Maybe This Time(32)

Everything was as easy as that for Andrew, I sensed. I leaned my head back against the mirror again, the light-headed sensation returning.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He removed the towel and pressed the gauze to my foot. Then he wrapped my entire foot three times with the tape and tore it with his teeth. He stood, brushing against my knees. He didn’t move, just remained standing there with his hands on either side of my thighs, and met my eyes.

I stared back, no words coming to me no matter how hard I searched for them. I willed my hands to move, to push him away from me, but they wouldn’t. They stayed there, braced on the counter, inches from his.

“Not even a thank-you?” he asked.

“Right … yes … thanks,” I said, not sure why I had such a hard time saying that to him, even when he deserved it.

“You’re welcome,” he said, still not moving. He was studying my face and I wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for there. His expression was unreadable. I tried to make mine equally so.

“You should go,” I was finally able to say. “Your dad informed me he doesn’t want me anywhere near his things.”

Andrew frowned. “What?”

“I think he mainly meant you.”

“He didn’t say that,” Andrew said.

“No, he did.”

“I think, Soph, that you hear only what you want to hear.”

“I think, Drew, that you see only what you want to see. Especially when it comes to your father.”

He clenched and unclenched his jaw, then handed me the bloody towel and left the bathroom.





Say that again,” Micah said, popping open her trunk. “You need my organizational skills to save you?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure you keeping a pair of my shoes in your trunk can be considered organized. Maybe just obsessive. How long have you had them in here anyway? What shoes are they?”

There was no way I could navigate cleaning up the reception area barefoot or in heels, not with all the glass still littering the pavement. But Micah was coming through for me once again.

She reached around her just-in-case to a shoebox toward the back. “No, they aren’t your shoes. They’re shoes I bought for myself but they ended up being too big on me, so I figured I’d save them for you for a moment like this.”

“Because moments like this happen often?”

“It’s happening, isn’t it? How about just praising me for my foresight.”

I hugged her. “Thank you, Micah, for being my overly prepared best friend in the whole world.”

She smiled and handed me the box. “You’re welcome.” She picked up a folded T-shirt. “And put this on too.”

My clothes were still wet and it would be nice to feel dry. We were going to be here at least another hour, if not longer, with the disaster that awaited us. I took the T-shirt and opened the shoebox. “Cowboy boots? So this is why you didn’t just gift them to me in the first place. You knew I’d never wear these.”

She smiled. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Now swallow that pride of yours and go change so that we can actually go home at some point tonight.”

She always knew the exact words to say. Pride. That word got to me every time. I limped my way to the passenger seat of her car, changed my shirt, and pulled on the boots. The rearview mirror proved I’d seen better days. I finger combed my hair and worked off the smudged mascara beneath my eyes. Then I joined everyone back at the slate-paved reception area. At least it had stopped raining.

“Cute!” Micah said from where she was collecting abandoned dishes from the tables.

I pointed one finger at Andrew, who had looked up with Micah’s declaration. “Don’t,” I said.

“What?” he returned. “I didn’t say a word.”

“Your face said it.” My foot still hurt, but at least it was protected. I limped around for the next hour, mostly collecting marbles and vowing to never use them in vases again if I could help it.

My back hurt from bending over. I stood and stretched, taking in what we had left to do.

Micah was standing by what remained of the destroyed wedding cake. “Your dad didn’t make this, did he, Andrew?”

Andrew dropped a tablecloth onto the pile we’d created. “No. He doesn’t do wedding cakes. I think this was made by a local bakery.”

Micah nodded. Andrew picked up a chunk of cake and popped it in his mouth only to make a disgusted face.

“What?” I said. “Rainwater isn’t a good additive?”

“Why didn’t you guys use tents today?” Andrew asked. “There was a thirty percent chance of rain.” His tone made it sound like he thought we were idiots, which was surely what he did think.

“Because the bride wanted to avoid tents at all costs. She hates the way they look,” I said.

“Oh right, I forgot. The client always knows best.”

“It mostly worked out,” Micah said. “It was a beautiful wedding.”

“It was a five out of ten,” Andrew said. “I’ve been to a lot of weddings. This was average.”

Micah picked up a big chunk of cake and threw it at him. It hit him right on the side of the face, then slid off and landed with a wet splat on the ground.