fiancé because he has allergies! That movie is a blight on the city of Seattle.”
“It wasn’t stalking. It was destiny,” he says. “And she and Walter weren’t right for each other. She was only going along with what she was expected to do, and he was the kind of person she was expected to be with. She even says at the end of the movie that she doesn’t deserve him.”
“I agree, she doesn’t!”
“Because she and Tom Hanks are meant to be!” Tarek’s laughing now. He loves this bickering as much as I do. Or he used to, at least, and the way he leans forward, using my shoulder to muffle his laughter, indicates he probably still does. Maybe we really can slip back into our old friendship. I can feel the soft drumbeat vibrations of his laugh against the strap of my dress, a couple inches above my heart.
Tarek lifts his head from my shoulder as we move apart to clap for the band, and when they start their next song, something that doesn’t sound familiar to me, he says, “I love this song,” and reaches for me again.
“What is this?”
“Cat Power,” he says, taking a break from mouthing the words. “ ‘The Greatest.’ This is good, but the original is better.”
“I know Cat Power,” I say, annoyed he recognized it and I didn’t. “Just not this one. Most people go with ‘Sea of Love.’ ” I give him my hand, slide my other up to his shoulder. He’s much less stiff, but truthfully, he is a terrible dancer. “It’s a shame your dancing hasn’t improved.”
“Then I guess it’s up to you to make us look good.” A questionable perk of working in the wedding industry—I could waltz with my eyes closed.
“Oh, I’ve been trying for the past fifteen minutes.”
Another rumble of a laugh, and then we both go quiet again, and I try not to think about my family or college or how he smells like sugar or how, even with the sun on the verge of setting, his body heat is more than enough to keep me warm.
“You look nice, by the way.” His mouth is close to my ear, as though, even with the noise all around us, he only wants me to hear. “Not sure if I mentioned that.”
He definitely did not. My lizard brain would remember. He says this as a little aside, a parenthetical. By the way. Like he didn’t spend countless minutes analyzing it beforehand. God, that new college confidence. Even if it was “overwhelming,” it really did change him.
“I wish I could say the same about you,” I say, reaching down to his tie and smoothing out a wrinkle, intensely aware that mere millimeters separate my hand from his chest. “Chartreuse isn’t your color, I’m afraid.”
“Somehow I’ll live.” He straightens, putting more space between his lips and my ear. “Some of the waiters and I were going to hang out after this. Do you… want to come? Since we’re friends again and all?”
“Yeah,” I find myself saying. “Okay. That could be fun.”
The bandleader takes the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’d please clear the dance floor, it’s time for the bouquet toss.”
Tarek’s hand drops from my waist, leaving a phantom pressure behind.
9
It’s almost midnight, and my parents took the MTRMNY-mobile home hours ago. I changed out of the bridesmaid dress Josh insisted I keep and lingered in the kitchen, offering help where I could, though Tarek’s parents assured me they had it
