His posture relaxes the tiniest bit. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
Shaky legs carry me to the dance floor, something like hope hovering in my midsection. Asher and Gabe’s first dance is to “You Are the Best Thing,” which I give a solid seven out of ten for first-dance songs. Sappy, sure, but also kind of perfect.
The next song is customarily the father-of-the-bride dance, but they buck tradition and invite my mom and Gabe’s grandparents to join in, switching partners throughout.
Then Asher nearly clobbers me in an attempt to drag me onto the dance floor. I let her take my hand in hers, resting my other one on her waist, careful with her lace bodice.
“Dress looks decent,” I say as we sway back and forth.
“You little loser.” With ease, she spins me around, and when we’re facing each other again, she lifts an eyebrow at me. “So, that toast…”
I scrunch my face at her. “Was one-hundred-percent about you and Gabe.”
“Right. I could tell, what with our deep personal attachment to Sleepless in Seattle and all.” She scans the area beyond the dance floor, and I’m pretty sure she’s looking for Tarek. “It was really brave, what you did.”
“I’m still not sure if it worked.”
“Not just the toast,” she says. “Everything. This whole summer, Mom and Dad, B+B. Your lever harp.”
“Not mine yet,” I correct her. Because god, they’re expensive. “It’s just a loan. But maybe one day.”
“Whatever you end up doing, I have a feeling you’re going to be fantastic at it.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep the emotion from leaking out. “Ugh, stop, I made a vow I wouldn’t ever cry at a wedding. But I guess this is my last one. For a while, at least.”
She goes quiet for a few moments. “A good one to go out on, I hope?”
I scoff at that, because how could there be any other answer? “The best.” Another spin, and then I’m back in her arms. “Was it everything you wanted?”
“Was? It’s still going on. I’m not leaving until they kick me out,” she says. “There’s considerably less Chris Evans than I thought there would be, but it’s been incredible. I didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to everyone or to eat everything I wanted to, but Mom and Dad made it so I didn’t have to worry about any of the logistics today. I could just… get married. And enjoy it.”
“I’m so, so glad,” I say, meaning it.
I tuck a loose strand of hair back into her updo, and she gives me a grateful smile.
“So. After all of that, am I going to get a Tarek update? I’ll beg if I have to.”
“There isn’t really an update to give,” I say. “At least, not yet. I asked him if he’d meet me in the gazebo so we could talk. That was about twenty minutes ago, and I asked him to meet me in twenty minutes, so—”
She lets out a yelp and nearly drops me. “And you’re still dancing with me? Go! Go climb that Empire State Building!” Then she wrinkles her nose. “Wait. Is Tarek the Empire State Building in this metaphor? Did I just tell you to go do something dirty?”
“Oh my god. I’m leaving.” I pull her close, inhaling that familiar Kirschbaum shampoo I’ve come to associate with the people I love most. “Mazel tov, you old married lady.”
31
I make my way deep into the garden, until I can barely hear the music. There’s more green, more sprawling trees and mystery flowers, and I’m surprised to discover that Tarek beat me here. I must not have noticed when he sneaked away.
He’s waiting in the gazebo, sitting with his elbows on his knees, wringing his hands, the opposite of Casual Dude Pose. I haven’t seen this nervous look on him very much, and when it hits me that he’s nervous because of me, I quicken my pace. I want to leave all my fears and uncertainties behind, but I’m sure I take a few with me.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” I say, folding the skirt of my dress beneath me and sliding onto the wooden bench next to him.
“That sounds like you’re interviewing me for a job.”
“I could. Personal chef?”
This earns me a laugh, and I want to pluck the sound from the air and tuck it next to my heart. It’s only been a couple weeks since I heard it, but it feels almost like the beginning of the summer again, like I am relearning this person who disappeared for eight months.
He toes the ground with his sensible black shoe. After a silence, he lifts his head. Those long lashes—it takes all my willpower not to reach out and touch him. “So… how are you doing?” he asks.
“I’ve been better,” I admit. “You?”
“About the same.”
I’m still not sure how to bring up what I asked him here to talk about, the thing that’s surely on both our minds, so I start with something easier. “I changed my course schedule,” I say. “I kept one of the business classes, but I’m also taking a music theory class, a gender studies class, and something about the history of theme parks.” What I don’t say: that he was the first person I wanted to tell. That not being able to has been torture. That the freedom is terrifying, yes, but mostly exciting.
“Maybe you’ll discover a hidden talent as a roller-coaster architect.”
“I’m open to it.” A deep breath, a smoothing of my hands on the flowy skirt, and a summoning of courage. The antianxiety trifecta. “This isn’t exactly easy for me to say, which may sound strange after the wedding toast, but… there it
