Chapter Thirty-One Lily #2
I drop to my knees and try to scoop up as much ice as possible. My hands go numb as I pile more and more together until I can no longer feel the paper cuts. The ice begins to melt from the warmth of my body until I’m holding half water. The band restarts.
“Here, let me help,” says William, kneeling in his suit.
“No,” I insist, feeling sorry for him. In the end, he’s just a man in love with my mom. He hasn’t done anything wrong. “I’m fine, please. I’m sorry.”
I heave the remaining intact bags together and what remains of the split bag, rushing to the kitchen. I drop them onto the metal table by the industrial fridge, and lean against the edge of the countertop.
“Lil?” Rose says. “What are you doing back here?”
My mom is standing by the door next to the freezer, her back pressed against it. She looks beautiful: a golden statue. There are a few pages of printed paper folded in her left hand.
“Uh.” I empty the split bag full of dirty ice and listen to the clink as it lands into the industrial sink. “I’m just dropping off the ice. There was an accident.”
The word accident makes me think of the deer, and the scratch, and all of the many irrevocable mistakes I have made this summer. I close my eyes tightly, forcing the image away.
“Are you okay?” Rose approaches. “We have five minutes to showtime, but I can talk if you’re upset.”
“I’m totally fine,” I say, faking a smile. “I’m just going to give one of these to the bartender. Sorry for interrupting you. You’re going to do great.”
Before she can respond, I am out the door again, thinking only of escape. I locate the bar in the right corner of the large, elegant hall, and hand the ice bag over to the bartender. I pause to catch my breath.
“Lily!”
No, no, no, no. What now?
Approaching to the left of the ballroom is Thomas, eager and handsome in a dark suit. In his hand is a cluster of white hydrangeas. “How are you doing? I can’t wait to see Rose! Do you know where she is? I’d love to give her these.”
“Oh, yes! So nice of you, really. Thank you for coming. I think she’s going to take the stage soon, but I can hold on to them for her.”
I reach for the bouquet. At that moment, Rose walks by, a practiced smile on her face, all grace. William trails after her in a slinky, sulky manner. I wonder if they’ve had a fight.
“Oh, perfect!” says Thomas. “I’ll give them to her myself!”
He waves to Rose as she makes her way through the crowd, gesturing to the flowers in his hand. He mouths, “For you! Good luck.”
Horror flashes across my mom’s face before it is wiped clean. I turn to see William staring at Thomas with his hands clenched. His eyes are hard and black like buttons. Rose shoots me a wide-eyed glance.
Uh-oh, I think. Now I’ve really done it.
“Thanks, Thomas!” I grab the flowers from him quickly. “I love them!”
William squints in our direction.
Thomas looks confused but goes with it. On the podium, Rose clears her throat, brushing loose strands of red hair behind her shoulder. She looks thin. Too thin. Has she always been this small and breakable? I’m nervous for her, the way I was nervous for Theo at karaoke but amplified by a hundred.
“First off, I want to thank all of you for coming here tonight,” Rose starts.
Some guests are still mingling, and their voices carry to the stage, drowning out her soft words.
“There is nothing more important than prioritizing our mental health, and there is nowhere more important to me than this community. I was so thrilled when the organizers of the Dragonfly fundraiser asked me to speak tonight. As many of you know, it has been my great honor to serve this island. But perhaps my greatest honor is—”
“YOU BITCH!” A yell echoes across the room. Every head swivels to catch sight of the source, myself included. That is when I see Henry’s fiancée, Mary, barreling toward me.
My blood runs cold; not in a figurative sense, but in a very literal, physical sensation, as if the ice bags have bled into my veins. This can’t be happening; this can’t be happening.
“You fiancé-stealing, cheating, lying, ginger freak!”
Mary pushes through the crowd. People jump out of the way to avoid her. She is wearing a long white dress as if it’s already her wedding day. It strikes me then that I have never seen her in anything but a white dress. In one of her hands, Mary is clutching a letter.
No, no, no, no.
“You had the audacity to leave a love note in my fiancé’s mailbox this morning? What did you think was going to happen?”
Mary waves the envelope so close to my face, I have to step back in order to not be sliced.
