Chapter Thirty-Three
The dock, all decorated for the wedding, looked enchanted with votive candles lining the sides, their glow creating ribbons of light across the wooden planks.
At the end stood a canopy of white gauze, draped with tropical flowers that cascaded to the sand below.
The sunset was the most perfect backdrop of lavender and turquoise brushstrokes sweeping across the sky.
Guests had kicked off their heels and loafers by the sign at the edge of the beach that read Leave Your Worries, and Your Shoes, Here, and Step Into the Moment. Rows of white foldout chairs were filling quickly, the soft murmur of excitement blending with the gentle crash of waves.
Izzy and I wore similar-style periwinkle dresses that matched the sky almost perfectly.
My hair was pulled back just enough in a delicate braid to keep stray strands from falling into my face.
Mom’s dress was a simple yet stunning white silk slip gown.
Her hair was loose and tousled, the ocean’s humidity coaxing it into the kind of perfect beachy waves people pay hundreds to re-create in salons.
I glanced toward Keith, already waiting on the dock for his bride.
His hands were folded in front of him, and he looked sharp in a crisp white linen suit, his tie the same soft lavender as our dresses, and a smile that practically lit up the whole beach.
At the cue of the officiant, the Caribbean band off to the side started playing a soulful rendition of Bob Marley’s “Is This Love.”
The wedding planner handed Izzy a fresh bouquet of elegant gardenias, peach-colored roses, and leafy fresh ferns, and together she and Keith’s oldest son began their procession down the sandy, candle-lined aisle to the canopy.
When they were about halfway, I turned to Mom, gently lowered her veil, and tucked a defiant tendril back behind her ear.
“You know,” she whispered, “at every other one of my weddings, I’ve been nervous, but somehow, I’m not nervous at all.”
“I’m glad,” I said, giving one final adjustment to her dress strap.
“Okay, Elliot, you ready?” the planner asked, handing me my bouquet.
“It’s not her first rodeo,” Mom teased. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”
I turned to her. “You look beautiful, Mom. See you on the other side?”
She nodded. “See you on the other side.”
I took a deep breath and started to make my way through the center of the crowd. Even though most of these same guests had been to at least one of Mom’s many weddings, there didn’t seem to be a dry eye among them. Like they knew too, this time was different.
I glanced to my left. Dad was sitting on the end, positively beaming at me, his iPhone at the ready, and snapping pictures as I advanced toward the dock. He gave me a small, proud wave as I passed.
The band switched songs, now playing a soulful steel-drum version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” the gentle melody floating in the air. On my right, Matty, in a light-pink button-down and khaki pants, was watching me, the way you watch someone you’ve known your whole life.
Instinctively, I looked for Leo in the first few rows, where I imagined he’d be sitting, and a fresh pang of sadness speared through me when I realized he wasn’t there.
The sun dipped low, casting a shimmery hue across the water as Sonja stepped onto the walkway, barefoot and radiant.
She looked younger than I’d seen her in years, not because of the makeup or the perfect golden hour lighting, but because she was lit from within.
Glowing. Her smile was unguarded, unburdened, and utterly unflappable.
She walked toward Keith, who waited with tears in his eyes and his heart written plainly on his face.
And to my own surprise, I felt something unshackle in my chest. A deep, genuine swell of happiness, not for the idea of love or the pageantry of it, but for her.
For this version of my mother, who had risked her heart yet again.
Who had fought for joy. Who looked so free.
The ceremony was short and sweet, punctuated with personal vows that made the guests laugh and sniffle in turn.
Keith promised to always stock the freezer with Mom’s favorite mango Popsicles and never raise his voice at her in anger, and Sonja swore to pretend to be just as excited about the Red Sox as he was even though she was a native New Yorker and vowed to meet this new chapter with both hands open.
When they kissed, the crowd erupted in applause, a celebratory whoop carrying across the water.
The Caribbean band kicked in with a joyous calypso, and as the newlyweds made their way, hand in hand, down the dock toward the reception, conch shells blew, flower petals rained, and I found myself clapping along with everyone else, genuinely, gratefully, with something that felt suspiciously close to hope.
The reception was like something out of a wedding magazine spread: effortless, twilight lit, and impossibly romantic. Strings of light bulbs crisscrossed between palms, slowly coming to life as the sky deepened to indigo.
Friends and family mingled, drinks in hand, linen clothes fluttering in the breeze.
The air smelled of salt and roasted garlic, of citrus and grilled fish.
A ceviche bar stood beside a carved wooden canoe filled with fresh fruit and coconuts, and farther down, guests gathered at a jerk chicken station, where flames licked the air and the spice made eyes water and mouths beg for more.
By the makeshift dance floor, couples kicked off their shoes and moved to the beat, the sand cool beneath their toes. It was celebration at its purest, easy and warm, the kind of evening you wished you could bottle and keep forever.
I found Matty by the bar, nursing something dark in a lowball glass, his tie loosened and his pastel button-down rolled to the elbows of his tanned forearms. I made my way over to where he was and nudged him with a gentle elbow. “Hey you.”
He hesitated, clearly unsure if the greeting was meant for him, then gave a soft laugh. “Hey you, back. You look beautiful, El, and your mom seems . . . well, she seems really happy.”
“Thanks,” I said, signaling to the bartender for his attention with my empty glass. “I think she is.”
“She deserves it. She’s certainly had her fair share of frogs,” he joked.
“Frogs would actually be high praise for most of them,” I quipped.
He nodded. “True. But no matter how bad it got, she never stopped believing in love. That’s always been Sonja’s superpower.”
“I never thought of it as a superpower before, but yeah, I guess it is. I think perhaps she found her prince, though.” I glanced over to where Mom and Keith were locked in a slow dance.
