Ambrosia (A Flowering Novella) (11 page)

“Did he?”

“Yeah. Are you okay with that? I really don’t think either of them will be okay if you’re not okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask. “That would be ideal, really. I would hate for them not to work, to lose either of them. I really don’t think I can do that again.”

“That’s what I told him. I think they just want to do something at city hall. Nothing big, but I know it’s important that you’re there.”

“Always,” I reply. “Maybe I haven’t been before, but things are very different now.”

“I
t is so nice not having the guys around,” Abby says, although I think it’s mostly because she’s the single one of us. Kristen tries to nod vigorously, but Alana has her hair in her hands, because she’s braiding it. Sort of. Alana passed drunk long ago and has been advising Kristen on the best sexual positions to try with Lyle, causing Kristen to blush, but I did notice she took out her phone and made note of a few of them.

“The thing with Jack,” Alana says, turning to me and pulling on Kristen’s hair. No one mentioned Jack and it’s out of nowhere, but then again, Alana never needs a reason. Right now, she probably imagined we were having a whole conversation that didn’t happen. “The thing with Jack,” she repeats, “is that he can’t listen. Or he has selective listening. If we all told him he was amazing, that he was the greatest person to ever live, he would blow it off or just argue.
But...”
The word is dragged out and I don’t know if she’s trying to emphasize it or if she forgot what she was saying.

“
But
,” she continues, “if you called him worthless or pathetic, well then,
that
he would remember. He would remember your goddamn conversation verbatim. He would remember the fucking color of your shirt and what the weather was like. And he would play it in his stupid head over and over until he lost his shit again.”

She pauses, leaving Kristen’s hair half-braided, and comes over to me, sitting in my lap. “You’re so good for him,” she says, grabbing my face. “The perfect little rich girl wants to marry the pathetic, worthless poor boy with the dead mom. And all is right with the world.”

“You’re drunk,” I tell her, because it hurts to hear Alana, of all people, say that. It’s not what Jack and I are, but she’s right, and that kind of hurts more. He has all these worries, but it’s like he’s okay if I love him. But why me? I’m nobody.

Alana leans down and kisses me, which is both awkward and hot. It’s not like I don’t remember sleeping with her, and although we never talk about it, she’s still ridiculously gorgeous. And also, her tongue is in my mouth, which is sexy and kind of weird, with people looking. And also hot.

“I didn’t mean it,” she says, and she starts to cry. This is turning into one hell of a party.

“I know,” I tell her, trying to comfort her.

“No, I mean, I meant it, because it’s true, but I didn’t mean it like it came out. You were never supposed to love him, Lily. He and I were supposed to go through life, dying slowly together, and then you came in and fucked it all up. But if you hadn’t... we wouldn’t be here. So thank you, for being the princess and saving him.”

“You should really stop drinking,” I suggest, as she gestures to the bartender for another round.

“You’re just worried I’ll get frisky with you,” she teases and then she begins the world’s most awkward lap dance in the history of mankind. I don’t even know what I think of it. It might be sexy to an observer, but it’s just too surreal to even be a thing.

Abby laughs. “The guys are supposed to book the stripper.”

“Fuck them. They get to have all the fun,” Alana says. She stands up and pulls off her shirt so she’s standing in what is technically a tank top, but really not more than a bra. I watch her cross the bar area and grab a random guy from the table over on the side.

“This is a party,” she tells him. “Let’s act like it.”

The guy is happy to dance with her, but when he tries to pull her closer and he gets a little touchy, Alana smacks his hands away. “Hands off. I’m taken. I’m marrying my soldier boy,” she says, which brings the very small and short-lived party to a halt.

“You’re what?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, Dave and I decided. We’re going to get married. We aren’t having a thing, like you. We’re just going to get the paper and make it official sometime after you guys get back. You’ll come?”

“Yeah, of course, but...”

