Chapter Thirty
Chapter
Thirty
Eight hours later, April walked down the aisle in Ramona’s backyard wearing a blush-pink dress that fell to just below her knees, gossamer spaghetti straps showing off her tattoos.
She held a small bouquet of pale pink poppies while the duo Beach Glass—a woman with silver-streaked hair who played the violin, and a thick-banged brunette on an acoustic guitar—played a dreamy rendition of a well-known queer pop song. ”
The evening was lovely.
The sun was low over the water, streaking the sky orange and pink and gold, and the small grassy area where the ceremony would take place was filled with familiar faces and movie stars, a strange amalgam of small town and Hollywood.
It was beautiful though.
Perfect.
When April reached the officiant—Dylan’s agent, Laurel—and turned so she could watch Dylan walk down the aisle with her parents, decked out in a sleek ivory silk suit, she felt steady.
She felt full and happy for her best friend.
She even liked her pink dress, the color making her ink pop.
She loved the music, the lighting, and when Ramona appeared with Mr. Riley, she felt as though her heart might burst.
Ramona was resplendent in a gauzy A-line gown, sleeveless and V-necked, the ivory tulle flowing over appliqué peonies and poppies and anemones.
Her bouquet, a larger version of April’s, exploded with the colors featured in her dress, all shades of pink and the pop of minty green from the eucalyptus.
April caught Olive’s eye next to her and winked. Olive was already crying happily, their sweet girl.
The ceremony was lovely and brief, Ramona and Dylan making tearful promises and holding hands.
April was determined to focus on the moment, to not let her mind wander, not even let her eye shift to the guests, where her parents sat rigidly on Ramona’s side in shades of beige.
Aside from one painful phone call with her father to discuss the lease of her shop’s space—which wasn’t up until next March, and she’d already discussed a small fee for breaking the contract with Leland, the landlord, and how that would be cheaper than paying six more months of rent—she hadn’t spoken to them much since the engagement dinner.
She also didn’t let herself glance at Daphne, who was sitting with Sasha, dressed in a lacy lavender midi dress that fit her perfectly.
Well. She tried not to let herself look at Daphne.
She failed. Many times.
Because Daphne was beautiful.
Entrancing.
Glowing.
Since this morning, since Nicola’s decision and everything April and Daphne had talked about, Daphne seemed to have come even more alive.
She looked powerful and confident, her curls wild, her shoulders relaxed, her expression serene.
April had never seen anyone so lovely, and her chest swelled as she caught Daphne’s eye for the tenth time during the ceremony, Daphne smiling softly at her.
Her chest swelled…and then retracted, growing smaller, closing in around her heart. This sequence happened over and over and over. Happiness and pride and sadness, a dizzying mix of emotions.
Everything all at once.
And that was the way it would be for a while, April was sure of it. Because as much as her mind knew that everything Daphne had said in the art studio was right, was true, was good, her heart clung to a different story.
A tale of breaking and leaving and, once again, being the one who was left behind.
The reception was under an amber-lit silk tent connected to Ramona’s back patio.
April sat alone at a cloth-covered table after a lovely dinner of salmon and asparagus, her bouquet next to her, and snagged a tiny glass of chocolate mousse off the tray of one of the servers, who were ambulating around the space with patisserie-esque desserts.
She sipped on her pink lady, freshly made at the open bar and served in a blush-pink glass, and tried to look entertained as Beach Glass, now joined by a full band, played through a collection of originals and classic love songs.
Ramona glided through the tent, gorgeous and smiling, Dylan by her side as though glued.
But, April supposed, that was the point, wasn’t it?
She sighed, took a large gulp of her cocktail.
“My pink ladies are better,” Sasha said, falling into a chair next to April, legs spread. She wore a black suit and a formfitting white shirt unbuttoned to her sternum, platinum hair tall and slicked back on the sides.
“How do you know?” April asked, nodding at the glass of club soda in Sasha’s hand.
“I just do,” Sasha said, winking.
April rolled her eyes but smiled before stuffing a spoonful of mousse into her mouth. She groaned. “Is your mousse better?”
“My everything is better.”
“So confident.”
“Only way to be, my darling.”
April focused on her dessert, wishing she were as self-aggrandizing as Sasha.
“So,” Sasha said pointedly, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees.
“Oh, god, here we go,” April said, dropping her spoon.
“How are you holding up?” Sasha asked.
“I’m fine.”
Sasha lifted a brow. “Are you?”
April sat back in her chair, eyes roaming the room of their own accord for Daphne. April had sat with the wedding party for dinner, so she hadn’t really talked to Daphne much since this morning.
“I’m…” April searched for the right word, but she wasn’t sure there was one. “I don’t know. That’s the truth.”
Sasha nodded. “Makes sense. But I think it’s the right decision.”
“I know,” April said. “That’s what makes it confusing.”
“You need to learn to love yourself too.”
April scoffed. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Sasha grinned. “Seriously though. What are you going to do? Daphne’s leaving in two days. I’m taking off in a week. Are you going to stay here?”
Of course was on the tip of her tongue. Clover Lake was her home.
The choice she’d always made. The steady surety in her life.
She didn’t get the Devon. She couldn’t go to London with the woman she loved.
She still owned a house, for the time being at least, though how she’d pay the mortgage after her renter moved out, she had no idea.
