Chapter Twenty-Three
Almost immediately after Dave and I had decided to be strictly platonic while we figured things out, a heatwave descended.
It was unfair how often he had a plausible reason to be shirtless in my periphery. And the heaviness of the air, the sweat,
it usually just feels oppressive and stifling, but when you’re always around someone you’re attracted to and can’t have, it
feels kind of sexy. Like the right kind of weather for a crush.
As the wedding neared, my sister had a “what if?” spiral. The first text arrived at 6 a.m. while I was staring at the ceiling
of the cabin, obsessing about Dave. I felt the buzz somewhere under one of the couch’s many tiny useless pillows. Once I’d thrown four of them to the ground,
I found the phone’s glaring screen mocking me from under the fifth. I read the text and thought, Oh she’s just being silly. I pulled on my jean romper, trying not to wake my mother, and went outside to climb over the fence and into the corral with
the horses. I brushed Snow’s mane and spoke audio notes to Katie. Don’t worry, the caterers won’t give everyone food poisoning like in Drop Dead Gorgeous! We still have time to say no shellfish,
just to be safe.
I was leaving just as Dave arrived to muck out their stalls, a pitchfork over his shoulders.
“Hey,” I said, as though passing him on the street.
“Trying to get all the heavy work done before the heat really hits,” he said, smiling. We were playing good-natured neighbours.
It was a hard part to play.
I put on my suit and went down to the lake for a swim before going to camp.
Marlon was working overtime fielding queries from Kate about potential disasters on the big day, and questions from me about Dave and I being “friends” after our earth-shattering hookup.
He sent me a voice memo that I played on the dock where he yelled, It sounds like you love him and want to be with him.
So just do it. We’re all gonna die someday, why wait a second longer?
As the message ended, Baby bounded by me and jumped in the lake, Dave running after him, wearing only boxer shorts.
“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t know you were down here.”
“No worries,” I answered, faux casual, hoping he hadn’t just overheard Marlon’s exasperated message.
We watched Baby swim, both staring straight ahead. I was afraid to look at him. Then Dave threw a ball, which delighted Baby’s
retrieving sensibilities. I wasn’t an animal, I could surely control myself. I patted the towel beside me.
“Have a seat if you like,” I said.
“Hmmm,” he said, “I don’t know if I can.”
“You don’t know if you can sit?”
“I don’t know if I can, uh”—he leaned over the dock to take the ball from Baby’s mouth and then threw it again—“sit next to
you in a bathing suit and be a normal human being who breathes and talks.”
I groaned, both flattered and turned on by his confession.
“Should I wear, like, maybe garbage bag dresses?”
“Please refrain from brushing your hair and teeth? Adopt an all-onion diet?”
“Well, you’d have to stop like, flexing your muscles while you chop stuff.”
“Chopping stuff is a big part of my chosen career.”
Dave took the ball out of Baby’s mouth again and threw it onto land. Baby swam to the shore and went after it. Dave put a
hand on my shoulder.
“This is harder than I thought,” he said.
“For me, too.”
The alarm on my phone went off—time to head to camp.
“Gotta go help the next generation of theatre avoid exposition!”
I stood up and gathered my things. I heard him throwing the ball and calling Baby a good boy, but I didn’t turn around, despite
everything in my body telling me I must.
While driving to camp, the audio system in my car spoke a robot lady version of Katie’s concerns: What if Mom and Dad full-out brawl before we even get to say the vows? In the drive-through at Starbucks, I replied: I’ll be the family bouncer.
As I drove up the somehow both rocky and dusty hill to the camp, now lush with so much greenery it was like going through
a verdant tunnel, the robot voice said, What if Sarah suddenly realizes I’m annoying and pulls a Runaway Bride?
That was her favourite movie in high school!
I pulled into my spot beside the winery’s white hydrangea bushes and responded: Sarah loves you.
I’ve never been more certain of anything in my entire life.
Marlon and I started an ongoing side chat about it, unsure about how serious we should take her anxieties. He threw out a
fake casual: I’m sure you’re super organized about your duties for the wedding right? I don’t have to worry about the poetry selections,
the speech?
Of course, I lied.
I had been thinking of the wedding and the end of summer as events that were far away. And now, here they were. I had no poem
selected for the wedding programs. No speech written. I’d shopped for some of the crafts at the antique barn, stolen some
gold paint and stencil sets from the camp arts and crafts closet, had the old photos from Dad’s place, but I wasn’t close
to being done.