Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
It’s Liam’s megawatt smile that makes every guest at the wedding tear up.
And Kirby’s sweet, doleful eyes. She’s stunning.
Her dress is bigger than she is but she does not let it swallow her up.
She glides across the dance floor like a princess with just a touch of a villainess, the kind you root for. With a boom mic at her side.
“You’ll thank me later,” she tells me when I take it off her hands. “We might have a wedding fantasy one day and we’ll need some background.”
I find L’Wren at the backyard bar. “Everything is beautiful…” Her voice trails off.
“L’Wren.”
“I’m just saying, if they had used my planner, she would have never let that violinist wear jeans. Even if it is a dark wash. It wouldn’t have been a conversation.”
Liam and Kirby proudly paid for every cent of the ceremony, mostly thanks to the subscription bump we’ve enjoyed from posting video as well. And the biggest wedding gift on the table is from Petra. She sent it from Morocco, along with a postcard for us all:
Please tell the newlyweds to extend their honeymoon and visit me here.
Please tell L’Wren there are stray cats everywhere, and I’ve already adopted two!
I’m a cat lady now. Please tell Alicia there is no such thing as “quiet” in Marrakesh but she’ll fall in love with the place anyway.
And Diana…the Ziploc baggie is finally empty but my heart is so, so full. Love, P.
P.S. Have we thought about Dirty Diana lube? There’s the most fragrant pomegranate tree in my yard…. It should smell just like that. One of you get on that! xoxo
Arthur steals L’Wren for a dance. Oliver takes my hand and we follow, and the late-October evening swirls from there.
Cake and champagne toasts and Liam’s and Kirby’s beaming smiles.
After seeing off the newlyweds, Oliver and I get in our car and begin my favorite part of the night: our drive home.
It was exactly two months ago that I pulled Oliver from the couch and drove him to the site of his work-in-progress house, the one with the tree growing in it and the sleepy birch out front.
“I don’t know how we do it. But this is our house.”
“You want to live here?” he asked.
“There are too many sad memories where we are now. They’re closing in on us.”
“It’s farther from Emmy’s school…. And the frontage road is terrible when it rains but…
” Oliver made a slow circle around the empty house, still unfinished.
“You want to hear something strange? There is a big part of me that’s always been building this house for us.
Even when there was no ‘us.’ I hoped, even then. ”
We moved in before there was a kitchen and with some of the floors still ripped up.
The three of us shared a crumbling bathroom with a cold shower until the water heater could be replaced.
In sour moods, Emmy complained; in good moods she told us she loved camping and talked us into s’mores for lunch.
I called Allison Kidd and said no to the movie and to the money.
The idea of putting out a different version of myself now that Dirty Diana is finally out there felt about as appealing as taking back my old job at Allen’s firm.
Natalie understood. She told me there are so many different versions of her out in the world she has had to accept it but she’s never liked it.
Oliver and I make love in various rooms. And sometimes we don’t. We’ve taken the pressure off except to tell each other even the most insignificant parts of our day, just to stay in the habit.
And by the time the article came out in Vogue, I’d nearly forgotten about it. When it finally ran, they skipped the Q an oxford; no shirt at all.
You turn to me and grin, your blue-green eyes full of mischief. “They’re meant to be a distraction. All the mirrors.” Like a Kusama exhibit of infinity mirrors. Light-years. We’re here, but swallowed up.
You step toward me. My pulse quickens. You finger the straps of my dress.
I look down at myself for the first time.
It’s the same dress I was wearing the first time we met.
When you showed me that terrible apartment and we couldn’t keep our eyes off each other.
The dress is plain and rumpled and nothing like the suit you’re wearing.
As if reading my mind you say, “It’s perfect,” and nod to the mirrors. I’m in a green silk gown; a blue sweater; a black dress.
You kiss my shoulder and slip one strap off, and then the next. The dress slips from my chest and catches at my hips. You close the gap between us and the heat from your body warms mine.
My chin tilts to meet yours. Your lips are soft but the kiss is urgent. The elevator begins to move. A rush of anticipation. We’re one step closer to your place.
You don’t stop at the kiss. You push me against the wall and press your body into mine but I still feel like I’m falling. Even though you’re solid and strong and I can feel your excitement build.
The elevator slows near the third floor.
You lift the hem of my dress but I grab you by the wrist. “What if someone gets on?”
“Who cares?” Your breath is warm on my neck. I lean back so you can kiss every inch of it.
The doors open and I freeze. But no one is there.
I relax again. I let your hands roam everywhere.
Down my stomach, up my thighs. I watch us in the mirrors—for a moment, every reflection is the same: you moving against me, my legs around your torso, my hands in your hair.
I slip off your jacket. Unbutton your shirt.
I want to see more of you in the mirror and I know we have to move quickly.
I look up to the ceiling and the infinity mirror breaks into a hundred different images.
It’s you, planting zinnias in the front yard.
It’s us, alone in a stairwell, me in your lap.
We’re inviting him into our hotel room.
Slipping away from a party.
A million different versions of who we were and who we still can be.
The elevator nears the final floor. “This is us,” you say and pull me to my feet.
I bend to pick up our discarded clothes.
“Leave them. When we get inside”—you pull me close—“I’d like to tie you to the bathroom sink.” I smile. You tie me to the sink in the evening and drive carpool in the morning. Why not? My fantasy is saying yes. To you, to me, to pleasure.
The elevator jerks to a stop. My eyes fly open.
I’m alone in our bed, but I can hear you down the hall, the familiar sounds of you moving through our house.
Luckily, I’m awake now.