Chapter 26
Ash
Today was perfect.
It was also imperfect in a thousand paper-cut ways but it was mostly perfect and I knew that when Zelda caught my eye and I attempted to cover the heart hammering in my chest for her with my hand but succeeded only in stabbing my finger all the way through on the corsage pin.
There was blood, too much to address while my sister said her vows, so I sacrificed the silk hankie artfully arranged in my breast pocket and shoved the whole mess into my trouser pocket.
When I glanced back at Zelda, I found her eyes twinkling as she pressed her fingers to her lips to hold back the laughter I'd earned with my brief interruption of the ceremony.
I still didn't believe in signs, not the ones outside of mathematics, but I believed in Zelda.
More than that, I believed in me and Zelda. Us, together. Always.
And that was why I had to ruin it all.
I held out my hand to Zelda when the dessert plates had been cleared and the crowd on the dance floor had thinned. "Will you walk with me?"
She laced her fingers with mine. "Where would you like to go?"
I tipped my chin toward the far side of the grand reception tent, toward the waters of the Narragansett Bay. "This way? Or back toward the mansion? Your choice."
"Let's wander. We'll find out where we want to go when we get there."
We strolled for several minutes, wending our way through the grounds as bursts of music and exuberant shouts echoed from the tent.
"I'm happy you're here with me," I said.
"Not Millie?"
I barked out a laugh and tugged Zelda close, holding her tight to my chest. "Not Millie. Not for a minute."
"I'm happy I'm here too. I don't know if you've noticed but I like hanging out with you."
That was my opening, plain as day and waiting for me to seize it. "Have I mentioned you look incredible tonight?"
She raised our joined hands over her head and twirled, sending her floral skirt billowing between us. "An average of once an hour for the past seven hours. So, yes, you have."
"Once an hour? Couldn't be. I was with the bridal party for an hour before the ceremony, the only thing I said during the ceremony was a 'fuck' heard around the world, and I didn't see you for the first half of the cocktail hour.
Not until my mother decided she needed you in the family photos since she's knitting baby blankets and keeping you forever.
That's at least two and a half hours where I didn't get to tell you how much I want to crawl under this skirt or that I need all of your dresses to be backless from this point forward. "
The number of times tonight I'd contemplated licking my way up from the dragonfly at her waist to the graceful juts of her shoulder blades was in the triple digits.
"Ah but I didn't say every hour. I said an average of once an hour. Back those two and a half hours out of the overall seven and distribute your generous if not fully obscene words over the remaining time. That averages out to one compliment every thirty eight-ish minutes."
"I love you."
She took that overripened truth from me and turned another pirouette, a laugh rippling out as the air caught her skirt.
I wished the wedding photographer was lurking nearby because I wanted to remember this up close and also far away.
I wanted to see the moonlight glowing on her skin and the flutter of her skirt and the unbound joy on her face. I wanted every side of this memory.
"There you two are! Di, they're over here."
We turned to find my father bounding toward us, half jogging, half strolling as if he couldn't pin down his level of urgency. His tie was loose, his suit coat was gone, and he clutched two flutes of champagne in his hands. And he looked happier than I could ever remember.
"We've been looking for you all night," he said.
I caught Zelda's eye and stifled a laugh. "We sat across the table from you through dinner and dessert. Did you not notice?"
My father dismissed these points with a wave of his hands which sent champagne sloshing over the sides. This didn't seem to bother him.
"I hope you know you have a hot one on your hands," he said with a nod toward Zelda.
Knowing my father meant recognizing this as a comment on Zelda's skill rather than her appearance.
He also referred to kids and young people as chicks because—in his mind—they were new and youthful like spring chickens.
He held tight to the expression bitchin' and generally struggled to understand how any of these words made for questionable choices.
My father was as complex and imperfect as the rest of us and it only took me thirty-five years to figure it out.
I rested my hand low on Zelda's bare back. "I noticed."
My mother bustled over, her high heels now swapped out for flip-flops with watermelon slices printed on the straps and the skirt of her long dress bunched up and knotted at her knees.
"We've been looking for you all night," she cried.
"Why did you leave the reception? The after-party is starting soon. You have to stay for that!"
Before I could dispute any of these claims, Zelda jumped in with, "I wanted to see more of the grounds. We won't miss the after-party."
I groaned at that but only Zelda noticed, responding with a light pat to my chest intended to shut me up.
"I've been thinking about our discussion last night," my father said to Zelda.
"Which discussion was that?" I asked.
Zelda's lips pulled up into a smile. "We had a chat on the walk back from the restaurant."
"You have some smart ideas." My father gave her a wink before running an appraising glance over at me. "Zelda thinks I can spend two full days each week out of the office. Maybe three come the new year."
I bobbed my head in the best show of blindsided agreement I could manage. "That's right."
"And without fielding frantic calls from my clients or finding them on the doorstep, wondering why some suit in the city"—that was me, I was the suit in the city, the villain in this story, apparently—"will only communicate with them through email and internet portals, like some corporation."
"Of course," Zelda replied, appropriately aghast at the idea of anyone putting up with a corporation.
My father considered this, taking a sip from each flute of champagne. Then he lifted his shoulders, saying, "Let's do it."
"About time," my mother muttered.
He held out his hand, first to Zelda, then me. "I trust you kids to get it right."
Before I could ruin this unprecedented moment of peaceful professional coexistence with some kind of asshole comment about always getting it right, Zelda replied, "We will. This means as much to us as it does to you."
Tears gathered in my mother's eyes. She hooked her arm in my father's, saying, "Two of my babies are happy tonight, Carlo."
"What happened to Linden?" he asked, frowning down at her.
"Nothing happened to him," my mother replied. "That's the problem."
"I don't understand anything you're saying." He drained one flute, then the other. "What's the issue with nothing happening to him?"
"It's not one we can solve tonight." My mother cast a feral gaze back at the tent. "Although—"
Zelda hid a laugh behind her hand.
"What were you saying about the after-party?
" I asked because the last thing my brother needed was a Diana-sanctioned night with a bridesmaid.
It wasn't like he didn't see plenty of action from his lumberjack beard alone but a fix-up would ruin any and all of his plans to get wet in Bristol's waters.
"Where is that? What's the plan? Magnolia mentioned something about chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches and I hope to hell she wasn't lying. "
I held Zelda close to my chest as my mother lapsed into a thorough explanation of the next leg of this event. There was to be food and drink, music and games. My sister had a special dress for this, something called a romper. And yes, chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches.
Then, my mother stepped toward us and brushed Zelda's hair back over her ear. "I love your stripe of indigo," she said. "It suits you."
"You're sweet. Thank you for saying that," Zelda replied. "We'll be along to the party soon."
Since they adored her and hung on every word she said, my parents accepted this and turned back toward the tent. If I'd said it, they would've dragged me along by the collar.
Once we were alone again, I asked, "Is there anything you can't do?"
"Many, many things," she said, laughing. "Can't walk in heels at all. Can't pick out a ripe melon. Can't mix a cocktail. Shall I continue?"
"You can but I still won't believe it."
She squeezed my arm. "You're adorable. Even when you work real hard at making people think you're not."
Instead of responding, I pointed at a bench nestled between two massive rhododendrons and guided Zelda there. Once we were seated, I lifted her legs onto my lap and watched her gaze out at the slow-lapping water.
I knew three absolute, incontrovertible truths as we sat there, my hands traveling over her legs and her smile outshining the stars.
One—I loved Zelda in a gasping, defenseless, bottomless way and I'd wait an entire lifetime for her to love me back.
Two—she saved me in every way one person could save another and it was possible I saved her too.
Three—I had to fire her right now.