14. Andrea
— ? —
Andrea
After the gala, everything changes.
Kirk doesn’t give up. If anything, he doubles down. The flowers continue, but now they come with notes that reference our conversation on the terrace. I meant what I said. I’ll earn it. Every day.
The letters get longer. More personal. He writes about his therapy sessions - not the details, but the realizations. How he’s finally understanding the way his mother’s constant criticism shaped his self-worth. How he’s learning to separate her voice from his own.
She told me I wasn’t enough for so long that I believed her, he writes. And when you loved me anyway, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I kept waiting for you to realize she was right.
You never did. And I punished you for it.
I read these letters alone in my room, pressing my fingers against the indentations of his handwriting, and my insides rearrange themselves a little more each night. The anger is still there. It probably always will be. But it’s making room now.
For hope, God help me. For hope.
Clarence notices, of course. He notices everything.
“You’re thinking about forgiving him,” he says one evening over dinner.
“I’m not-”
“Andrea.” He gives me a look. “I saw you two on that terrace. That wasn’t closure. That was foreplay.”
I choke on my sparkling water. Daniel pats my back while Clarence grins.
“I’m not thinking about forgiving him,” I manage when I can breathe again. “I’m thinking about - understanding him. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” I stab at my pasta. “Forgiving means letting him off the hook. Understanding means seeing why he did it without excusing it.”
“And what do you see?”
I’m quiet for a long moment.
“I see a man who was raised by a mother who told him every day that he wasn’t good enough. That no one would ever really love him. That women only wanted his money.” I swallow. “I see a man who spent his whole life fighting that voice and losing.”
“That doesn’t make what he did okay.”
“No. It doesn’t.” I meet Clarence’s eyes. “But it makes it make sense. And maybe that’s the first step.”
Daniel squeezes my hand. “What’s the second step?”
“I don’t know yet.” I press my palm to my belly, where I keep waiting to feel her - a flutter so faint I still can’t be sure I haven’t imagined it. “But I think I need to find out.”
***
A knock lands on Melissa’s door on Thursday evening, and when I open it, Kirk stands there with a piece of paper in his hand.
“I had an idea,” he says. “And you can say no. You can absolutely say no. But I wanted to ask.”
He’s in a gray henley with the sleeves shoved up, and I make the mistake of looking at his forearms before I look at the paper. Bad move. Those forearms used to cage me against the kitchen counter while the coffee went cold. Crossing my arms gives my hands a job that isn’t reaching for him.
He gutted you, I remind myself. Stop cataloging his arms as if you get to keep them.
“What kind of idea?” I ask.
“Jenna and Derek’s wedding. It’s next weekend.”
My stomach drops. I’d forgotten about the wedding - or tried to. Jenna is one of my oldest friends, and I was supposed to be a bridesmaid. Kirk was supposed to be a groomsman. We’d planned to go together, to celebrate their love while we rebuilt our own.
That was before.
“Jenna called me,” Kirk continues. “She wants us both there. She said-” He pauses, looking at the paper in his hands. “She said that we’re her best friends, and she refuses to choose between us, and if we can’t be civil for one day then we can both stay home and watch the video later.”
My lips twitch despite themselves. That sounds exactly like Jenna.
“She also said that if we can be civil, she’d really like us there. Because apparently she’s been planning this wedding for three years and she’ll be damned if our drama ruins it.”
“That also sounds like Jenna.”
“It does.” Kirk meets my eyes. “So what do you think? Can we do this? One day, one wedding, one chance to prove we can share a room without everything falling apart?”
I should say no. I should tell him it’s too soon, too risky, too much.
But the truth is, I want to go. I want to see Jenna marry Derek. I want to celebrate a good thing in a world that’s given me nothing but bad ones for weeks.
And, maybe, I want to see what happens when Kirk and I are forced into the same space for an entire day.
“Fine,” I say. “One wedding. But if you make a scene-”
“I won’t.”
“And if you do anything that makes me uncomfortable-”
“I’ll leave immediately. I promise.”
He looks so earnest. So hopeful. So much like the man I fell in love with eight years ago.
God help me, I think. I’m going to regret this.
“Fine,” I say again. “And Kirk. Ground rules for Saturday. You don’t hover. You don’t perform devotion for the room. If people ask about us, the answer is ‘we’re working on it,’ not a speech. And if your mother’s name comes up, we leave together, before either of us says the quotable version.”
