The Girl Who Fell (35 page)

I wait until his car leaves before I pull my key from under its rock.

When I return to my room, my heart thunders as I literally pick up the pieces of my mess. And then I go to my collage, rip down everything Alec ever gave me. I shred his cards, cram their flimsy pieces into the wastebin. I stomp the trash down with my foot, trying to contain what feels like madness.

I prep for the wedding, stepping into the dress I rescued from the consignment racks. It's a tight fit and I question my choice when I have to tame my boobs into place. I pin up my hair and finish my makeup just as Lizzie calls.

“Do you look like Cinderella?”

I look down at my unemptied trash. “Slightly less fairy-tale.”

“Hah! We still on for tonight?”

“Still on. I'll text you when I leave the reception.”

“Deal. And stop freaking about your dress. You have to own it.” It strengthens me the way Lizzie knows and loves me fiercely, doesn't judge me despite everything. Even when I told her Alec's words; how it was
no wonder my own father didn't want to stick around
. They were difficult to repeat. Impossible to forget. Still impossible words to process.

When I meet Mom in the kitchen, her eyes widen. “You look gorgeous.”

I try to be okay with the compliment. “Thanks. You, too.”

Mom tucks her lipstick into her purse and snaps the butterfly clasp, nods at the two twenties on the counter. “Take that. In case you need anything or if they don't have an open bar.” She cuts me a look. “For soda.”

I tuck the cash into my purse and shake off the memory of sipping white wine with Alec, my whole body thirsty for him. It causes my skin to shiver in a new way now.

Mom wraps her heather gray cashmere shawl around her. “I decided to get a room at the hotel, but I still want to take one car. I'll get a ride home with Rachel tomorrow.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “Lizzie's still sleeping over tonight, right?”

“That's the plan.” All except for the part about Dad replacing me as Mom's date. That part is my secret gift to Mom.

She fixes her gaze at me. “A sleepover with Lizzie sounds nice. I like seeing you two hang out again. But no parties.”

“I don't exactly need the headache on top of everything else.”

“You'll get through this, Zephyr.” Boston College. My breakup with Alec.

“I know, but it doesn't inspire celebration.”

“It will. When you wow the admissions board at your interview.”

“If we can even get an interview.”

“You need to think positively.”

“I'm trying. Believe me.” I pull on my peacoat and Mom cringes. “You're not wearing that ratty jacket, are you?”

“So far you're not knocking it out of the park in the date department.”

She laughs. “I guess I'm rusty.”

•  •  •

The drive is slow in the falling snow and the church is full by the time we arrive. As we're escorted beyond the heavy wood doors, the heat of the space assaults me. The air is woven with incense and perfume. Organ music reaches out from somewhere high in the rafters. The tune is soft and low, as if the very church is inhaling and exhaling song. My eyes follow the white satin runway down the length of the aisle where Gregg stands at the altar in a black suit, a white carnation tucked into the lapel of his jacket. For a moment, I cannot move. I stand in the entryway, the cold air at my back and the warmth on my face. It's like being caught between two worlds.

Gregg is taller than the other groomsmen, his red hair softened in the yellow light. Responsibility and grace set in his stance as he anticipates the arrival of his sister. Still, I don't miss the small smile that lights along the edges of his lips when he sees me. The slight tip of his head.

An usher leads me to a pew in the back of the church, mere steps away. I am careful in these foreign heels. Mom slips in beside me.

She whispers. “Gregg's looking like quite the handsome man.”

I
tsk
. “No impure thoughts in church.”

She clucks, slaps gently at my thigh.

A new song begins to play from the hidden organ and the congregation stands. Within moments, Anna floats down the aisle, her fire-red hair pulled into a brilliantly slicked twist. Her smile spreads wide and bashful and dazzling all at once. And then she is past us, walking toward her future husband with a lithe, certain stride. I watch her reach the altar, join hands with her fiancé. But it is Gregg I study as prayers are read and vows are made.

