Chapter 5
Lydia–One Month Later
“SO, WHEN WILL you be back again?” My roommate, Jamie, pops her head into my room just as I’m sitting on my overstuffed suitcase in order to zip it.
“Late Sunday,” I tell her as I tug the zipper across the teeth.
Jamie nods. “Okay, sounds good.”
I eye her with suspicion. “Jamie,” I say warningly, “you are not allowed to paint anything while I’m gone, okay? I like our wall colors, and we’ll lose more of our security deposit if you paint any more of the cabinets.”
Jamie crosses her arms across her chest with a huff. “Oh please, Stan was such a spoilsport about that! The cabinets looked so much better after I painted them.”
Stan is our building manager, and Jamie painted the cabinets pink. Bright pink. I’d never been happier to hear someone say, “You can’t do that, put it back the way it was. ”
“Jamie.” I’m not backing down. If I back down I’ll come home to a bedroom painted fuchsia.
“Okay, okay.” She rolls her eyes. “I won’t paint anything while you’re gone.” It’s her turn to shoot me a suspicious glance. “That suitcase is awfully full, Lydia. There better not be anything of mine in there. Don’t think I didn’t see you furtively dousing my blouse with Shout when you got home from your last trip. I didn’t say anything because you clearly got whatever stain that was off, but I have since adopted a strict ‘no borrowing my clothes’ policy.”
I wince, her words reminding me of that night one month ago. I’ve been very careful to not think about Enemy Number 1 since that morning in the hotel room. I’ve also taken to calling him Enemy Number 1 whenever he does force his way into my brain. I say, if calling some diabolical wizard You-Know-Who, worked for hundreds of witches and wizards in Harry Potter, then calling one diabolical cyborg Enemy Number 1 should work for me.
“Right, sorry about that,” I say quickly to Jamie, slumping off my suitcase as I finally get the zipper all the way around it. “Don’t worry though, I didn’t take any of your clothes. My bridesmaid dress just has a massive skirt.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “I was kind of hoping you might have changed your mind and stuffed Elliot in there.”
I force a laugh. Elliot Small–a math teacher at Faith Christian, the school newspaper’s advisor, and the coach of the boys’ track and field team–finally asked me out last week after months of towing the friendship/flirting line. Jamie, who’d been hinting for months that she thought I should ask him to be my plus one at the wedding, threw a fit when she found out I turned him down. I couldn’t tell her the truth. How I’d been about to say yes to dinner with him, until I’d remembered that I am no longer a desirable future wife for a Christian man like Elliot Small. I’m damaged goods. I gave someone the milk before they bought the cow. I have brought shame upon my family. Although that last one was already true, but the point remains; if I had said yes to Elliot and things had eventually gotten serious, I would’ve had to tell him about my now sordid past. So, I said no. I said no to the first cute, funny, Christian guy to ask me out in years. And now I have to go to my brother’s wedding and walk up the aisle with the egotistical guy who ruined my whole life: Enemy Number 1.
“Lydia, you okay?” Jamie peers at me, and I realize I’m scowling.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “But sorry, I haven’t changed my mind about Elliot. The timing just isn’t right, okay?”
Jamie sighs, but doesn’t say anything more. She’s moved on, her eyes lingering on my dresser.
“Jamie!” I cry in alarm, though in truth I’m happy for the subject change. “You’re not painting my dresser either.”
Cole
I’m sitting in my rental car outside the church, trying to make myself go in. I’m already five minutes late, and I’m sure Delia is inside about to send out a search brigade if I don’t walk in those doors soon. I rub my bleary eyes, picturing what I’ll say when I see Lydia.
I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep since I woke up next to her. I lie awake for hours, guilt wracking through my body. The first few days I tried to rationalize the situation, figuring that if I could just prove that I wasn’t to blame, then my guilt would go away. I’m a lawyer, this is what we do.
One night I even composed an opening argument, a couple of paragraphs that I felt might make any jury of my peers see my side. Of course, when I read it the next day, I realized that I sounded like a petulant child. It featured phrases like, how was I supposed to know she was saving herself for marriage , we’d both had a lot to drink , and, worst of all, she started it.
