Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lily
W e’re back at the church, waiting for Pastor Wilfred to continue leading us through the pretend ceremony before the real one begins tomorrow. My feet are killing me, and I’m questioning all my life choices, especially the ones pertaining to a certain unforgettable man. Pastor Wilfred’s talk of love and marriage feels like warmth melting through a frozen part of my heart. It stings a little.
He moves to the front of the church, acting like it’s his stand-up hour. I love him. He has known me since I was a baby, but the joke about Eve being the apple of Adam’s eye can only be told so many times (actually, it should never be said in the first place). His speech is starting to drone on and on about what will happen on Sunday. Choir members are leaving from the practice that began just before we got in, which is fitting since I’m ready to sing a song of lament.
It will be a small wedding party, with only Graham and me at the altar next to the happy couple. The rest of the town will show up as attendees, so I’ll have no other buffer till then, the reality of which is making me antsy .
Liam is strumming his guitar on the stage, waiting for the rehearsal to officially start. Ivy is probably at her studio choreographing the dance for the summer festival. Even Grey, who would usually show up to cheer on Sparrow and Rafe, is at her bookstore, wrapping up the party favors.
While the bride and groom would’ve chosen a larger wedding party, Rafe doesn’t have brothers or other best friends in town. Maybe Liam would’ve stepped in as a groomsman, but then, who would play the music for the ceremony? Besides himself, I suspect Rafe only trusts Liam to do it. So, here we are . . . one quaint wedding party consisting of two fated lovers and two exes. What a dream team.
Except, when I’m being honest with myself, my insides tell me this could’ve all been so different. If I hadn’t run away—if I had just stayed that night on the beach and been open with Graham—I would now have more than an engagement ring. Something whispers within me that we would’ve been married by now. And Sparrow would’ve been my maid of honor, and I wouldn’t be looking at Graham with more longing than I know what to do with.
My gaze shifts to where he sits quietly in the front row, his arm over the back of the wooden pew. I’ve put myself a few rows behind him so I can drink in the sight of him for all I’m worth. It’s here, with the fresh evening glow filtering through the stained glass windows as the spring air swirls and bounces through the open doorway, that I’m permitting myself to do the thing I told myself I never would. I’m pulling back the curtain of our time together and allowing myself to feel the things I’ve denied all along. In the process, I’m dismantling all the lies .
The lie that I didn’t love him as much as he loved me. The lie that I didn’t love the way his fingers twirled through my hair. The lie that I haven’t dreamed of him beside me in the morning instead of the ghost of him when I awaken.
A warm, late-spring shower begins. The sound of the raindrops on the roof sends a chill through my spine as I remember the feeling of walking with Graham in the rain. His thumbs traced my cheekbones as they cradled my face. I can still recall the color of his eyes during the spring storm. I remember how he kissed me while we stood among the wildflowers, as if I was the last thing he ever wanted to touch. And I remember the look on his face in Portsmouth when he told me he planned to release his apartment and move to Nashville as I wished.
As Sparrow and Rafe stand up and face each other at the front of the church, I feel tears spring to my eyes. This is it. After the wedding, comes the end of Graham’s time in Birch Borough. Desperation rises in me. I’m stunned to realize, as much as I’ve fought with him, I’m not ready to say goodbye. I was never ready to say goodbye to him. I just haven’t been able to find the words to express what he means to me. And Graham needs words. They’re the evidence that reinforces the assurance he needs in order to move forward with anything or anyone—including us.
Shakily, I stand to my feet. I come around the pew toward Sparrow and see Graham lifting his glasses to wipe one of his eyes with the back of his hand. He’s wearing his glasses. Frames I haven’t seen before. He hardly wears them, only when his eyes are tired. They tell me he hasn’t been sleeping much either.
“Okay, let’s practice you two coming up the aisle before the bride,” Pastor Wilfred says, his index finger indicating Graham and me.
Without a word, I hastily make my way toward the exit, feeling Graham following closely behind.
When we reach the outer doors, I shake out my hands and prepare to touch the man who is about to walk me down the aisle. He extends his elbow, not looking at me or saying a word.
As happy as we are for our friends, this is excruciating.
Will I let myself be Graham’s first choice?
The thought shocks me, and my mind begins to race. The truth hits me. Graham has shown me that he’ll choose me every time, yet I haven’t known how to believe it. Perhaps I don’t need a different kind of love. Perhaps it is less that I’m not strong enough than it is that I need to trust Graham is a man of his word.
