Chapter 15 Max
FIFTEEN
Max
I have a rule about weddings. One I've developed over years of attending other people's events.
Don't get emotionally involved.
Standing in Lauren's suite with her perched on the edge of the bed, her blue chiffon dress pooled around her cast and her hair coming down in dark waves from what was once a very elegant updo, I'm fairly certain I've broken my rule.
“What are you staring at?” she asks, a coy grin on her face.
“I'm appreciating. Not staring.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes. Staring is rude. Appreciating is a form of attention.” I loosen my bow tie the rest of the way and drop it on the dresser and am on the verge of saying something about how she’s gorgeous, but I don’t want to come on too strong. “How's the ankle?”
“Not terrible.” She shifts carefully against the headboard and makes a face. “A little painful. But manageable. Kate's tincture really has worked wonders.”
I shake my head. “You witches and your potions.”
“I’m not a witch. Yet. Although if I lived here I’d probably join a coven.”
“You’d fit right in.” I pull the spare pillow from the other side of the bed and set it at the end, near her foot. “Here.”
She looks at the pillow, then at me. “You're very organized.”
“It's my best quality and my fatal flaw.” I sit in the armchair across from the bed rather than next to her on it, because one of us should show some restraint and it's clearly going to have to be me. “Do you want something to drink? I have water, and I think there's ginger ale somewhere.”
“Water would be good.” She tilts her head. “Wait. You have ginger ale?”
“I travel with it. Digestion.”
She stares at me. “Do you also have a laminated emergency checklist? A backup charger? Perhaps a small first aid kit organized by category?”
“The first aid kit is organized alphabetically, actually.”
She laughs. “Of course it is.”
“We've been somewhat occupied this weekend or I'd have shown you the full inventory sooner. Let me know if you need a carbon monoxide detector for traveling, by the way.”
“I’m not sure if you’re being serious or not, but I have to admit, traveling with one of those isn’t a bad idea.” She’s looking at me with her head tilted, as if she’s trying to decide if I’m a genius or the biggest dork in the world.
I get her the water and sit at the edge of the bed, a respectful distance away. We look at each other for a moment in the quiet of the room. Outside, the reception is still going faintly. In here it's just the hum of the ceiling fan and the thump of a distant bass.
“I had a good time tonight,” she says. “That's a weird thing to say given everything, but I did. Your toast was one of the best parts.”
“Same.” I pause. “Your toast was also pretty dang good.”
She waves her hand. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn't nothing. Damien looked at you like you'd said exactly the right thing.” I consider for a moment. “He almost never looks like that.”
She's quiet. There's something moving across her face I can't quite read — some calculation, some decision. She turns the water glass in her hands.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“Do you actually think they're going to be okay? Damien and Kate?”
“Do you know something I don't?” I raise an eyebrow.
“I know Kate.” She meets my eyes. “She’s more complicated than she looks. And he's heading out west soon and she's going to be here, and I just —” She stops. “I worry about her.”
“I worry about him,” I say. “He doesn't let people in easily. Never has. If Kate's gotten in, that means something. It's not casual for him.”
She absorbs that. Nods slowly. “Okay. I guess that's good.”
“What about you?” She pokes my knee with the toes of her good foot. “Are you actually okay? You've been managing a lot this weekend.”
The question catches me slightly off guard. “I'm fine.”
“That was a fast answer.”
“I'm —” I stop. Look at the middle distance for a moment. “It's strange being back here. The resort. I spent my whole childhood in this building and now I'm the one selling it. Some days that feels like the right thing. Some days it feels like something I'll regret for the rest of my life.”
I pause. “That's more than you asked for.”
“No,” she says. “That's exactly what I asked for.”
We sit silent for a moment.
“I grew up in a rental house in Chillicothe, Ohio,” she says. “So I genuinely cannot imagine what it's like to have a place that's been yours since childhood. But I think I understand not knowing whether you're doing the right thing.”
Something in me settles slightly at that. It’s not a panacea, but for now, I feel a little less alone.
“You want to know something ridiculous?” she asks.
“Very much.”
“I show people the beautiful version of my life.
That's literally my job. And I'm good at it.
But the real me is a lower-middle-class girl from Ohio with a severe case of imposter syndrome who fell off a rock in the dark and broke her ankle at her best friend's wedding because she's a klutz.” She pauses. “And I don't know what's next.”
“The real you also gave that toast,” I say. “And went out on the limestone ledge when Kate needed someone. And cried through the entire ceremony with my handkerchief.”
She lets out a breath. “I've demolished that handkerchief, by the way. I'm sorry.”
“I think I have a few more.” I pause. “Which Lauren do you think is more interesting? The curated one or the one who falls off rocks and shows up for her best friend anyway?”
She opens her mouth and closes it again.
“Scooter down the aisle,” I say. “Tampon bouncing off the doorframe. That's the Lauren I've been paying attention to all weekend.” I pause. “You're aware of that, right?”