She shakes her head. “I’m not you, Lily. I love you and I’m glad I met you, but I’m not Jack, either. When I finish school, I’m probably going to have to work at Wal-Mart or something and Dave already signed up for his uncle’s construction company and that’s it for us. We’re never going to Paris, or on business trips, or even buying our own furniture. But I love that boy so fucking much and I’m gonna have his babies and we’re gonna be happy, damn it. For the last few months, all I could think about was losing him and he’s home and he’s here and I refuse to fuck it up again.”

Everyone is totally quiet. Even the music has gotten softer, it seems. Alana wipes her eyes, before she starts crying.

“What the fuck?” she asks. “This is a party. We’re all gonna be happy, so stop staring at me like that, and let’s have some fun.”

I
don’t know how I got here.

Dave yells to Owen about socks and Jon is shaving, but I’m standing in front of the mirror, wearing a tux, and I can’t believe it’s happening. The last six days have been nonstop. Signing things, coordinating getting something to someone, and just making sure we don’t fuck something up. Last night, we had our rehearsal and then, at dinner, we had a brief moment where it was kind of like any Friday night. Lily held my hand under the table while we chatted with Abby and Jon. There were speeches and questions and gifts, but it was all noise for a while, until we ate, and then it was noise again. Lily went home with her parents and the guys came here and now, it’s midday, I’m in a tux, and some dude is coming here to take pictures. Jon’s girlfriend is sitting on my couch, looking bored unless someone asks her to help with a tie. Somewhere, Lily is putting on her dress.

In a few hours, I am going to be married.

“Hey, do we need these?” Dave asks. He holds up something in a plastic bag that was pinned to the inside pocket of the tuxedo jacket, but I don’t know what they are or if we need them.

“What are they?”

“I was asking you.”

“Is anything falling down?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No. I think I’m good.”

“Then I guess they’re extra,” I answer him, not that I’m sure.

When Jon gets out of the shower and is dressed, he asks about flowers, which I think Lily put in the fridge. He checks, and comes back with the flowers – and his girlfriend – to pin them for us. I didn’t go to Prom. I’ve never been in a situation when I needed a flower. I’ve only worn a suit three times – two funerals and a job interview. Right now, I think my biggest fear is looking stupid next to Lily. I haven’t seen her dress. I have no idea what it’s going to look like, but I can promise that it will be perfect.
She
will be perfect.

“The photographer’s here by the way,” Heather, Jon’s girlfriend, says, and then she leaves.

“Is she bringing him in here?” I ask Jon.

“Who the fuck knows? Man, she pisses me off.”

I don’t know if I’m supposed to laugh or not, so I don’t say anything and he follows Heather to see if she’s bringing the photographer in. A few minutes later, Jon and the photographer enter the bedroom, without Heather. The photographer has several cameras and a random box of equipment.

“We’re almost ready,” I tell him. “Do you want us to go outside or somewhere more... not here?”

“How’s your yard?” he asks.

“We have a patch of grass,” I tell him. “It’s mostly yellow.”

“Are you getting a limo to the castle?”

“No, nothing fancy for us. We’re taking our cars, except Jack’s riding with me,” Dave says.

“Give me a moment. I’m going to see if the girls are there yet. If not, we can do some pictures there before they arrive. My partner is with the bride now, but I don’t know if they’re at her house or on the way.” He goes into the hall with his cell phone and I picture Lily getting all her pictures taken. Why does anyone even want pictures with us?

He comes back in. “Good news. If you guys can be ready to leave in about ten minutes, we can get a few pictures before the girls show up. I’ll need you to remain inside once their limo gets close, though. It’s bad luck, you know, to see the bride before the service,” he tells me.

“Yeah, well, we’ve kind of reached the max in that area, I think.”

Dave leads the photographer downstairs and Jon and Owen head down as well, leaving me a few moments to myself before we need to take off.

When we get back here in two weeks, we’ll be married. These are the last ten minutes I will stand in this room when Lily isn’t my wife. That feels massive and incredible.

I reach into my pocket, where I’ve tucked the ring, my vows, and a copy of the poem I picked out – just in case Laura misplaced it. Lily’s grandmother is reading it and it feels somewhat appropriate, given the nature of it. Maybe it’s a stupid poem. Maybe I should have written one for her myself, but I’m no poet. I saw it and it made me think of her and I felt like it said a lot of the things I want to say, but can’t say. It’s not a big, fancy poem, but it’s true and that matters to me.

