Chapter 25
Sadie
Jamison and I were like the same polarization of a magnet.
If he walked into a room, I found an excuse to walk out of it.
He’d sent me text and a voicemail, but I wasn’t in a position to read or listen while remaining emotionally stable, so I didn’t.
I would deal with him. I just couldn’t, yet.
At one point, as I was finishing the final touches on my makeup, he’d knocked on the door to the bridal suite and called through that the officiant was stuck in traffic.
Just the sound of his voice sent a flurry of mixed emotions through me.
Loss. Want. Love.
I swiped a handful of Q-tips off the counter and pressed them one-by-one to the corners of my eyes until the sudden wash of tears were managed. My makeup remained intact. Even if the rest of me was in pieces.
It might help if I could feel angry, but I wasn’t. There was no one to be angry at. The whole situation was just sad.
It was with an iron fist-like grip that I kept my composure.
I laughed along with June and our mom as Jamison’s mom retold a story about her wedding day, but for the life of me I couldn’t retain any of the details.
I was too busy wondering how such a lovely woman could have raised a man so .
. . emotionally broken. Did it all go back to the loss of his dad? Did Sally know? Had she tried to help?
But as soon as my thoughts got too close to something that would make me cry, I switched them like the changing of a radio station.
It was in one of those moments that I admitted to my sister that Jamison and me dancing would make me really sad. She hadn’t asked any questions, instead she rubbed my arm and promised to take care of it.
The next knock on the door was our dad. I loved watching compilation videos of dads seeing their daughters on their wedding days.
They were perfect for a mid-afternoon light-weight cry.
But when watching my dad and my sister share this moment, it was a full-on attack.
There were so many echoes in his tear-filled loving gaze—the daddy-daughter dance where she stood on his toes, her taking photos with her friends before she left for prom, the gleam of pride on his face as she walked across the stage at her college graduation.
This life, this family, it was without extravagance. And yet, what was a more worthy cause than to devote yourself to the people you loved? It didn’t feel like it was without meaning. Truly, it never had.
I wanted this.
Another version of this.
My version of this.
But if I never had the experience of watching the man I loved kiss our daughter’s forehead as she stood draped in white lace the way my mom was experiencing now, I would still have this.
And Alicia, and my other friends. I would still have this memory of our dad looking at June like she was just a little kid, wiping away tears and whispering, “How did this happen so fast?”
Then he pulled me into the next hug and spoke over our heads to Mom. “Maureen, they’re beautiful.”
She made a sound that mixed laughter and a sob that somehow conveyed agreement.
“Dad, you’re gonna make me cry and ruin my makeup.” June dabbed at her eyes with her ring fingers.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” But he didn’t actually sound like he was. His eyes took in our mom. “You’re a knockout, my love.”
She beamed and blushed.
There was no end to how much I loved them, how proud I was to be a part of them. I shared a smile with June knowing she felt the same way. I was eternally grateful that even through the heartache, I was capable of feeling absolute joy.
Mom straightened Dad’s tie, flattening it over his rounded tummy. “Well, is it time?”
“What do you think June Bug?” he asked. “You ready to marry your young man?”
Her face split with a smile so large and bright I could have been convinced she was glowing. “I’m so ready.”
Following Dad and June, Mom and I walked with our arms interlocked.
We had to walk a few feet in the main hotel lobby and then outside on the cement path to the library building.
Other guests gasped and turned their heads at the sight of my sister with her dark curls half in an up-do and half down her back.
Mom placed a hand on mine. “You’re quiet.”
“If I speak, I’ll sob,” I admitted; my voice wobbled at the end as if to prove my point.
“Oh, my girl. Such a good big sis.”
I let her believe that the swell of emotions in my chest were purely from my sisterly love.
A great deal of it was, with the exception of my grief that the glimmering future I had hoped for couldn’t be.
And a certainty that eventually my heart wouldn’t be so broken, and the feelings I had for Jamison would pass.
Combined with the very real wish that he would somehow, miraculously, grow into a person who could accept my love and love me back.
***
The sky was just starting to turn dark as early evening approached.
Mike and June were taking photos around the hotel.
The wedding had been perfect, including the way he flinched and shut his eyes at the first sight of her.
They were pronounced husband and wife, kissed, and our little party cheered.
And I focused may gaze so tightly on Mike and June that I couldn’t see Jamison just behind their heads.
I was still avoiding him at the reception.
He was too handsome in his classic black tux and bowtie, as if he were born to wear it.
A sexy movie star librarian with his gold framed glasses and clean-shaved jaw.
I kept feeling his eyes on me, but I ignored him and how badly my eyes wanted to look back.
Looking at him hurt.
Not looking at him hurt.
At one terrifying moment, he’d ended up at my side and asked, “Can I talk to you?”
I swallowed my sip of bubbly, shook my head, and walked away.
I was curious as hell about what he wanted to say, but there was a very real likelihood that it would make me cry.
As we ate dinner, the navy blue of night overtook the bright colors of a golden sunset through the slats of the pergola roof.
I was a little nervous to give my speech as the wedding coordinator handed me the microphone and whispered, “Give this to the best man when you’re done.”
Without my permission, my eyes darted to him sitting on the other side of Mike and my sister. Just like a few days ago, Jamison gave me an unsure smile, the smallest twitch of his lips. I blinked turning my body toward the small gathering of guests.
I’d worked on what I wanted to say for months, shifting the message and lines until it all made sense. Until it conveyed the feeling that I really wanted everyone to know. I was proud of it, but still the nerves made me wish I’d written less.
“Hi, I’m Sadie, June’s older and cooler sister,” I began barely remembering to pause for the couple of chuckles.
My hands were shaking some, and my note cards were growing damp where I had them pinched in my fingers.
“But even with my obviously superior wisdom, June has never really let me do much of anything first. She’s too busy paving her own way.
It’s about a fifty-fifty split between the times I’ve been there to cheer on her successes or I’ve been there to laugh at her scraped knee.
And the first time she told me she thought Mike might be the one, I was like, ‘Good luck to that man.’ Because keeping up with this one takes full-time effort.
But then I met him . . . ” I had to pause, my eyes suddenly brimming with tears and my throat too tight I couldn’t speak.
“He gets her,” I forced out just above a whisper.
June dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.
“Having a sister is like having an automatic best friend, enemy, fan club, and critic all wrapped into one person,” I went on.
“But most importantly, she’s that person who is always on your team.
When Mike showed up, suddenly I wasn’t June’s only champion, and eventually I wasn’t even her best champion.
“You’re a good one, Mike. I’m so grateful that you love her the way she deserves.” I wiped away a tear on my chin. “And you’re the best one, Peanut. I’m really glad I’m not actually allergic to you.”
There were some watery laughs as I held out my glass of champagne. “To June and Mike!”
I took a hearty sip of my drink and went to hand the microphone back to the wedding coordinator.
Only to remember that I was supposed to hand it to Jamison.
I turned around and almost slammed into him.
I looked up from his chest to his collar, his neck, the dusting of scruff on his jaw, the slope of his nose, to his dark eyes surrounded in long, thick, swooping lashes.
For a moment, I froze—overwhelmed by his presence.
He was close enough to catch the spicy scent on his skin, and the heat of his body.
A shiver ran down my spine as his fingers brushed mine taking the microphone from me. It was the barest touch. Every cell of my skin begged for more.
He swallowed. Somehow he stood straighter and took a step backward.
I’d never seen him speak publicly, even though I knew that he did on occasion for his job. Before he even opened his mouth, he commanded the room.
And like everyone else, I hung on the little hook at the edge of his lopsided grin.