Chapter 37 – Kat
THIRTY-SEVEN
KAT
Three times.
The mailman forgot to pick up our outgoing mail not once, not twice, but three times . Who does that? I mean, it’s not like most people tend to have a ton of outgoing mail in a day, but after the third time he simply forgot to grab my letter despite the little flag being up, I just ended up grabbing it with the intention of taking it to the post office myself.
That was a little over three weeks ago.
It’s not that I’m scared to mail it; it just hasn’t been convenient. Of course, I could have taken it with me to campus and dropped it at the post office in the student center, but that is beside the point.
Ultimately, I’ve decided to just send it while home for the weekend, since my mom’s house is right next to the post office.
Or I could drop it off at his apartment. I mean, I have the address—but that would be weird.
Post office it is .
My hand slips from the worn handle of my weekender bag, and it thuds loudly against the polished hardwood floor. I quickly toss my camera bag onto the nearby credenza before heading toward the comforting smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen. As I turn the corner, I find my mom standing at the counter, cutting onions. I take in the array of ingredients laid out all over the countertop and notice a thick steak sizzling in a cast-iron skillet on the stove behind her.
“Hey, Mom, whatcha makin’?” I ask, inspecting the ingredients more thoroughly.
“Hey, honey. I was thinking we could do steak salads. I picked up your favorite house dressing from the grocery store.”
“It smells great.”
My mom’s eyebrows raise in surprise and a grin slowly spreads across her face, causing the slight wrinkles around her eyes to deepen. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and sincere. I can see the corners of her lips quivering slightly as she speaks. “Do you have any plans for tonight? I know the wedding is tomorrow, but I wasn’t sure if any of your friends from high school were in town.”
I don’t have the heart to remind her that I don’t talk to many people from high school anymore—it’s just another reminder of how little we talk these days. “Um, no. No one is home. I figured we could just hang out tonight.”
Her grin grows into an undeniably infectious smile. “I would love that.”
Butter sizzles and pops in the pan on the stove, filling the air with a rich aroma. We both turn our heads toward the steak, worried that it might burn.
“Shoot. Can you baste that steak for me? I don’t want it to burn, but it should be ready soon,” she requests, handing me a spoon.
I carefully drizzle hot butter over the meat, making sure to cover every inch of its surface. When the steak is done cooking and resting, I begin slicing it into thin pieces to be added to the salad my mom is expertly preparing in a huge wooden bowl. The salad could easily feed at least six people, even though it’s just the two of us. However, we’ve both proven to be bottomless pits when it comes to salad.
“Do you want to eat in front of the TV?” my mom asks.
“Sure,” I say with a smile.
She grabs the plates and forks as I grab the salad and our respective bottles of dressing because we’ve never been able to agree on one we both like.
“What would you like to watch?” She begins flipping through the cable channels.
“It doesn’t matter,” I reply, shoveling salad onto my plate and drenching it in dressing.
She continues searching through the television guide for a minute or two before settling on one of those obscure channels that absolutely no one has heard of that happens to be airing old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer .
When we’ve both settled into the couch with our salads in our laps, she asks, “So, how is school?”
I shrug. “It’s been great, actually. My classes have been good so far.” We’re only a little over a month into the semester, so it’s not like that is untrue, but my classes are far from what has been on my mind since I returned to school.
“And how is Tanner?”
A lump lodges in my throat at her question, which I wasn’t expecting her to ask. I fight the urge to grill her on what would possibly motivate her to ask such a question. “Why?”
She furrows her brow, the corners of her mouth turning down in a look of confusion. It’s almost comical, except for the fact that I can’t shake the feeling that she knows something has shifted between Tanner and me. “Because other than Jenna, he is the only friend of yours that I’ve met from off at school.”
Oh . That makes significantly more sense than the fear that was brewing—the fear that I somehow have the words “ I had sex with Tanner Adler ” written across my forehead in permanent marker.
It’s been weeks since that happened, yet somehow things have been entirely normal between us. Almost as if we never had sex at all—and I don’t know why, but it bugs me beyond reason. I would have expected at least some level of weirdness, some indicator that it had any sort of meaning.
I guess normalcy is the best-case scenario, even if it doesn’t feel that way.
“He’s really good!” I say enthusiastically before shoving a bite of food into my mouth, trying to forcefully will the conversation away from the friend who has recently become far too intimately acquainted with my lady parts.
However, my mother’s confusion only morphs into concern. “Is everything all right? Did you ever go talk to the campus health center about therapists?”
The idea of having to recount everything to yet another stranger so they can psychoanalyze me isn’t even remotely appealing. “No—I haven’t needed to.”
