Seven
“So you’re Mike’s friend from the Army?” Mikey’s uncle was very chatty.
“From the Navy.” Cary was very polite.
“What’s that?” Mikey’s aunt asked. “This music is so loud I can’t hear myself think.”
“I can’t hear myself eat, ” the uncle said.
“The Navy!” Cary shouted.
“Well, we thank you for your service!”
“Thank you!” Cary glanced at Shiloh. He looked self-conscious.
“Does that happen to you all the time?” she asked, under the music. She was cutting her chicken. “Complete strangers just
follow you around thanking you for your service?”
“You’re just jealous that no one thanks you for your service.”
“Your mom thanked me for my service last night.”
Cary snorted, and then started to cough.
Shiloh touched his arm. “Are you choking?”
He shook his head and swallowed. “It’s just lettuce.”
“So you are choking?”
He shook his head again and reached for his water.
Shiloh watched him. She watched him too carefully. She was glad they were at this table in the corner of the room where no
one would notice how wide her eyes were and how focused she was on him.
Up close, Cary still looked fresher-from-the-box than anyone else here. Maybe it was the sea air. Maybe it was not having
kids.
They were both sitting a little sideways in their chairs, facing each other. He was heavier than she ever imagined he’d be.
Not heavy, really. But there was no more rope and wire to him. There was a softness in Cary’s cheeks now and around his pointy
chin.
Shiloh felt like she was combing his face and body for changes, like her eyes were hands. Or maybe she wasn’t looking for changes—maybe she was trying to find all the ways that he was the same. All the ways she recognized him. The
ways he was still Cary.
Shiloh was fiddling with a napkin. Cary looked like he was trying to think of something to say. Shiloh should beat him to
it—she should try to keep it light.
“How did you all meet Michael?” the aunt called across the table.
Cary turned toward her. “We went to high school together.”
“You went to North?” the uncle asked.
“That’s right.” Cary looked down at his plate and picked up his fork.
“Mike went off to art school,” the man said.
Cary nodded and started eating his chicken. Shiloh turned to her own plate.
“Have you all seen his art?”
“Yep,” Cary said, “good stuff.”
They’d seen Mikey’s art. They’d seen it at the beginning, and they’d seen how it had evolved over the years. It was very abstract.
Shiloh could never decide if she liked it—she could never decide if she got it. She could honestly never decide whether there was something there to get. But sometimes Mikey’s art made her feel almost
desperately sad. So it must be as good as the people in New York City and Tokyo and Phoenix, Arizona, said it was.
Mikey’s first wife had been someone from that world. The art world. But now he was marrying a North Omaha girl and celebrating
at a youth wrestling banquet hall. Shiloh felt like this was another Mikey project she didn’t quite get.
“And how long have you two been married?” the aunt asked Cary.
“Oh,” he said. “We...”
“We’re not married,” Shiloh said. “Just old friends.”
“How long have you been married?” Cary asked politely.
“We’re not married!” The woman was aghast. “That’s my brother!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cary said. “I shouldn’t—”
“We’re not even wearing rings!” she protested. She was embarrassed. So was Cary.
“I mean, neither are we,” Shiloh said, knowing only Cary would hear her. She nudged him with her elbow. “You could still move
to the head table. Everybody up there is drinking champagne.”
“I’ll go if you go with me. We’ll pull up a chair.”
She shook her head. “So when did you get into town?”
“Today, actually. I missed the rehearsal dinner last night.”
“How was the wedding ceremony?”
“Good,” Cary said. “Standard. Walk down the aisle, stand at attention. Don’t lock your knees.”
Shiloh grinned. “I meant—how was it, in general. Not for you personally.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “Still good. Standard. Catholic.”
“Was Mikey nervous?”
Cary looked thoughtful. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Mikey nervous...”
“Me neither. Hey” — she leaned toward him—“do you remember Janine from high school?”
“Yeah. Mikey dated her senior year.”
Shiloh smacked Cary’s arm. “I didn’t know Mikey dated someone senior year!”
He shrugged. “They were pretty quiet about it. Her parents were religious.”
Shiloh was still shocked. “I can’t believe he never told me—we were best friends!”
“I think I was his best friend...” Cary was being a shit.
“I meant the three of us.”
Cary chewed a bite of chicken. He shrugged, still teasing.
“You guys never talked to me about girl stuff,” Shiloh said, not managing to keep it light.
Cary’d had a secret girlfriend, too. Or at least a girlfriend that he never mentioned to Shiloh.