•  •  •

Mom holds my arm for balance as we head back into the snow, the wind whipping at my face. We drive a few blocks to the hotel reception hall, Mom gushing about Anna's beauty and how she'll bawl uncontrollably when I get married.

In the reception hall, smooth light ricochets throughout the room, glowing from candles and white flowers. Lilting violin music sings from a lone musician in the corner.

Mom plucks a glass of champagne from the tray a waiter offers. “Let's find our table.”

Within moments of taking our seats, the room hushes. Mr. Slicer stands at the head table. He
tinks
his silverware against his glass in wedding Morse code, making champagne flutes rise around me. I raise my water glass.

“I've thought about this day for a long time,” Mr. Slicer starts, adjusting his tie. “When Anna was born, she was no bigger than my forearm.”

Mom reaches for my hand and squeezes it like she's remembering when I was that little. She must have so many memories of me that I don't even have. Memories she shares with Dad. It's right that he'll take my place as Mom's date tonight.

Anna and her new husband tuck into one another as Mr. Slicer finishes his speech and toasts the room. The sound of clinking glass reverberates throughout the space. The air is electric with love, the promise of love, the anticipation of love. It sends a tingle onto everyone's skin, like love is possible for every attendee at this very moment.

And I remember its intoxication. Parts of me still crave it.

Until I recall all the bits that weren't love at all.

Music blooms in the room once again and then my father is walking toward our table. I watch Mom's face, how she lights with surprise.

“Jimmy! What are you doing here?” She stands, my father takes her hands, kisses her so gently. Like he's trying to get it just right.

“Zephyr asked me to come.”

“He's my plus one,” I tell her. Mom looks at me then, and her joy fills me. She lowers her eyes in a soft
thank you
.

My father offers me his elbow. “Care to brave the dance floor with me?”

Dad and I are both crappy dancers, but that never stopped us from fooling around in the kitchen when I could still balance on his toes.

I follow him to the dance floor where Gregg's little sisters are doing a mash-up between the waltz and flailing. The sweetness of it climbs in me, settles there.

“You look beautiful,” Dad says.

“I'm glad you came.”

I let my head fall against my father's chest and close my eyes. The music swims in the room but all I can hear is his heartbeat. How it is reliable and here.

“Thank you for this, Zephyr.” My dad's words are whispered, filled with gratitude.

I open my eyes, find his.

“Thank you for letting me back in, allowing me to earn your trust.”

“It's just a dance, Dad.” I tack a laugh onto my words, but both of us hear how the giggle is forced. Because both of us know this is so much more than a dance.

“You know how your mother and I have been going out to dinner lately?” Dad asks.

“I know. Date night.”

“Date night.” Dad laughs. “I like that.”

“Well, I was wondering if it might be all right if I came to the house after one of our dinners? Just to see you and say hello. I won't stay long. Not if it makes you uncomfortable.”

It wouldn't. “I think that would be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And there it is. A small pact, another small step.

When the song is over, Gregg walks to us, all shoulders and strut, like he's on the ice, like his steps are effortless. I move to give him a hug.

“Congratulations,” I tell him.

“I didn't get married.”

“No, but you got a brother-in-law. It's about time men started to gain numbers in your family.”

He laughs. “I hadn't thought of it that way. Good point.” He looks to Dad, shakes his hand. “It's nice to see you here, Mr. Doyle.” He nods toward the head table. “You've made my dad happy.”

Dad winks at Gregg and takes a step back. “I assume you'd like to cut in?” Dad says as he gives me a small bow.

“I would. May I?”

“Uh, I suck at dancing.”

“I know. My toes still ache from prom. But you have to. I'm in the wedding party. I get whatever I want.”

“Is that so?”

“That's what they tell me.” It is the Gregg Slicer flirt on full beam and Dad gives a chuckle before heading back to our table.

“Okay. One dance.”

I take Gregg's hand and he pulls me to him. “You've been avoiding me, Zephyr. No texts, no phone calls. I have to talk to Lizzie to know what's going on with you.”

“I thought we were dancing.”

“Dancing and talking.”