“Agreed to all terms.” A pause. “Can I request one amendment?”
“Counsel may proceed.”
“One dance. If there’s dancing. Just one.”
I should say no. The word assembles itself and then defects.
“If there’s dancing,” I say, “we’ll see.”
“I’ll see you Saturday.”
His smile is sunrise after a month of rain.
“Thank you, Andrea. You won’t regret it.”
I close the door before he can see the way my heart is racing.
***
Jenna and Derek’s wedding is exactly the kind of fairy tale I used to dream about.
The venue is a restored manor house in the countryside, all ivy-covered walls and perfectly manicured gardens. Twinkle lights are strung through the trees. White chairs line the lawn in neat rows. Somewhere inside, a harp is playing.
I arrive with Melissa, who insisted on coming as my moral support. She’s wearing a blue dress that matches her eyes, and she’s carrying an emergency kit that includes tissues, mints, and a small flask of whiskey “just in case.”
“You know I can’t drink,” I remind her as we climb out of the car.
“The whiskey’s for me.” She tucks the flask into her purse. “Watching you and Kirk pretend to be civil is going to require fortification.”
The rehearsal dinner last night was - awkward. Kirk and I were seated at opposite ends of the table, which made actual conversation impossible but eye contact inevitable. Every time I looked up, he was watching me. Every time he looked up, I was watching him.
It was exhausting.
But today is the actual wedding, which means we’ll be walking down the aisle together as bridesmaid and groomsman. Jenna arranged it months ago, back when Kirk and I were happy and in love and had no idea what was coming.
“You’ve got this,” Melissa says, squeezing my arm. “One day. A few hours. You can survive anything for a few hours.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
We make our way inside, where the bridal party is gathered in various stages of readiness. Jenna spots me and practically tackles me in a hug.
“You came!” She’s already in her dress, a gorgeous lace confection that belongs in a magazine spread. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” I hug her back carefully, trying not to wrinkle the lace. “You look incredible.”
“I look like a meringue.” She steps back, beaming. “But a beautiful meringue. That’s the goal, right?”
“That’s definitely the goal.”
Jenna pulls me into the little side room where the bouquets are staged, checks the hallway with a spy’s efficiency, and shuts the door.
“Okay. Real talk before the veil goes on.” She takes both my hands.
“The processional pairs you with Kirk. I set that up fourteen months ago, back when you two were disgusting together, and I can unset it in ninety seconds. Derek’s cousin can walk you.
He’s harmless. Smells like sunscreen. Say the word. ”
“Jenna. It’s your wedding day. You should be worrying about your own aisle.”
“I’m a multitasker.” Her grip tightens. “Andrea. I watched you carry a casserole to my engagement party six days after your whole life detonated, because you didn’t want your mess on my carpet.
So this is me, on the most me day of my life, spending ninety seconds of it on you.
Do you want to walk with him or not? No noble answers. Real one.”
I look down at our hands. At my ring, still on my finger, catching the light through the bouquet-room window.
“I want to walk with him,” I say, and the truth of it arrives at the same time as the words. “I’m furious at him, and I miss him, and both of those are true at once, and I want the ninety feet of aisle to figure out which one is winning today.”
Jenna studies my face for a long second. Then she nods, satisfied, and reaches for her veil.
“Ninety feet,” she says. “It’s good aisle. Slate tile, even light, forgiving acoustics. People have figured out more in less.”
“You’re deranged.”
“I’m getting married in an hour. Deranged is the dress code.” She spins me toward the door by the shoulders. “Go. And Andrea? Whatever the aisle decides, decide it loud. Watching you two be quietly miserable at each other has aged the entire friend group.”
The ceremony is beautiful. Derek cries when Jenna walks down the aisle.
Jenna laughs and cries at the same time, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue she had tucked into her bouquet.
The officiant talks about love and commitment and choosing each other every day, and I try not to think about the man standing three feet to my left.
I fail, obviously.
Kirk is right there, close enough that his cologne finds me. Close enough that the rise and fall of his breathing registers in my peripheral vision. Close enough that our arms almost brush when we stand for the vows.
I keep my eyes forward. I don’t look at him.
But I feel him. The weight of his attention, the way I’ve felt it for weeks. And my own body responds on schedule: pulse racing, skin prickling, that familiar heat pooling low in my belly.