Something shifts in her expression — surprise, and something more careful than surprise.
“Nobody actually wants that Lauren,” she says quietly. “That woman is often told she's too much.”
“I do. I want that Lauren.”
She looks at me for a long moment. The ceiling fan turns. The DJ winds down somewhere below us. I desperately want to kiss her but don’t know if this is the moment.
“I should probably check my phone,” she says finally. “I've been ignoring it all night. I didn't want to know what was happening out in the world. I just wanted to be here.”
She picks up the phone from the nightstand. “A photo I posted of Kate and Damien's vows has probably done well.”
I get up to refill her water. At the small kitchen window I look out at the dark line of the Starlight River through the cypress trees. The wedding lights are still strung out there, swaying in the breeze.
I hear the clicks of her scrolling. Then a long silence that has a different quality than before.
Then, very quietly, the sound of Lauren sniffling. Then crying.
I set down the glass and go back to the bedroom. She's still sitting against the headboard, phone in hand, shoulders shaking.
“Hey.” I sit next to her. “What happened?”
She looks up, eyes already puffy, and hands me the phone without a word.
It's a video of us walking down the aisle. My hand on her back, her waving with that enormous grin. She looks genuinely joyful and gorgeous, even with the scooter and the cast.
“What? This is a great video. You look stunning.”
“Read the comments,” she says.
I know better. I read them anyway.
The body-shaming ones I scroll past. It's the others that catch me, the ones from her own followers, the people who subscribed to the sacred travel, the goddess energy, the carefully curated spirituality.
This is what “sacred travel” actually looks like lol.
Didn't she just post about moving with intention?
The wellness girlies when reality hits.
On and on. Not strangers mocking a stranger. Her own audience, turning.
I put the phone face-down on the nightstand. “Don't read any more of that.”
“It's my career.” She shakes her head. “Someone at the wedding posted it, tagged me, and then it spread. They're not going after my body.” She gestures at herself — broken ankle, demolished updo, tear-streaked mascara. “They're going after the gap between the brand and — this. The real me.”
“The real you was at her best friend's wedding,” I say. “There's nothing wrong with that.”
She's quiet for a moment. Then: “There's an email too. The Costa Rica retreat.” She says it flatly, like she's reading from a document. “Given the physical requirements of the program, they need to offer my placement to another creator. Very sorry. Hope I feel better soon.”
I sit with that. Don't rush to fix it.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “That's a real loss.”
She blinks. Like she expected a reframe and got something else instead.
“Yeah,” she says, after a moment. “It is.”
She leans her head back against the headboard. Something in her posture has changed, and now she looks exhausted.
“I just wanted to travel and take photographs,” she says quietly. “Somewhere along the way I got very good at something I don't actually love.”
I don't say anything. There's nothing useful to say right now, and she doesn't need me to fix this tonight.
After a while I get up and find the herbal basket Natalia stocks in every suite and put the kettle on. When I come back with the tea she looks up.
“How did you know I'd want tea?”
“Lucky guess.” I hand her the mug. “Also I overheard you talking about Kate’s tea blend.”
She wraps both hands around it. “You listened.”
“I notice things.” I sit back down beside her. Not in the armchair. Beside her.
We sit there for a while. The tea steams. The river runs dark outside the window. The DJ below us has finally silenced. The Magnolia Grand is peaceful.
“Stay,” she says eventually.
I look at her.
“Just — stay. I'd sleep better if someone was here.” She says it simply, without apology. “You don't have to go to your room.”
I think about what I'd been hoping the end of this night might look like, back when we were dancing and she was in my arms and everything seemed possible.
And then I look at her now — cast propped on the pillow, hair loose, holding that mug with both hands like it's the most grounding thing in the room.
“Come sit next to me.” She pats the spot by her on the bed. I kick off my shoes and climb on to the bed, arranging the pillows behind me. We’re shoulder-to-shoulder now, close enough to Lauren that I can still smell her coconut-vanilla perfume.
She sets the empty mug on the nightstand and leans her head against my shoulder. I don't move.
After a while she says, “That cake was so delicious.”
“It was.” I pause. “But I wasn’t sure if it was lemon or lime?”
“Coconut and lime. I had two pieces.”
“I did, too. Dad had three. I watched.”
She laughs softly. “Did you see Remy dancing?”
“I couldn't look away. I don't know where he learned that.
He does everything on the spot. It's exhausting and also somehow works every time. And by the way, I meant to compliment you. Your bouquet catch was impressive. Very athletic for someone on a scooter. Like a Yankees outfielder. Which is a great compliment because I love the Yankees.”
“I was defending myself.”
“It had your name on it is what it had.”
She makes a small sound that's almost a protest but not quite. Her shoulder relaxes further into mine.
We sit like that for a while, not saying much. The night settles around us. At some point I take her hand, and she lets me, her fingers lacing through mine.
Eventually she tilts her head up, and I twist to look at her. The distance between us is small enough that the kiss happens naturally. Soft and unhurried and exactly right.