One day she was working on the ROTC section of the yearbook, sorting through photos of the military ball—and there was Cary,
standing tall in his dress uniform next to some chubby girl in a shiny formal. Apparently the girl lived in their neighborhood.
She went to parochial school. Her name was Angie.
To this day, Shiloh didn’t know when Cary had started dating Angie. Only that they’d broken up sometime before graduation.
Shiloh had started to cry when she saw the photo—the photos, there were a dozen of them.
It wasn’t because Cary had a girlfriend. (He was allowed to have a girlfriend.)
It was that he hadn’t told her. It was that nobody had told her. Mikey obviously knew—he was the photographer.
When she’d stopped crying, Shiloh chose the nicest shot, where Cary’s date looked the prettiest, and made it the biggest photo
on the yearbook page. Cary was their school’s commanding officer, and he’d gotten some award at the military ball. It made
sense to feature him.
Shiloh hadn’t dated anyone during high school—but she wouldn’t have kept it a secret from Cary and Mikey if she had.
Cary cleared his throat. “So, you do what at the theater now?”
“I run the educational department,” Shiloh said. Still thinking about Janine and Angie. “We offer classes—acting, playwriting.”
“And do you act?”
“No,” she said, like that was a silly question. Like she didn’t have a master’s degree in theater. “I mean, sometimes, in
emergencies. We have a main stage with professional actors.”
Cary was nodding a little too quickly. As if he were acknowledging twice as many things as Shiloh was saying.
“I don’t even teach much anymore,” she said. “It’s a lot of bureaucracy. I sit at a desk all day.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Shiloh felt like she needed to make explicitly clear to him that she was nothing he had ever expected her to be.
If Cary was combing Shiloh for sames and differents, he should see that she was wholly different. That her final form was nothing like her larval stage. And not in the good, butterfly way.
“You live out west?” he asked.
“I used to live out west.” In the suburbs they grew up hating. “I live here now. I mean, in the neighborhood—with my mom,
actually.” Shiloh tried not to wince as she said this.
Cary looked genuinely surprised.
It took all of Shiloh’s strength not to bow her head. She smiled. “In the same old house.”
Cary looked bewildered. “By the park?”
“By the park.”
When Shiloh and Ryan had separated, they couldn’t afford to keep their house out west—Ryan was a high school drama teacher—and
their home equity didn’t amount to anything once it was split between them.
Shiloh’s mom had been wanting to work fewer hours, but she was already struggling to pay her mortgage. It made sense for her
and Shiloh to pool their resources.
So now Shiloh’s kids were living in the same old crappy house where Shiloh had grown up. She’d tried to make it less crappy... (Another mortgage. They’d gutted the kitchen. Added a bathroom to her mom’s room. Replaced some of the wiring.)
But it was still the same house. The same neighborhood.
Shiloh was the same in all the ways she was supposed to be different. (And vice versa. Vice, vice versa.) And Cary might be
the only person on earth, other than Shiloh, who could fully appreciate what a disappointment she was.
Because Cary had sat outside that very house with her while they plotted their mutually exclusive ways out.
Look at me, Shiloh thought now. Really look at me.
I’ve been thinking about seeing you for months. Now look at me, see me. Get this over with.
“So, you’re—” Cary was frowning at her. “I mean, I heard that, um—”
“Heyyy, everybody.” Someone was standing at the microphone on the dance floor. Mikey’s little brother, Bobby. “Whazzuuuhhp.”
He was holding a mixed drink in one hand and bracing himself against the mic stand with the other. It tilted.
“Whaaaazzzzzzuuuuuhhhp,” he said again, at greater length. A few people hooted. “I’m here to talk about my main man, my tin-can
Sam, my...” The mic stand tilted the other way.
Mikey had stood up at the head table. He was looking at Cary. Cary was already on his feet, headed for the dance floor.
Bobby greeted Cary with open arms. “Carrrryyyy. Whazzzz uuuhp . I missed you, bud.”
Cary wrapped an arm around Bobby’s waist, propping him up. Cary was saying something too softly for anyone else to hear.
“Thasssright,” Bobby said. His eyes were closed. “Thasss right . We’re here to talk about Mikey .”
Cary gently took the microphone away. “We’re here,” he said, “um, both of us—all of us—to celebrate Mike and Janine as they
make this commitment to each other...
“I was going to say ‘as they begin their life together,’ but—” Cary turned to the head table, where Mikey was still standing, his hand now resting
on Janine’s shoulder. Cary smiled. “I think that the love they share began a long time ago. So instead I’ll say that we’re
here to honor their commitment and the promises they made today.”
Shiloh winced a little. Of course Cary would get hung up on the sacred honor of it all. He’d always loved an oath.
