When Darkness Falls(12)
Tears filled Haley’s eyes. “Me, too. A couple of my friends did the big wedding thing, and they said it was so hectic and there was so much to do, they barely remember it despite the wedding albums and videos.”
“So what would you rather do?”
Haley fiddled with her teaspoon. When she’d lived with Brian, after a couple years, she’d pushed him to get married, and she’d wanted the fancy dress and flowers and a big shower at a restaurant like her cousins had when she was little. It seemed ironic how much she wanted it, given that, in retrospect, she realized she hadn’t been happy. Everything had been about Brian. Brian’s career, Brian’s friends, whether Brian wanted sex and when. After making love with Devon, she couldn’t imagine having married Brian and never knowing how amazing that could be.
“If we had a big house, I’d say have the ceremony at the church and invite people over afterward to celebrate,” she said.
“Al’s house is pretty big.”
“We couldn’t ask him to do that.”
Devon squeezed her hand. “Sure we could. He’d be thrilled. Or we could elope.”
“Sometimes I’d like to. Five months seems so far away, and sometimes I get this feeling like everything’s going to fall apart,” Haley said.
“Everything? Like us?”
“No. I don’t know.” Haley looked down at her hands. Half her cuticles were lined with dried blood. She must have pulled at hangnails during dinner without realizing it. She put her hands under the table. “Maybe because I’m in between, you know? Not really settling into my apartment because I won’t be there long, but I don’t belong in your place yet. Not sure what I want to do with music or for a career. Part of me is afraid that’s how it’ll always be. So when my mother points out all the things she thinks are wrong, I get this feeling like something will happen between now and the wedding to ruin it all. Sounds crazy, huh?”
Devon pressed his hand against her cheek. It felt cool against her feverish skin.
“You’ve had a lot of changes in the last year. Too many. But you belong wherever you want to be, and wherever I am. If you’ll feel better, let’s get married next month instead of waiting. Or next week. Or tomorrow.”
Haley leaned forward. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Mind? I want our life together to start this second. You know that.”
She leaned across the table and kissed him.
“How about the next date the church has open?” she said.
? ? ?
As he listened to yet another voicemail from Lydia, Devon’s stomach churned. She’d called before and after the holiday, and he’d sent a text saying how crazy things were, and he’d give her a ring soon, and then he’d completely forgotten to call her back. All right, not forgotten. He’d avoided calling back.
He sat on the sofa, a bottle of Goose Island ale on the trunk in front of him. He punched in the first two numbers, but disconnected before the call went through. He needed to plan what to say. Why talking to her should make his insides turn to water, he didn’t know. He’d never promised her anything. It was, like Haley’s fears about the wedding, seemingly baseless but frightening all the same.
But he couldn’t ignore her. They’d been friends for too long. Lydia’s father and his had been drinking buddies back when Devon’s father owned The Underground with Al. Throughout grade school, Lydia and Devon played jacks (or cards or penny hockey) every day after school in the bar’s back room. Al looked in on them occasionally, and their fathers made the rounds of local pubs. Lydia’s mother had left years before, when Lydia was still a baby. Devon’s mother worked as an office clerk a few blocks away and collected them both at 5:30. When they got older, Devon started hanging around The Underground in the evening, too, watching the performers, and bothering anyone he could find during the afternoons to play guitar with him. Lydia went another direction, first emulating her father’s drinking, and later branching into other substances. After that, Devon saw less and less of her, but they were still friends. When she graduated high school two years after him, he attended the ceremony. Throughout his first few years at University of Illinois, Chicago, she’d come to see him play at least once a month or so.
Three years after high school, Lydia moved to L.A. To get away from her father, she said. Devon wondered, with her father out of her day-to-day life, who she’d blame if anything went wrong. But California life seemed to suit her better. At least, she’d seemed happier when he’d visited her there in the fall.
He regretted the visit now. Not the whole visit, but the last night. He’d told Lydia he didn’t care for her that way, he didn’t think he could really love anyone, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Briefly, when they’d become teenagers, he’d pursued her, and she’d told him she had plenty of guys who wanted to screw her but no one but him who wanted to be her friend and couldn’t they keep it that way. When he reminded her of that, she said there was no reason they couldn’t have both and, anyway, it was just once, and there would be no strings. No harm.
He’d like to believe he’d at least hesitated, but he couldn’t remember, and he didn’t think he’d taken much persuading. The sex had been wild, exciting, but he knew that rather than remembered it. It was a blur in his mind, and then a blank. He didn’t like to think about it. He’d never had blackouts before. He didn’t think he’d drunk that much, which scared him more. Blackouts were a sign of alcoholism. And worse. Like father, like son. He’d been more careful about his drinking since.