Do You Take This Man (90)
“Yeah, but Aunt Bette was nice and sweet. RJ is like trying to date a python. I’m not going to marry her.”
“Course you’re not. You let her walk away.”
“I—”
He held up a hand, and I stopped short. “I’m not telling you what to do. You know what’s in your heart. If she’s treating you bad, if it’s just not right, much better to get out. Maybe she doesn’t want ya, or maybe she’s scared of something. All I’m sayin’ is if you can’t get someone out of your head, maybe you gotta get your head outta your own backside and think about why it is you can’t stop thinkin’ about them in the first place.” His words hung in the air until he pointed at the piece in front of me, and I handed it over.
I thought about those moments where I got to see her—when she rubbed aloe on my back or let me hold her close while she talked about work. I thought about her searching my ex’s social media to give me peace of mind. I thought about what I knew about emotional baggage and the temptation of putting up walls. “So, your advice is to get my head out of my ass?”
“I think I said it a li’l better than that, but yes.”
I glanced at my phone buzzing a few feet away.
Penny: RJ quit. This Saturday is her last wedding with us.
Chapter 47
RJ
MY LAST CEREMONY was unlikely to garner much media attention. I was back at the Outer Banks, but this time it was for a small wedding on the beach. No celebrities, no oil magnates, just two besotted accountants who loved nineties R & B. They’d forgone a rehearsal, so everyone milled about in their formal wear, ready to begin, and I inhaled the ocean air. My last wedding.
I read the group text again as Penny finished talking to someone.
Britta: Did you chicken out?
Kat: Did you talk to him yet?
Del: Did you know the phrase ‘chicken out’ gained popularity in the forties, but chicken has meant cowardly since the 14th or 15th century?
Del: And RJ definitely chickened out.
RJ: The 14th or 15th century, huh?
Penny stepped toward me with her arms out.
“Motherhood looks good on you,” I said when we broke the hug.
“You mean I look tired and frazzled and like a human the size of a Chihuahua controls my life?”
“Exactly.” She looked happy, though, and I returned her smile. I’d even mostly forgiven her for hiring Lear and then making me work with him and fall in love with the jackass.
Rowan and Jordan stood with an older couple, one of their parents, presumably, and a small crowd gathered near the altar. I subtly looked around for Lear, unsure if I wanted my eyes to trip on his familiar height or the shape of his shoulders under a lightweight shirt.
I didn’t see him, though, and returned my attention to Penny. “What’s the plan?”
“Lear will get them lined up once the guests arrive, and then it’s your show.”
His name made my pulse speed, because I still didn’t know what I was going to say. I simply nodded in response to Penny, and she gave me a few more notes, reminding me of the couple’s pronouns, that there was a small tweak to the sound system from what we’d discussed, but I was only half concentrating, because over her shoulders, I saw him approach the couple with a smile. His hair was a little long, but he looked good. He looked happy and relaxed, and my stomach dipped at the realization that maybe he’d already let this thing between us go.
“Their parents decided on a reading, and I emailed you a copy. The friend who is singing ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ decided to save it for the reception, and we did a sound check earlier,” Penny continued, and I returned my full attention to her.
“I like that song.” I remembered dancing with the kid Lear sent over, the little groper who I was fairly certain would never do that again. My neck heated, and over her shoulder I saw Lear’s gaze trained on us. Our eyes met for a moment, but he looked away.
“Me, too,” Penny said. “You ready?”
I nodded and shook away the prickling sensation at seeing Lear, at remembering so many moments with him. The couple were all smiles, and we started the processional, but I couldn’t help but feel more than I wanted to, knowing Lear was nearby.
When the processional was almost done, the small number of attendants flanking the altar, Jordan made his way down with his parents, and two little kids took tentative steps down the sandy aisle, one holding the rings and the other tossing red rose petals on the sand. Both were kind of dancing, the petals making uneven piles on the ground, and the ring bearer started swinging the pillow from side to side. Everyone’s smiles grew by thirty percent when cute kids made their way into a wedding, and this was no exception. Even I smiled and, on instinct, looked for Lear at the back of the crowd before remembering we weren’t friends anymore, not friends or whatever we’d been before. He wasn’t looking at me, though. His eyes had widened on the kids.
Sure enough, when I glanced back, it was in time with a collective gasp from the crowd. Both kids had frozen and the little pillow was on the ground, no rings in sight. Though I didn’t see it happening, I envisioned a dancing kid and no one paying attention to where the rings flew. The processional song was still playing from the speakers, a nontraditional choice—“On Bended Knee” by Boyz II Men—when the first guest dropped to the sand to look for the rings. The small but very thorough crowd fell like dominoes, everyone digging in the sand in search of the symbols of love. I looked from person to person, and soon the small strip of beach was completely covered with searching hands. I’d been to a lot of ceremonies and worked with a lot of couples, enough to fear looking at Jordan to my left or Rowan about to walk down the aisle with their parents, but when I did, they were smiling, laughing, really.