Needless to say, I burned it, and I’ve spent the nights since wondering how on earth I’m going to make this up to her. The enormity of my guilt surprises me, and I’m trying very hard not to psychoanalyze my feelings. I’m sure it’s just because she’s Josh’s sister. I grew up next door to her; she was practically like a little sister to me for a while. Wait, no. Scratch that. Gross.
There’s a rumbling sound at the entrance of the parking lot, and I turn to see a city bus pulling into the lot and opening its doors. A second later, Lydia emerges, and my breath catches in my throat. She’s wearing a blush-colored dress made out of some sort of flowy material. Her hair tumbles down over her shoulders, and the sight brings back a rush of memories I’m not comfortable having in a church parking lot.
She dashes across the pavement, stumbling a little in her heels. I’m about to get out of my car and offer her my arm, just to prevent her from tumbling to the ground, obviously; but as I watch she stops, scoops her heels off, tucks them under her arm, and continues rushing towards the church. A few seconds later she disappears inside.
I can’t delay any longer, so I step out of the car and make my way across the parking lot. Something glints in my periphery, and I glance at the grass to see a glittering clutch lying there. I veer off my path to pick it up and am just straightening when the church doors open once more, and Lydia reappears. Our eyes meet and hers widen like saucers. My heart hammers inside my chest, and I’m perturbed to find I’ve lost the ability to speak.
“I’ll take that.” She breaks the silence, her tone icy, and I realize she’s holding out her hand for the clutch.
“Right,” I squeak, like I’m a pre-adolescent. I cough. “Here you go.” I hand her the clutch, making sure to avoid any physical contact.
Lydia doesn’t say anything else, just snatches the clutch and whirls back around. “I found him, Delia,” she calls. “He was taking a leak in the grass.”
“What!” I sputter, all my feelings of attraction or guilt or whatever they were disappearing at her words. “I was not!”
Lydia looks over her shoulder at me and smirks. I stifle the urge to stick my tongue out at her. I once thought this woman was refined, but here she is making jokes about me peeing on the grass.
“Cole!” Delia pops her head out of the sanctuary. “Finally. You’re here.” She eyes me suspiciously. “You weren’t really peeing in the grass, were you?”
“Of course not, Delia,” I shake my head.
“Oh good.” She laughs. “Can you imagine if you had been? Not a very mayoral thing to do, Cole.”
“I did not pee in the grass, Delia,” I say emphatically, because the last thing I need is a rumor like that going around. Delia is absolutely right, such behavior is not at all mayoral.
“Mayoral?” Lydia says. “What do you mean?” Before either of us can answer, Mrs. Hamlin appears behind Delia.
“Everyone here?” Her eyes land on me. “Cole. Hello, glad you could join us. I hope you didn’t have transportation difficulties like my daughter.” Her mouth tightens into a forced smile as her eyes flit disapprovingly in Lydia’s direction.
“Mom,” Lydia sighs, “taking the bus isn’t a transportation difficulty. What did you want me to do, walk here?”
Twin spots of pink color her mom’s cheeks. “You could have rented a car, Lydia. Like the rest of our out-of-town guests.”
Lydia mutters something inaudible, though I think I catch the words “money” and “exorbitant.” As I watch the exchange, something strikes me, and I speak without thinking.
“How did you get the bus to drop you off here, Lydia? This church isn’t a bus stop.”
Lydia looks at me with disdain, though I assume it’s because of the whole sleeping together thing and not my question. “I asked the bus driver if he would drop me off here,” she says with a shrug, like bus drivers routinely make any old side stop, “and he was kind enough to say yes.”
I blink at her, trying to hide the fact that I’m impressed.
“Can we please talk about this later?” Delia pipes up. “We have a rehearsal to do.” Lydia and I both hop to attention, and I spend the rest of the rehearsal studiously keeping my eyes off her. My mind refuses to be reined in though, and I find myself replaying our night together last month, except this time I’m not a world-class jerk. This time we just talk, catch up on life, and maybe, just maybe, she promises me a dance at the wedding.