26. Carly
CHAPTER 26
CARLY
T his is my favorite part of any ceremony, the part when the door opens and the bride walks in. Grooms make this incredible face when they see their bride, one that’s full of love and affection and shows the rest of the room that, at that moment, the entire world is dedicated to their love.
Especially for men like John, who really do love their partners, that face is something magical.
And he doesn’t let me down. The moment Ruth walks in, his eyes light up, his mouth opens, and everyone can see how right these two are as a couple.
Usually, I would say that seeing this gives me hope for myself, but given the state of my love life lately, I have nothing going for me at all.
That’s not important today. This isn’t about me, and it’s not about Gabe. Even he cracks a smile when Ruth walks in. He’s been moody for the last couple of days, ever since I agreed to go to New York. It’s like he’s taken a step back, like he doesn’t want me anymore.
Last night, we went to bed together, but that spark we had been feeling for the last few weeks — the spark I had been feeling — wasn’t there. It felt like we were going through the motions rather than making love.
The ceremony itself is beautiful, with irises lining the walkway and Gabe’s benches fitting the theme perfectly.
Usually, I tell clients that it’s a minimum of three months to get things together, but my real preference is at least nine. Weddings, I like to say, are like babies. To me, that used to be a funny comment, but as I’m getting older and realizing that time is ticking on that front for me, I’ve stopped saying it.
It seems less funny when having kids is something I want and is getting less and less likely to happen. Not that I’d let myself imagine that kind of thing with Gabe. There’s no way he is a kid person.
I force myself to pay attention to the vows instead of thinking about my own pathetic life, and John’s beautiful words bring a tear to my eye. I’ve written so many vows for grooms before, but he wanted to do it all by himself. And it’s paid off. He is eloquent and warm, and he’s not regurgitating some pre-written prose he’s read on the internet. He means every word.
Finally, the best part comes, and Ruth gets up on her tiptoes to kiss him while he bends down. I tried to persuade her to wear heels to equalize their height a little more, but she refused.
“It’s funny,” she said at the time. “Our differences are what make us work.”
I didn’t have much to say to that.
After all, Gabe couldn’t be more different from me and look how that has ended up.
Stop it, I tell myself. We were never in a relationship. This was never even a thing.
When I get married, it will be to someone who loves me completely, not to someone who’s too scared to admit it. There I go again, assuming that something’s still going to happen.
If he hasn’t confessed by now, clearly it can’t be true.
I need to start putting it out of my mind. It’s hard, though, when everyone seems to be pushing us together at the reception. Ruth and John almost force us to get together and dance. “I don’t dance,” Gabe tries to insist, but Ruth looks at him with a sparkle behind her eyes.
“So you don’t remember prom night with Sally Ann?” she grins. “First girl he ever loved,” she leans in to say to me loudly enough for Gabe to hear. His scowl deepens. It’s completely incongruous with the rest of his look.
He’s wearing a smart jacket and a crisp white shirt, and it elevates him from ruggedly handsome mechanic to sharp, attractive, self-assured man. He could fit in with any of my clients looking like this.
“That was then,” he says firmly. “I sure as hell don’t dance now.”
“Not even with Carly? You’re not even going to give her a chance.”
“Do we have a choice?” he asks.
“No,” says John. “It’s our wedding. You have to do what you’re told.”
“Great.” Gabe sighs and gets to his feet as if it’s a great effort. He holds out his hands to me, and I take them, ignoring the way they fit perfectly together. His palms are sweaty beneath mine, as if he’s nervous or maybe too warm. As ever, it’s hard to tell with him.
We make our way over to the floor, and I feel like every eye in the room is on us. Lightly, he places a hand on my waist and grips my hand. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him now, to wrap my arms around him and sink into his embrace.
It would be easy to grab his hand and sneak away with him only to return a little more bedraggled, leaving no doubt as to what we were doing.
Maybe I should tell him how I feel. Maybe I should finally make my confession to him.
“They’re a gorgeous couple, aren’t they?” I say, trying to strike up a conversation.
Gabe only grunts.
“You’re lucky to have such good friends.”
He grunts again, barely looking at me.
“Okay, what’s the matter?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”
“Why? Should there be?” he says, his face hard.
“No, there shouldn’t. You just, I don’t know. Seem off somehow.”
How would you know anything about me?” he snaps. “You’re not my anything. I don’t want you to be. Stop asking.”
The harshness of his voice brings a tear to my eye. I swallow it back, staring down at our feet to try and hide my disappointment.
“I’ve had a good time with you,” I say quietly.
Even though his rejection is stinging like rubbing salt into a wound, I still want him to have a good memory of me.
He says nothing.
“I have to leave,” I say. “Today.”
“Oh, do you?” he says, though without the surprise I might have expected. “When?”
“As soon as we leave here. Will you drive me to the shop for my car?”
“Of course,” he says, and I wonder if he did overhear my conversation after all.
But even if he did, why would he have kept that to himself? He’s a straight-talking guy.
More likely, he’s not surprised because there is nothing between us and this spark that I keep feeling even now, thumping in my chest, isn’t real. If I tell myself that enough times, I might start believing it.
We dance until the song is finished.
Gabe releases me and takes a step back, leaving a cold void where his hands once were.
Desperately I want him to put them back, but instead, I stay frozen to the spot, staring at him, watching the way the lights dance over his face, casting shadows, making him look perfect.
This is how I want to remember him, beautiful and true.
He walks away. I take a shaky breath, knowing that he wasn’t just walking away physically.
This is him saying goodbye.