I have agonized over these vows, trying to find the words. I want to tell her everything, but it’s impossible to get the thoughts from my head onto paper. I drafted several versions, but the ones in my pocket now were written one night last week when I was in a hotel on the other side of the country, listening to her breathing in her sleep over the phone. I hope they’re good enough, and I hope they make her happy, and I hope today – and every moment from here forward – is everything Lily dreamed of her entire life.

I hope I am her happily ever after.

“S
top it,” I tell my mom, because she’s crying uncontrollably. I don’t know how to talk to her about feelings and things and she’s crying, which is making me cry, and my mascara is waterproof but it’s not helping my makeup regardless. Then my dad comes in and
he’s
crying and I run to the bathroom to start over.

“Lily,” my mom calls, because the photographer is downstairs, waiting, and we need to take pictures and all the girls have been up since before dawn for hair appointments and makeup and just to make sure everything was right and how it needed to be and we have to head to the castle for more pictures and the limo is in the driveway and it’s all happening. I breathe, slowly, three times, because the world is rushing around my head.

My mother walks into the bathroom and helps me touch up my makeup and her own and she turns me around to look at her. “You are so beautiful,” she says. “You are everything I could have imagined and we’re so proud of you and of Jack and you’re going to be so happy. I’m so happy you found him, Lily. I’m so happy he makes you this happy.”

And then she starts crying again.

By the time we cry off most of our makeup and start over, the photographer and the girls are getting antsy. The limo driver is sitting in the kitchen with my dad, drinking lemonade, and I walk downstairs, joining everyone, and it’s suddenly quiet.

The lull is like swimming. It’s both intimidating and refreshing at the same time. After the endless chaos of the last week – or the last few months really – the silence settles over me and it’s a moment I will always treasure. However, seeing everyone stare at me, I realize that this is what the whole day and night will be like. I don’t like being the center of attention. I’m flattered but I’m also afraid I’ll say or do the wrong thing.

Eventually, the silence ends, and it’s replaced by gushing about how I look, the girls touching and fixing my hair, the photographer moving us like we’re statues into places for pictures, and the limo driver and my dad sipping lemonade while they watch. My mom cries throughout the pictures; she’s not going to last until the reception. Alana looks stunning with her hair up and the beautiful dark blue dress. The girls are all in shades of blue, to reflect the ocean by where we live. Alana’s dress is the darkest, followed by Abby’s, and Kristen’s is light blue. Their bouquets all match and I smile as they are ordered into position for more and more pictures.

“Lily, can you come stand here?” the photographer asks. He motions to the fireplace and I stand there, holding my mom’s hand, and then my dad joins us. We take a couple of the three of us and then the photographer says, “Okay, Lily, I want you to take your dad’s hands and look up at him. We’re going to mirror the shot later with Jack.”

I get the symbolism of the pictures. I can envision the album layout now, with this image placed beside the one taken with Jack. The growing, the passing on, the giving away. But symbolism is something from a book. It’s not the same as looking into my dad’s eyes and realizing I will never be his little girl again. He swallows, hard, and I see the tears brimming.

“I can’t handle it if you cry on me,” I tell him.

“My lovely, lovely Lily Pad,” he says.

The photographer’s plans are screwed, because I hug my father and cry. He hasn’t called me that since I was in elementary school. The last time was when I was eight. I told him he needed to stop calling me that because I was a big girl now and that wasn’t a big girl name. It didn’t stop me from letting him push me on the swings that night after we got ice cream, but I didn’t want to be a kid anymore.

I’ve always wanted to grow up – and now I am and it all came too fast. I want to let my dad hug me and go back in time and be his little girl for one more day. I want to be young and know he’ll always be there. I don’t want to think about how gray his hair is getting or the wrinkles he has now when he smiles. I don’t want anything but to be everything he always expected of me.

“I want to make you proud of me, Dad,” I whisper through my tears.

He hugs me tighter and his tears hit my bare shoulder. “Lily, I could never be anything but.”