Once and for All(82)

“Napkins,” he repeated. “Right. Only about forty.”

“Big ones?”

“Very small. Like cocktail size.” I sighed, then reached out, collecting seven packs of twenty large ones and tossing them in the basket I was holding. “Do we need that many, really? Only thirty people are coming.”

“People are messy and like multiple napkins and they’re a buck each, Roger,” I said.

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hand. “I would never ask you to carry the same plate around for three hours.”

“Thank goodness,” I replied. “If you did, we’d no longer be friends for sure.”

I moved down the aisle, checking out some white crepe paper rolls that were on special for a quarter each. A year or so ago, we’d done some table décor with tulle that could probably be recreated, and it was better than just plain cloths.

“So you’re saying we’re friends.”

I turned back to him. “Aren’t we?”

“Well, I was in from the start,” he replied. “But you . . . you’re a harder nut to crack.”

“Now I’m a nut?”

“I’m just saying . . . I’m glad to hear it. That’s all.” He smiled. “You know, you’re not the easiest person to win over.”

“I didn’t realize you were trying to,” I replied, trying to make a joke.

“From the start,” he repeated, not kidding at all.

And just like that, it was back between us, whatever it was, rising up again. I could see it in the seriousness of his face, hear it in the quiet of his voice, the inhale he’d just taken as if he was about to speak. I realized I was scared of what might happen next, that whatever words he chose to say next would be too much for me, but at the same time I was desperate to hear them. What a weird push and pull in this world, at that moment. And yet, I would have stayed there, on the edge, forever.

But then his phone rang, loud between us, and he didn’t say anything. At least to me.

“Hello?” he answered, then listened a second. “Non-alcoholic beer? No. That is not what I ordered. I’m saying tell them that!” A pause. “Fine. I’ll be home in a minute.”

He hung up, looking stressed, then glanced at me again. “We should go,” he said. “The crises keep multiplying.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” I told him.

Moment passed. I was safe, I told myself. But why was I also sad?

He started down the aisle then, toward the register, and I followed, dropping a few rolls of the crepe paper in the basket as I went. Even as we paid and left, though, heading back to the chaos, I kept thinking back to that moment on the edge of what had been and what could be. When the world had opened up, unfolding a potential that both dazzled and terrified me.




“Wow,” Jilly whispered to me, as we stood together at the back of the crowd. “Those tablecloths look great with the crepe paper. Did you do that?”

I glanced over at the nearest table, lined with two mason jars of sunflowers and a blue glass votive, the candle flickering warmly inside. “I helped. But this was really Ambrose’s thing.”

“Impressive,” she said. “The student becomes the master.”

“What?”

“It’s a martial arts movie thing,” she explained, smiling at Michael Salem, who was standing beside her in a button down and shorts, holding her hand. “His favorite.”

To this, I only nodded, as the groom and Andrew, his friend who was officiating, took their places under the big tree at the end of our makeshift aisle. Roger was in a suit that looked like it was hot and uncomfortable—I hadn’t made it to the wish wall yet, but if I had, I would have considered, for him, breathable fabric—Andrew in khaki pants, sandals, and a flowing white shirt. Off to the side, in William’s typical spot, was Ambrose, who then signaled to Leo to start the music. When he caught my eye, I looked away.

I was still processing what had happened—or not—at the dollar store. We hadn’t talked again, as the entire ride home Ambrose had been putting out fires involving both the beer snafu and a blown breaker due to Leo’s guitar amp. Then, as soon as we’d arrived, Lauren was waiting in the driveway, arms crossed, clearly unhappy and ready for A Discussion. I’d slipped inside to help with the keg and everything else, but had to assume whatever had followed had not gone well, as I’d gotten a text from him soon after that said only: CONGRATS. YOU WIN.

Now, as the song on Leo’s phone, attached to a speaker, began, everyone turned to the porch, where Maya stood with her mom. She was a gorgeous bride, in a plain white sheath and her grandmother’s gold cross on a thin necklace, her something old and borrowed. The new was her flower crown, made herself. The blue, the beads on her white sandals, was visible with each step she took as she started down the stairs.

She smiled at me as she passed, and I nodded, then bent down to adjust a bit of her hem that was doubled over, catching on the grass. A tiny detail, but one people would notice. And if you could fix something, why wouldn’t you?

“I still feel weird we’re here,” Jilly said in my ear as Maya and Roger turned to face each other. “We don’t even know these people.”

“You saved everyone from eating nothing but pizza,” I told her again. “You’ve earned an invite.”