In my mind, Mary has been like a fictional entity, more concept than person, some perfect girl next door who radiates sunshine, and warmth, and smells of fresh cookies and vanilla extract.
But here she is, red-faced, furious, shoving me back into the wooden counter of the bar.
Is it weird that I respect her even more for it?
Under different circumstances, I might be cheering her on.
“It’s—it’s not a love note, I swear. It was a goodbye.” My voice comes out weak.
“Oh, so you have to say GOODBYE to my fiancé? What—were you screwing around with him all summer and now you’re finally done?”
Henry stands three feet behind her, inspecting the ground, conveniently silent.
“No, no, I swear. Nothing ever happened, I wouldn’t do that. Henry wouldn’t do that. Tell her, Henry.”
“I told her we didn’t—”
“SHUT UP!” Mary yells at him. He becomes preoccupied by his leather shoes again.
“Mary, I’m so sorry. That letter might have been inappropriate, but I swear, if you read it, you’ll see I meant no harm. Can we please do this elsewhere? Let’s go out on the—”
“Oh, you think I didn’t read it already? Of course I read it, you dumb bitch.” Her eyes are knives pointed directly at me, her nostrils flaring, her mouth curled up. My whole body is shaking like Mrs. Clay when she gets a bath.
“Then you’ll see that I meant no harm! Truly, I’m so sorry. Didn’t you see all the nice things I said about you in it? How happy you seem together?” I look back at Henry in desperation, but he’s still staring at the same floorboard. “Please, can we just go outside?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s rich. Like I needed your permission or approval. Who do you think you are to talk to my fiancé about our relationship? You don’t even know me.”
I plead once more, my voice small: “Please, you’re right, I’m sorry. Can we just go outside, please, so my mom can finish her speech? Please.”
“You’ve ruined my engagement, so I’m ruining your mom’s night. Deal with it.”
I feel spit land squarely on my jaw at the same time Mary shoves me, ripping the left strap of my dress. The fabric tears in one long line, and I have to hold the hydrangeas against my chest so I don’t flash anyone.
“Hey, that’s quite enough. Leave her alone.” Thomas steps in between us, his arms holding Mary back. She pushes past him, and slaps me across the face so hard my eyes sting. I feel the outline of Mary’s hand radiating on my right cheek.
“I SAID ENOUGH,” Thomas yells, restraining Mary’s arms.
William comes swinging over, shoving Thomas, who is still holding Mary. “Get your filthy hands off my niece!” he shouts. “Who the hell do you think you are anyway?”
“Niece?” My head is spinning, trying to connect the dots. “You’re related?”
I look between William and Mary. There is something there: in the cleft chins, the full lips, the enraged madness in their eyes.
“I’m the guy who is in love with your girlfriend,” says Thomas. “That’s who I think I am.”
The two of them struggle, Mary caught between like a caged animal, until the whole lot fall over, sprawled across the ground. Their bodies spread out—various limbs entangled—like a Renaissance painting I once wrote a paper on in college.
My chest is vibrating, the whole room is toppling over, my panic attacks resurfacing for a grand finale. The hardwood floors become the ceiling, the counter I’m grabbing tilts like a sinking ship. I hold on to it for dear life.
“Lily?” I hear in the crowd for the final time that summer.
It’s Theo in another too-big suit, long at the arms. His curls are slicked back. His blue eyes look confused, concerned, hurt, all at once. I watch as he spots the flowers in my hand, my red cheek, and Mary knocked onto the floor.
I know a second before he moves what he must assume happened here tonight. I can see the mental gymnastics in real time. Henry standing there, looking guilty. I imagine Theo’s train of thought: Did Henry come here tonight to give me these flowers? Is that why Mary got involved?
“You prick!” Theo shouts before launching himself at Henry, punching him straight across the jaw. He falls to the ground with a hollow, resolute thud. The audience—because that’s exactly what they’ve become, the audience to this spectacle—lets out a collective gasp.
The last image I see before the world turns fully upside down is Rose at the podium. Heartbreak in her eyes. She shakes her head only once, small but clear, and I am sure I have never seen anyone look so utterly disappointed.
I catch a glimpse of a red shawl in the crowd. Then the room goes black.