“Have you checked with Janet’s office to see if she is able to do telehealth appointments? Maybe you could just keep seeing her while at school.” My mom rests her hand on my knee. “I understand that you’re doing fine right now, but it doesn’t hurt to do everything in your power to make sure that you stay that way.”
I can hear the words she is not saying, and I cringe at the memory. I’m not the only one who struggled with my breakup last spring. My mom missed out on a lot of work because she was too scared to leave me alone.
“I’ll call Janet’s office.”
This appears to appease her worries as her pinched brow disappears and a smile sets in. “Good.”
We both shift toward the television and begin watching the old show my mom has loved since I was little. I don’t totally get it, but even I can admit…Spike is hot.
I affix my old zoom lens to the front of my camera in preparation for the posed photos. While I’m still figuring out my process, I have decided that the zoom lens is the only one appropriate for the ceremony. When I can control my distance from the subject a bit more, a fixed focal-length lens with a wide aperture is always better when shooting posed shots.
At least that’s what Google told me.
When my mom told me that one of the girls at the restaurant was getting married and needed a photographer that didn’t cost an arm and a leg, I’ll admit I was far more excited than the two hundred dollars I’m making for a full day of shooting plus editing should justify. I probably would have done it for free. However, if I’ve learned anything from my mom, it is that you should never work for free.
The sun casts a warm glow through the slats of the barn’s walls, illuminating the lilac fabric carefully draped from the rafters. The intimate wedding party gathers around a small, rustic wooden table at the far end of the barn, bejeweled with wildflowers and flickering candles. As the bride and groom exchange vows, a gentle breeze carries the sweet scent of lavender from the open field outside.
The groom and his groomsmen are dressed in dark brown suits, pressed white shirts, and no ties. I’ve always loved when men wear suits outside the standard black, gray, and blue. There probably isn’t a science to it, but I like to think more uniquely colored suits add an extra little something.
All the bridesmaids wear light purple dresses, almost the exact shade as the drapery hanging above us. The bride’s dress is simple yet elegant and her fiery red hair is swept up in a tight bun atop her head, giving her an effortlessly glam look, accentuated by the bright red lip she is sporting.
With my finger pressed firmly against the shutter button of my camera, I am determined to capture every angle and detail as the elated couple concludes their vows. As they embrace in a passionate kiss, I snap away, capturing this moment of pure love and joy forever in time. The sunlight flowing in through the barn door creates an ethereal sight and makes me hopeful that I’ll have less editing to do in post.
The bridal party exits the barn to a cheerful song that I can’t quite place—I think it’s from The Parent Trap . I follow them out into the field of wildflowers. Everyone is cooperative and understanding that I’m learning and am incredibly nervous. At first the bride is a little apprehensive, but when I show her a few of the photos from the ceremony on the viewfinder, her anxiety is instantly quelled.
I begin packing up my equipment, as they didn’t ask me to photograph the reception. Just as I zip up my camera bag, a beautiful woman with light brown skin and tight, bouncy curls framing her face approaches me. Her hair is expertly styled into a soft bun, not as tightly pulled back as the bride’s. She’s one of the bridesmaids.
“Hey, thanks for doing this. I know Rachel was insanely nervous about finding a photographer in her budget. You really are a lifesaver,” she says earnestly.
“Of course—I was happy to help. Everyone has to start somewhere, so I’m happy for the experience for my portfolio.”
She doesn’t say anything else at first. However, just as I sling my camera bag over my shoulder and prepare to say a polite goodbye and walk away, she speaks again.
“I’m Cheyeanne. I know this is weird because you don’t know me, but I’ve always wanted to pursue photography and I was wondering…if you ever need a second shooter or anything, I’d love to give you my information. I might not have any formal training, but I promise I don’t suck.” She smiles awkwardly with a nervousness in her voice that I recognize all too well.
“Like I said, everyone has to start somewhere, right?” I say with a smile, sifting through the side pocket of my camera bag. “I have another wedding I’m shooting in November in the area. I swear, everyone at Rachel’s work is getting married right now. I was planning on shooting it alone, but it might be a good opportunity for you to get your feet wet since it’s a small wedding. Are you available November seventh?”
“Yes!” Her face brightens with joy. “Yes, I am available.”
I try not to chuckle, because I get it—I was similarly enthusiastic when my mom mentioned Rachel needed a photographer for her wedding .
I smile as I finally find and hold out my brand-new business card. “Sounds great, Cheyeanne. Text me your portfolio and if I like what I see, we can go from there.”
She says thank you before skipping back toward the bridal party to head into the reception and I can’t help but shake the feeling that I just met someone who will become a lifelong friend.