Beyond the Point(46)
She still couldn’t believe one of her friends was married. Even the word sounded odd when it came out of her mouth. Marriage. Total commitment to one person, for the rest of your life, until you died or they did—whichever came sooner. It seemed like the worst possible contract you could ever sign. And Avery still couldn’t believe that Hannah and Tim had decided to do it. They were only twenty-two years old, and both facing long-term deployments. Avery couldn’t understand the rush.
But then again, Avery didn’t understand any of their relationship. The summer after their sophomore year of college, while Hannah and Dani attended Airborne School, Avery had stayed at West Point to complete Air Assault training. She’d been grateful to learn that Tim Nesmith was in her company, but for some reason, he’d avoided her all summer. And when she heard that he’d kissed another girl in their training class, Avery went ballistic.
“Is it true?” she’d snapped at him one night, pushing him hard with both of her hands. She had tracked him down in a small tunnel that ran underneath Washington Road. The Beat Navy tunnel featured placards from the years Army had defeated Navy in football, and was echoey, a place where people shouted and cheered for their team. It was odd to stand in that tunnel and remain so silent. Tim stepped away from her, and though she didn’t want to see his emotion, it was plastered all over his face: shame, fear, regret. The rims of his eyes turned red.
“It was a huge mistake,” he’d said. “I’m going to tell her, Avery. Please. Just let me tell her first.”
Avery had spent the better part of junior year telling Hannah not to take Tim back. Not after what he’d done. Not even after his apology. By the time they were Firsties, Dani had to stage an intervention of her own.
“You realize he’s going to propose, don’t you?” she’d said to Avery one night their senior year. It was after Tim’s accident. After his radical conversion and Hannah’s unconvincing speech to Avery that he’d changed. “You’ve got to forgive him, Avery,” Dani had told her. “He’s one of us now. He’s in the cult.”
After that, Avery had tried her best to swallow her pride. She’d even helped Dani coordinate Tim’s ridiculous proposal—Avery was the one who’d scattered rose petals across the floor of Cullum Hall. She’d lit the candles. She’d sketched the ring: a full-carat diamond, princess cut, perched on a delicate gold band—the style Hannah had let drop to her friends in casual conversation, knowing Tim would ask for their input.
In June, three hundred guests had gathered at Hannah’s grandfather’s ranch in Austin, Texas, under Chinese lanterns hanging from trees, cows lowing in the distance. A dance floor and a ten-piece band set up outside, under the stars, and played loud into the night for Hannah, Tim, and all of their friends. Instead of cake, they’d served ten different types of pie—Hannah’s grandmother had baked them all from scratch. Hannah wore a lace dress and her mother’s old veil, and when she’d walked down the grassy aisle between the guests, Tim had cried. Hell, everyone had cried. It was all so soul-crushingly meaningful.
“I don’t know if it’ll ever happen for me,” Avery had said to Dani, seated on the Speer’s porch swing.
“Of course it will.”
“Not like that,” Avery had retorted, pointing her beer toward the outdoor dance floor. Hannah and Tim were swaying in each other’s arms.
“Well of course not like that.”
“There won’t be pies,” said Avery.
“Tequila shots, maybe.”
“Yes.” Avery had pointed her beer at Dani. “Tequila shots and maybe a man dressed in an Elvis costume, officiating. And my mother, sobbing in the corner because she finally has proof that I’m not Catholic.”
“Just don’t make me wear yellow,” Dani had demanded. “On second thought, I’ll do the Elvis thing.”
They’d laughed their way back to the dance floor, arms wrapped around one another’s backs.
While the memory simmered in Avery’s mind, two eggs sizzled in a lightweight pan, whites oozing around the edges like spilled paint. As breakfast cooked, high-quality coffee beans filled Avery’s kitchen with the bittersweet smell of oak and butter. If she was honest, it was kind of nice to have a man upstairs, waiting on breakfast. It felt good to have a chance to share her house with someone other than the cast of Grey’s Anatomy on Thursday nights. She could get used to this new arrangement.
Just then, the dark-haired man from her bed snuck up behind her and cupped his hands over her hips. Turning, Avery admired Josh’s eyes, deep brown, like the earth. And his hands, so warm against her skin.
“I should go,” he said.
“What do you mean? I’m making breakfast.” She pointed at the eggs with her spatula.
He yawned and raised his arms up over his head, revealing a thick torso rippled with muscles.
“Stay,” Avery ordered, reaching for his pants seductively. “And that’s an order.”
The heel of his hand rubbed against one eye, as if he had a migraine. “Avery, I don’t get you. It’s yes, it’s no. It’s ‘Don’t drive to my house,’ then ‘Who cares about the neighbors.’ I never know which version of you I’m going to wake up with.”
He stared into Avery’s eyes so unflinchingly that she burst into a nervous laugh. “Come on, Josh,” she said. “You know we have to be careful. That’s not fair.”