“Janine...” Cary went on, in a clear, serious voice. “I’ve known Mike since I was twelve years old, and he’s always been
the guy who makes everyone else feel lighter.”
“You are correct, Cary,” Bobby chipped in.
“I think we all wanted to be around Mikey,” Cary said, “because he brought the sun with him.”
The whole audience was humming in agreement.
“But you’re the bright spot in Mike’s sky. You’re the one who makes him feel lighter.”
More humming. Bobby was nodding deeply.
“So thank you, Janine,” Cary said, “from all of us who have stood in Mike’s light, for bringing him so much joy.”
Bobby held his glass in the air.
“And, Mikey,” Cary continued. “You know I’ve never been married. I can’t imagine the gravity of this day...”
Shiloh could practically hear every unattached woman in the room rev her engine.
“But I’m just so happy for you. And proud of you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I’m honored to share this day
with you. We all are. To Janine and Mike!”
“To them!” Bobby agreed, sloshing his glass in the air.
One of the bridesmaids ran onto the dance floor to hand Cary a flute of champagne. He held it aloft.
“Cheers!” Cary said.
“Cheers!” everyone answered.
“Cheers,” Shiloh murmured. She held up her Diet Pepsi.
Mikey was making his way to the dance floor. He gave Cary a bear hug when he got there.
Shiloh had never felt so far away from another human being. From two human beings. Mikey and Cary, best friends. Still best
friends. Always best friends. How did Shiloh fit into any of this?
Tangentially. That’s how.
She wondered how her kids were doing. Ryan had promised to make popcorn tonight and let them watch Hercules . They were both obsessed with the Disney Hercules movie for some reason.
If Shiloh left now, she could possibly get fifteen hours of sleep before Ryan brought the kids back in the morning...
Or she could go hang out with Tom, her assistant and deskmate at the theater. He’d invited her over to watch this week’s Sopranos...
Or Shiloh could stay here. She could drag a chair over to her old friends’ table and try to catch up with everyone...
Was there any point in catching up if she was just going to lose them again?
If Shiloh had learned anything about herself, it was that she couldn’t hold on to people. She could only really deal with
the people directly in front of her. Her children. Her mom. Her boss. Her assistant. The teachers who worked for her. The
kids in the theater programs. Their parents. The board... Christ, that was already too many.
The maid of honor was at the mic now, toasting Janine. She was telling a raunchy story about their trip to Mexico. Shiloh
felt sorry for her. There was no good way to follow Cary. He was a forensics champion. He’d played Scrooge in their senior-year
production of A Christmas Carol with a flawless English accent. (Shiloh had played the Ghost of Christmas Present, with a wreath of holly and icicles.)
Shiloh lifted her glass again when everyone else did. “Cheers!”
There hadn’t been toasts at Shiloh’s wedding. She hadn’t wanted to do anything traditional.
She and Ryan got married in the university theater, just before Shiloh graduated from college. Shiloh had worn a dress from
the costume shop. (Lady Macbeth’s—was that bad luck? It was the only pretty dress in the shop that had fit her.)
It was a small wedding. Mikey had flown back for it.
Apparently the toasts were over. Mikey and Janine were going to cut the cake now. Cary was still standing near the dance floor,
talking to Bobby.
All the little kids had gathered around the cake table, with the photographer.
Shiloh hadn’t had a professional photographer at her wedding. Or a cake. What had they had instead? She couldn’t remember...
No, wait—fancy cream puffs. They’d spent all their money on upscale Lithuanian food and a band.
It wasn’t so bad. As weddings go.
Ryan had also worn something from the costume shop—one of the Lost Boy costumes from Peter Pan . There was a photo of the two of them dancing at the reception. Ryan’s mother had taken it. Ryan was wearing fox ears, and
Shiloh was displaying a shocking amount of cleavage.
“I’m not going to make you keep your promise,” Mikey’s uncle said.
Shiloh looked over at him. “I’m sorry?”
“You can eat your cake.”
One of the caterers was standing there with a trolley of cake slices.
“There are six people sitting at this table,” the uncle told the waitress. (There were not.)
“No,” Shiloh said to him, “I am honoring my commitment. The cake is all yours.”
She got up and headed for her original table. She looked around for Cary. He was standing in a crowd at the bar. She recognized
his stiff shoulders, the way he held his head. She’d wanted to see him tonight, and she’d seen him. She’d wanted to know if
he was still himself, and he was.
“Shiloh!” everyone at her assigned table called.
She’d give herself an hour of reminiscing and catching up. That would still leave plenty of time to sleep.