Thirty-five
Heath
A rehearsal dinner after-party. Who the hell thought this was a good idea?
The run-through of the wedding processional and the two hours of dinner with close family and friends dragged on forever, people trickling out slowly until only the wedding party remained. The company of spouses eases the awkwardness of the group, but it’s still there. It feels like everyone is holding it together for the sake of Mary and Ryan, waiting to pick it back up later on, but I don’t care about that right now. The only thing on my mind is the conversation Teagan and I will have when this dinner is over. Time crawls when I’m anxiously waiting for her answer.
She was buzzing around during the rehearsal, coordinating the guests, dinner, toasts, photos, everything. I did my job, keeping the guys out of her way. Only when dinner was over did she get to sit down and relax.
She’s so hard to read. Directly across the table from me, she doesn’t avoid eye contact or look afraid to let me down. She just looks tired.
Fourteen of us sit around the oval table made of carved driftwood, the remnants of our meal and rounds of champagne scattered across its surface. Brett leaves my side, but my eyes are glued to Teagan. She grins at Ryan’s banter with Mary, her chin resting on her fist, and I can’t stop staring.
I swear this hour has felt like five.
Brett gains my attention when he places a projector at the end of the table. He turns it on, shooting a beam of light onto the opposite wall. I let out a heavy sigh, remembering the apology tour Teagan said would come after dinner. How long is this bullshit going to take?
He excuses the bridesmaids and wives, leaving only the guys, Mary, and Teagan. It’s too late for however he plans to apologize, but here we go.
“I wanted to do something special tonight,” Brett says. His tone and cadence sound like he’s pitching an idea to a table of venture capitalists rather than talking to friends. “First, I want to apologize to everyone, especially you, Jer. And you, Teags. Last night we were a little too lit, and we said some things we didn’t mean. We are a family, and while we fight like siblings sometimes, there is so much love between us.”
So much effort to grovel when he could just say I’m sorry for . . . and list anything and everything he has ever said or done.
“I want to focus on that love, and a reminder of all the life we’ve lived together. And Mary, since you’re marrying into this crazy bunch, it’s time for you to see it too,” Brett says. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to show you.”
My brow tenses in confusion, but when Ryan’s preschool picture shows up, I catch onto what’s happening.
He wore glasses back then, the thin wire-framed ones with the nose pads. He had the same goofy smile and bright blue eyes, but his cheeks were at least three times as plump. It’s a picture we used to tease him with constantly, even though he was one of the cutest kids ever.
“We go back. Way back. And that means we know a lot of shit about your man,” Brett continues. “For instance, he was a cute kid. That clearly went awry.”
We all laugh. Even while looking nervous, Ryan’s smile is wide. The image changes to our class photo from second or third grade. I give in and start to let myself enjoy it.
“The squad met when we were practically babies. We had a small class, and the six of us were the coolest by far.”
An embarrassing picture of our third-grade play, which, of course, was Peter Pan —a core memory for sure. Ryan was the lead, Teagan was Tinker Bell, Brett and Ritchie were Lost Boys, Jeremy a pirate. And I was a fucking tree.
“Heath really carried the show in this performance, I must say,” Brett jokes.
I allow myself to laugh with everyone else. The picture changes to one taken in middle school, Ritchie, Brett, me, and Jeremy on the soccer field with the rest of our team, all of us swimming in uniforms we wouldn’t grow into for months. Well, three of us at least. Ritchie’s short ass stayed about the same size.
“The four of us tried to make up for that by establishing ourselves as hot jocks, but that only worked for Heath.” He clicks to a slide of some pictures of me right before high school. The typical motion shots from games that make my leg ache. “Such a babe, right?”
Ritchie whistles to keep everyone laughing.
He switches to a picture of middle school. Teagan, Ryan, Jeremy, and some of the other debate club nerds are holding up a trophy.
“Sadly, our Ry guy went to the dark side.” He sighs dramatically. “He fit in well with the geeks, especially Teagan and Jeremy. And that is when their beautiful love of all things boring began.”
Next is a picture of Ryan and Teagan cheek to cheek, hugging at one of their speech competitions, I assume. I look back at Ryan and catch the nervous glance he throws at Teagan. She may have thought he was out of his mind when he confessed his desire to be with her in Vegas, but it had to come from somewhere. He never had a chance with her, but maybe he always hoped he did—the longing to have the unattainable. Or maybe that’s just the effect Teagan has on people.
“Your man may not be a model, but we can’t ignore the glow-up.” He flips through Ryan’s class photos. I forgot how nerdy he was before he gave up the glasses, the acne cleared up, and he lost his baby fat. Eleventh grade was very kind to him. “He’s not Heath-level hot, but it’s something.”