The bartender set down my glass of wine as a charged quiet stretched between Matty and me.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “You know, I didn’t mean to ambush you by coming here .
. . to Belize. But something inside me wanted to .
. . no, needed to see you. It’s been such a long time, and yet I still think about you every day.
I can’t tell you how often I wonder if I made the biggest mistake of my life. ”
“Listen, we don’t have to—”
“No, we do. If not now, then we may never get the chance, and I have to say this. I came all the way to Belize to say this. Look, I know it’s not an excuse, because what I did was unforgivable, but you have to understand, things between us weren’t perfect.
I should’ve faced it head-on and talked to you.
I see that now. But I was twenty, reckless, and when the only woman I ever loved kept me at arm’s length, I started believing it was my fault .
. . something I was doing wrong or wasn’t giving you.
So I went looking for what I thought was missing with someone else.
I fucked up, plain and simple. You never let me fully in, El.
Never. There was always a part of you I couldn’t reach, no matter how hard I tried.
” Tears pooled in his eyes. “And I tried. I swear to God, I tried.”
My mind flashed back to a conversation Matty and I had about our plans for after our college graduation.
We both wanted to return to New York, him to pursue a career in finance, and me, something in media.
This was before the radio show had taken off, but even then, I knew most of the best opportunities would be there.
Matty used to pull up apartments on StreetEasy and imagine us living in one of them.
He’d joke about what we’d be able to afford, the dog we didn’t currently have but would adopt one day so that we could take her for long walks in Central Park, the corner coffee shop where they’d know our order, and the rooftop where we’d drink wine on Friday nights and feel like we’d made it.
It was a fun fantasy, yet I could never bring myself to indulge in it with him.
I’d push it away, change the subject. Anything to avoid committing to any kind of a future with Matty.
Not because I didn’t love him, but because I did.
I loved him so much it terrified me. I was terrified of losing him, of him disappointing me, of him leaving.
Of all the things I’d seen and lived through that had shaped my fear.
The closer we got to the end of school, the more I withdrew.
I knew he’d likely propose before we graduated, and the thought filled me with mounting dread.
He swirled the brown liquid, the bright maraschino cherries spinning at the bottom of the glass. “I couldn’t escape the feeling that you were already bracing for the ending. Like you always had one hand on the rip cord, just in case.”
I blinked. Instinct and defensiveness told me to lash out at him, to deny it outright or say he was misremembering it all. But somewhere deep in my chest, a tiny, reluctant voice whispered, He’s not wrong.
I had dismissed his conversations about anything serious. I had continuously dodged the subject of what we wanted for our future because love had always felt like something with an expiration date.
Like a light bulb flickering on in a room I’d been stumbling through in the dark, I finally saw more clearly than ever before.
How I’d pulled away the closer we got. How I’d started retreating when things began to feel too real.
Not that it gave him a free pass to betray me, but suddenly, his actions made sense like they never had before.
Watching the pooling tears now falling freely from Matty’s eyes, something inside me shifted.
I was ready to forgive him. It wasn’t about excusing what he did or pretending the hurt wasn’t real.
Forgiving Matty meant finally admitting that we were both flawed, both scared, and both trying to protect ourselves in the only ways we knew how.
I breathed out the truth I’d been holding back. “You weren’t wrong. I did have my hand on the rip cord. I was afraid. I think I’ve spent my whole life trying to avoid the fall.”
Matty now looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, his posture easing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to catch you. I should have been. I didn’t know how to show up for you then. But I know now.” He paused, eyes steady. “El, I’m still in love with you.”
My breath caught, but I didn’t flinch. “Matty . . .”
His amber eyes met mine, full of longing and regret. “I’m not sure I ever stopped.”
“You don’t mean that. It’s been over five years.”
“What’s five years compared to the rest of our lives?” he challenged.
I shook my head gently. “I’m not the girl you loved back then. And you’re not the same either.”
He reached for my hands. “I know. That’s the point. We’re not who we were, and that’s exactly why we might have a chance now. No illusions, no pretending. Just the truth. I think we’re finally standing in the same place. And I think you still love me too.”
“Some part of me will always love you, Matty. But I’m not in love with you. Not anymore.”
“Then I sincerely hope you find happiness with someone else. You deserve it.”
My thoughts went straight to Leo and everything he’d forced me to confront about myself, about love, about trust. I didn’t know what we were now, but I knew one thing: My heart had learned to beat differently.
I met Matty’s eyes. “I have met someone . . . and he changed everything.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I see,” he said, his voice barely steady.
I reached out to take his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Watching my mom . . . and even my dad, learn how to be in the same room again after everything has been eye-opening. They’ve found peace.
A way to more than coexist, but to actually return to the friendship they had before everything fell apart. I want that too. I want that for us.”
I didn’t see Hurricane Matty anymore. He wasn’t the all-consuming storm that had torn through me and left only wreckage in his wake. He was my childhood friend—someone I shared a lifetime of memories with, someone I’d always keep a place for, even if that place had changed.
He must have felt the same. “You know,” he said softly, “there’s always going to be a space in my heart for you, even if it’s not the shape I imagined. I’m just glad I get to be part of your world again.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
We sat in silence for a beat, holding hands, the breeze lifting the hem of my dress and the pulse of music beckoning us back to the celebration. Closure wasn’t always loud or dramatic. It was sometimes just two people looking at each other and quietly choosing to forgive.
And with that small, seismic shift still settling in my chest, I saw the wedding planner give me a little wave, my cue to deliver my speech, and I pressed a gentle kiss to Matty’s cheek before I rose to head toward the mic.