Maybe Mia would let her stay on full-time. Cloverwild was open year-round. Winter was a slower season, of course, but there was some skiing nearby, and surely there would be more rich people wanting to learn how to draw a fucking finch.
The thought, however, exhausted her.
No, more than that.
It terrified her. Bored her. Made her feel ashamed. Every negative emotion swirled in her chest when she thought of staying in Clover Lake.
But where else would she go? She couldn’t afford LA, and while she knew Ramona would welcome her with open arms, she would not—would not—live with Dylan and Ramona like some pathetic hanger-on. She didn’t like LA all that much anyway, but she truly had no other ideas.
She glanced at Sasha. “Where are you going again? Out west?”
Sasha nodded, sipped her club soda. “I’m heading to Europe after the new year, so why not? Plus, Jack and Carrie just invited me to their Halloween party in LA.”
“Ah, right,” April said. She’d heard many a tale of Jack and Carrie’s infamous Halloween parties at their home in Laurel Canyon.
She’d been invited to last year’s, but Dylan had been in Germany, and Ramona was on set with Noelle Yang somewhere in the Midwest, so it hadn’t seemed worth it.
The theme this year was Masquerade, but in the past, they’d done everything from Disney Villains to the Zombie Apocalypse.
Ramona had already mentioned the possibility of April coming out west for it this year, but April wasn’t sure what she was doing tomorrow, much less in ninety days.
“You’re just going to drive around for three months?” she asked Sasha.
Sasha shrugged. “Drive. Work. Wherever the wind takes me.”
April sat up, leaned closer to Sasha, and narrowed her eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
Sasha laughed, sipped her drink.
“No, really,” April said, softer this time. “What’s the deal? Where’s your family? Are they in LA? You grew up there, right?”
Sasha’s expression fell. “Where’s yours?”
“They already went home because they’re the most boring people on the planet,” April said, jutting her thumb toward the street.
Sasha huffed a laugh, gazing out at the crowd, her eyes far away. “They’re not in LA anymore, no.”
April waited for more, but for now, that seemed all that Sasha was willing to offer.
“Fine,” April said. “Keep your secrets.”
“I’m very good at that,” Sasha said, tipping her glass toward April, but her eyes were still sad.
April lifted her glass as well, and they sat in an easy silence for a while, watching the dancers and the brides flutter through the room. Still, as April watched her town mingling with Hollywood, an idea formed.
More than an idea.
A longing.
Ever since Sasha had mentioned her road trip plans a few weeks ago, April had felt it, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach. It wasn’t a solid life plan. It wasn’t even a yearlong plan. But it was something. And it made April feel something other than dread. It even made her feel excitement.
Passion and art and a wide-open road.
She wasn’t sure how she’d feel in three months. What she’d need or how much money would be left in her savings, but this was a start.
A stepping-off point to choosing herself. To loving herself, as much as she was loath to agree with Sasha’s two cents.
“Can I come with you?” she asked Sasha.
Sasha’s brows lifted. “Really?”
April nodded, a smile pulling at her mouth. “Yeah.” She sat up straighter, her heart fluttering under her ribs. “I can pay my way. I’m clean. I’m a good driver. And I make fucking great playlists.”
Sasha regarded her for a second, blue eyes narrowed slightly. Finally, she grinned. “A road trip buddy.”
“A road trip buddy,” April said. “All the way to LA.”
“All right,” Sasha said, nodding sagely. “All right, let’s do it. But only if you agree to always, always call my car by her proper name.”
April placed her hand on her heart. “Gertie, it would be a privilege.”
Sasha laughed. “Damn right.”
And just like that, April had a plan. She had something. Something she wanted, something that made her feel electric and alive.
She settled back in her chair and took another sip of her drink, tilting her head at her new travel companion. “What’s your last name? I just realized I don’t even know it. Or is that a secret too?”
Sasha cleared her throat, her smile small. “It’s Sinclair.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Sasha Sinclair,” April said, holding out her free hand. Sasha laughed and they shook, then April set her glass on the table and sat on the edge of her chair, energy buzzing through her fingertips. “Okay, so, talk to me about packing for this trip.”
“Well, you can’t bring your cats, for one.”
“Fuck, my cats,” April said, freezing. “That’s okay, I bet Mr. Riley will—”
“Hey,” Daphne said, appearing next to April’s chair, all lavender and curls and perfection.
April swallowed hard at the sight of her. “Hi.”
“Do you want to dance?” Daphne asked as the music shifted to something slower, something languid and romantic.
“Oh,” April said. “Um—”
“Yes, she does,” Sasha said, standing up and stretching her lithe limbs.
“Bossy,” April said. Sasha winked at her, then sauntered off into the crowd.
Daphne held out her hand, and when April took it, standing and following her to the small parquet dance floor, where Ramona and Dylan were also dancing, she couldn’t keep her stomach from fluttering.
Daphne held her close, one arm around her waist, the other hand gripping April’s, pressing it to Daphne’s own heart. They didn’t talk. April felt as though they barely even breathed.
They just held each other and danced.
And later, when Ramona hugged April tight in the driveway and whispered in her ear how much she loved her, a limo ready to whisk Dylan and Ramona off to the airport en route to Paris, Daphne was by her side then too.
She was by her side as Ramona disappeared down the street with her new wife.
She was by her side on the drive back to Cloverwild.
And she was by her side as they walked into their shared cabin, slowly undressed each other, mouths meeting without a word, hands tangling in each other’s hair, and fell into bed one last time.