Stop it, I tell myself. This is not the time or place.
But my body doesn’t care about time or place. My body just knows that Kirk is right there, inches away, and no one has touched me in weeks.
The ceremony ends. Jenna and Derek kiss. Everyone cheers. The bridal party makes its way back down the aisle, and Kirk offers me his arm.
I take it because I have to. Because that’s what you do at weddings.
His arm is warm and solid under my hand. His muscles flex with each step, and my hand notices, and I tell my hand to mind its own business.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, for my ears only.
“Don’t.”
“I mean it.” He glances at me, and his eyes are soft. Full of a thing I refuse to name. “Pregnancy suits you.”
My hand tightens on his arm involuntarily. “Kirk-”
“I know.” He looks forward again. “I’m behaving. I promised.”
We reach the end of the aisle. I drop his arm and step away, my heart pounding.
One wedding, I remind myself. A few hours. I can survive anything for a few hours.
***
The reception is in full swing when the tension finally breaks.
I’ve been avoiding Kirk all evening. Not difficult when we’re seated at different tables and there are plenty of other guests to mingle with. I dance with Clarence. I chat with Daniel. I eat tiny appetizers and drink sparkling water and pretend I’m having a wonderful time.
But he’s always there, at the edge of my vision. Watching. Waiting.
After dinner, the dancing starts in earnest.
But first come the toasts. Derek stands, notes in hand, abandons the notes by the second sentence, and tells the room that he proposed three times before Jenna said yes, “not because she was unsure about me, but because she was road-testing my persistence, and I am pleased to report I am rated for the full warranty.” Jenna, when it’s her turn, doesn’t stand.
She stays seated, takes Derek’s hand, looks around the room slowly, table by table, and says, “Everyone I have ever loved is in this tent. Some of you are currently mad at each other. Fix it. Life is short and the band is paid through eleven.” She does not look at me and Kirk when she says it.
She looks at everyone, which is worse, and better.
The band plays slow, plays romantic, and couples drift onto the dance floor. Jenna and Derek sway in the center, lost in their own private world.
“Dance with me?”
I turn. Kirk is standing behind me, his hand extended.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Just one dance.” His eyes are earnest. Hopeful. “For Jenna’s sake.”
I should say no. I should make an excuse and retreat to the bathroom or the bar or literally anywhere else.
Instead my mouth says, “One dance.”
He takes my hand, carefully, as if I might bolt, and leads me to the dance floor. His hand settles at the small of my back with familiar ease.
We’ve done this a hundred times. Anniversary parties. Charity galas. Our own wedding, swaying in that dingy courthouse to music only we could hear.
But it’s different now. Charged. His thumb traces small circles against my spine, and I feel it everywhere.
Around us, the crowd is trying so hard not to watch that the not-watching has its own gravity. Jenna, mid-dance with Derek, catches my eye over his shoulder and mouths a word that is either “finally” or “fine, then,” and honestly both work.
“I’ve missed this,” he says quietly.
“Kirk-”
“I’ve missed you.” His hand tightens on mine. “Every day. Every night. I lie in that empty bed and think about what I lost, and I-”
“Stop.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. “We’re at a wedding. This isn’t the place.”
“Then when? When can we actually talk, Andrea? When can I tell you everything I’ve been feeling?”
“I don’t know.” I want to pull away, but I don’t. I can’t seem to make myself let go. “I don’t know if I’m ready to hear it.”
“Then let me show you instead.”
The song ends. Another begins. Neither of us moves.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.
“I know.” He pulls me closer, close enough that the warmth of his body soaks through my dress. “But I’m tired of good ideas. Good ideas got me nowhere.”
“Kirk-”
“I love you.” The words are fierce. Desperate. “I love you, and I ruined it, and I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I’m asking anyway. Because you’re the love of my life, Andrea. You’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.”
I’m shaking. My whole body is shaking.
“I can’t do this here.” My voice is barely a whisper. “Not with everyone watching.”
“Then come somewhere else.” His eyes burn into mine. “Come somewhere we can be alone.”
I should say no. I should walk away. I should remember every time he’s hurt me and wear it as armor.
But I’m so goddamn tired of armor.
“My room.” The words leave me before permission arrives. “Twenty minutes.”
I pull away from him and walk off the dance floor without looking back.