“Bro, are you okay?” I ask with a laugh. “Do we need to go make out somewhere?”
“Don’t tease me when my wife isn’t present,” he jokes. With practiced comedic timing, he waits for his lull. “Ry went from nerd to wannabe ladies’ man overnight. Do you know how girl-crazy he was?”
Mary giggles nervously. “No.”
“He was chasing everyone. Half the cheer team, my sister, two of Ritchie’s girlfriends . . .” Now Teagan . “But, of course,”—he presses his palms together like a prayer—“he saved himself for you.”
Mary and Ryan laugh, but I still can’t tell if it’s true or not.
“As much as I tease, high school was a big time for our friendship.” He flips through pictures of all of us in pairs. Ryan and Ritchie in their exchange semester in Italy. Me and Brett at a soccer tournament. Jeremy and Teags at Pride. Then all of us together in those places as well, visiting, cheering each other on, laughing.
We point to the pictures, exchanging inside jokes, sharing memories of the shenanigans we pulled. A thousand words is an understatement when it comes to those pictures. The friend group, as forced together as we have been, still comes with as many good memories as bad. I laugh until my stomach cramps.
“We relied on each other for everything. Ritchie would have gone missing in Europe if he didn’t have Ryan to keep him from getting lost. I would have failed every math class and half of science if I didn’t have Jeremy’s tests to copy from.” Our laughter interrupts him. “And none of us would have known what true love looked like if we didn’t have the power couple, Heath and Teags.”
My smile fades. I look over at Teagan and watch hers do the same. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair.
I look at the screen and there’s our picture from the seventh grade. Two babies holding hands and staring at each other as if we had everything figured out. The next one is from junior year, my arms wrapped around her like she was mine, my mouth on hers, Teagan smiling beneath my kiss.
“The OG couple,” Brett says. Everyone joins in, aww-ing. “Seventh grade and all through high school. They were goals for real.”
He clicks through more photos, and each one feels like another punch in the gut. Holding hands, kissing, posing for junior prom, senior prom. The two of us smiling in the hospital bed after my accident, my leg in that massive cast, her head resting on my shoulder. At the time, my dreams were as shattered as my femur, but I was still smiling because she was with me.
I’ve blocked out the memories, haven’t thought about all these small moments in years. After all this time, it still hurts to see.
We were inseparable. Until we weren’t.
“You two were the couple.”
“Bro, don’t.” I warn him with a shake of my head.
Brett looks back up at Ryan. “We thought Ryan was going to be single forever. At least the last of us to get married for sure.” I hope the conversation moves on, but it doesn’t. “But everyone thought Heath and Teags would be the first ones down the aisle. Then college started and it was . . .” He traces a hand across his throat. “Dead on arrival, out of the blue.”
As the guys continue to laugh and pile on, I look at Teagan while she stares down at the table. The guilt hits me hard in the chest.
“You two went from love to hate like that.” He snaps his fingers. “It must have been something bad.”
I know she doesn’t want to show it, but Teagan’s brow twitches with sadness. The truth isn’t something either of us will talk about, especially not with them, and definitely not like this. “It was forever ago. It doesn’t matter,” I say.
“No, come on!” Ryan says. “We’ve been wondering about this for years. Tell us, finally!”
Teagan looks away, obviously losing the battle with her tears. Seeing her in pain hurts but it also pisses me off. She has been through enough. I’ll do anything to make them fucking drop it.
“I cheated,” I lie. The laughter tapers. “Now let it go.”
The words tastes bitter. Teagan may have believed that was true back then, but it wasn’t. She just wanted a reason to leave me and all the memories behind.
“That’s fucked up, man,” Brett says, that stupid smile on his face. Teagan’s chair screeches against the floor when she gets up to walk away. “Teags! We were just teasing!” Brett laughs.
I glare at him. “You are such an asshole.” I leave the table and go after her.
She’s already outside the restaurant and halfway down the pathway to our room when I spot her.
“Teags!” I catch up. She covers her face with a hand. She sniffles and that sick feeling creeps up and settles in my throat. The last thing I want to do is cry in front of her again. “I’m sorry they brought it up. I didn’t think you wanted them to know the truth.”
“You told them the truth!” she cries.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, so you didn’t run off and fuck the first girl who would put out?”
Her words piss me off. “No!”
“Then why did you just say you did?!”
“What did you want me to say?! Did you want me to tell them you—” My last words don’t want to come out. “Did you want me to tell them you were pregnant?”