With a new perspective, I slide my hand up and into the crook of his arm, willing my touch to be as light as possible, barely resting on him yet feeling it all. Forcing a smile for Sparrow’s sake, we begin to walk down the aisle. Liam plays the cello, the sound echoing off the walls and coursing through me, urging me to ask Graham if we could ever recover what was lost between us.
By the time we arrive at the pulpit, my heart is racing. We part, and I miss the warm pressure of his arm. Of all the things I didn’t count on, I can assure you the worst one is seeing Graham across from me. He isn’t making eye contact and isn’t looking at me at all. But I’m looking at him. I’m watching his genuine happiness for our friends. I’m watching as he tilts his head to listen to their vows like they are the life-changing words they truly are. And I’m watching him stare at the ring as if it’s something of his own he once lost. I suppose he did.
Sparrow and Rafe wipe tears from their eyes as Pastor Wilfred speaks. It may only be a prelude to their day, but emotions are high. I wipe my eyes as I think of the parents Sparrow lost. They should be here for her too.
I’m lucky she has loved me so deeply and hasn’t given up on me, even though I’ve been giving up on myself for longer than I care to admit. They kiss sweetly. Rafe hugs her so fiercely yet gently that it nearly makes me want to look away. Perhaps loving each other like that belongs on display in a museum or should be protected by reverent privacy.
Pastor Wilfred releases them, and they walk down the aisle hand in hand. Rafe throws his arm over his head in victory as they reach the outer doors, and I grin. They’re just so darn happy. And they deserve it all. And Graham deserves it all.
He holds out his arm to me again, still not meeting my eyes. We walk toward the exit together. When we’re halfway down the aisle, I turn to him, knowing that if I don’t get this out now, I may not have the chance.
“You’re really leaving?” I ask.
“It’s what you wanted,” he replies, a distant, passive expression on his face.
“When . . . when will you go?”
Finally, his gaze meets mine for the first time with a flash. I’m knocked back from the fierceness in its depth. It strikes me that the warmth his eyes used to hold for me is now nothing more than a barely flickering light.
“Don’t worry about it.”
As much as I don’t deserve his trust, and even though his tone is gentle, fear tries to claw its way out. I feel the urge to snap back rising in my throat, but I restrain it.
Graham tilts his head, sadness in his eyes. “As you’ve said, this was always a one-sided love.
The words have barely met the air, and I despise myself for the outcome. “I’m sorry—no, it wasn’t . . .” I’m about to say the word true when he shakes his head.
“I said don’t worry about it.”
Graham races down the length of the aisle with quick strides. I slink after him, willing there to be a chance to make this right. I’ve had so many chances to make things right between us, and I’ve wasted each of them.
“Graham,” I plead.
To my relief, he stops and turns back to me slowly. His eyes are full of questions and filled to the brim with trepidation. I also wonder if I detect something that looks a lot like hope.
“I know how this all started, and I know that I’ve fought with you every single moment since we met here again. I was terrified. I’m not—”
“Lily, I don’t— I can’t—” he whispers with obvious pain. His jaw is clenched, and his blue eyes quickly turn stormy. “There’s no need.”
And I realize he thinks I’m going to do it again. He thinks I’m going to run and not look back. If he reaches for me again, he assumes I’m going to turn him away. And I won’t. Because even if my parents never love me in the way that I crave, I can choose to be loved by Graham. At my core, I may not have felt chosen over my parents’ patients and dreams—or really by anyone except my best friends—but the man in front of me is my dream. Instead of trying to protect him from my love, which I believed was delicate, I realize at this moment that choosing Graham is also choosing myself. It’s acknowledging that Graham is the one I want, and letting myself love him freely means I’m giving myself permission to be loved freely too.
“No,” I declare with as much frustration as I can express while my heart breaks all over again. “Listen to me!”
He’s moving now, out of the church and down a garden path at rapid speed. His shoulders are tense, the very tips of his hair pulled back from his hasty walk. This time, I’m the one reaching for him. Trying to keep up, I nearly topple over in the wedges I insisted upon wearing today. I’m regretting my fashion choice but am committed to following through with what’s about to unfold. He needs to know. He must know.
“Wait, you rake!”
At my raised voice, Graham stops abruptly. I nearly crash into his back from the momentum. He doesn’t turn around but looks over his shoulder, eyeing me with his peripheral vision.
“You heard me,” I say.
He faces me, frustration pulsing off his frame, hitting me full force with its intensity. I take a deep breath to steady myself. I’m more than attracted to this side of him, but I realize I need to focus on the moment. He laughs mirthlessly.
I know what he is thinking. Even now, when we’re at a crossroads together, I would have to do one more thing to provoke him.