“Okay. Let's talk about what Lani would say if she knew you were dancing with me.”

“Lani and I broke up.”

“Really? Why?” I've grown oddly fond of Lani since showing up at her house.

He shrugs. “She's not the one.”

“If ‘the one' even exists.”

“That's a fairly cynical thing to say when you're dancing at my sister's wedding.”

The word
sorry
hangs on my lips, but I pull it back. “Good call.”

Gregg laughs. “You seem happy, like your old self again.”

I want to tell him about Alec and how we've broken up but it doesn't seem the right time. Mostly, I don't want thoughts of Alec to invade this night. And then, I don't have to say anything because Gregg's face pinches with pain.

“How can someone with so much grace on the field be so clumsy on the dance floor?”

I laugh. “Lucky for my teammates, one thing doesn't have to do with another.” It feels good to smile, spar with Gregg in the relaxed way I've always known. I find solace in these parts of me that are resurfacing, finding air.

I focus on my steps. The music is slow and the silk of my dress brushes my legs like wind. I lean my head against Gregg's chest.

“You look fairly passable tonight, Zipper.”

A laugh bubbles in my chest. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”

“High praise.” Step. Turn. “I'm glad you came.”

“Me too.” Side step.

“Ours will be better.” Step.

“Our what?” I raise my gaze to meet his. Side step. Hand squeeze.

“Our wedding.” He leans down to kiss me, his lips tender, meeting mine. I watch it happen, as if standing outside of myself. The kiss occurs in slow motion. And I don't stop him.

The room melts away and it is only me and Gregg and his perfect kiss. I can't help but kiss him back as he holds the small of my back, pleasures my mouth with his.

This is not the kiss in the woods. This is not the hunger of Alec. This is something more. This is . . . safety . . . and forever . . . and scarier than losing myself to Alec.

I pull back. “I can't.”

“You can, and you did. Splendidly, I might add.” He shrugs then, trying to shrink the moment. “Write it off to wedding romance. I'm not trying to come between you and Alec. I just wanted to get it right this time.”

He did. So right.

“It can be our secret,” he says.

“I don't want any secrets.”

“Fine. Tell the world, but just don't be pissed at me or stop talking to me. Deal?”

I nod, my feet unsteady.

“Good. I don't want to lose you again.”

I don't want to get lost again.

My thoughts sway with the lights, the beautiful kiss. I dip my ear to his chest, listen for his heartbeat under the chorus of strings. I feel the race of his pulse and how mine responds.

As we dance I can't help wonder how much would be different if Gregg had kissed me like that back in October.

I practically stumble back to the table where Mom and Dad are huddled together talking. I sit to steady my nerves. Keep from running back to Gregg.

Gregg who is still on the dance floor, his arms outstretched, his feet platforms for his youngest sister's tiny dress shoes. My heart leaps for another chance at our dance. For another kiss.

I chastise the thought.

I should leave. I shouldn't be thinking about kissing anyone.

Worse, I shouldn't be
liking
kissing anyone.

A waiter taps me on the shoulder and I jump in my guilt. Mom gives me a concerned look.

“Would you care for chicken or salmon?” the waiter asks.

“Nothing for me, thank you.” Every inch of me wants—no, needs—to get out of here. If I could get outside to the ice-cold air my head will clear.

“Are you okay?” Mom asks. Dad is intent on my response.

“Sure. I was just thinking I might leave before the roads get bad.”

“That's probably a good idea.” Mom digs in her purse, hands me her keys.

I look at Dad and he gives me a shy grin. A year ago I would have thought my parents hooking up was gross, but now I find myself rooting for them. Hoping that forever is possible for some.

“Do you need anything?” Dad asks. “I could take you home.”

“I'm fine,” I say.

I see the way Mom's hand moves to cover Dad's. “She's fine,” she whispers. Her reassuring words make me believe I will be.

“Okay, drive careful.” Dad stands to give me a hug and I kiss Mom before ducking out of the room. I muster all my strength not to look at Gregg again.