The Way Back to You (24 page)

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“You keep texting me, and you expect me to be there all the time to give you attention. But
you’re
always
there
. You’re at home, and at school, you’re even on the cheer team. And now you’re here, too? You’re like one of those fruit flies that won’t get out of my face, and all I want is for you to leave me alone!”

We’re both too quiet. Then: “Screw you, Cloudy.”

“Zoë—”

“I’m only trying to be a part of your life. Being in your face is the only way you’ll pay attention to me—and that doesn’t even work. I’m the one who gave you the idea for this trip, and you didn’t ask if I wanted to come! But I’m doing the best I can. And maybe if you’d be honest with me for once, instead of pretending everything is perfect, I’d know what to do. I’m trying so hard, and you don’t care.”

I’ve started moving, doing the only thing that’s been keeping me from falling apart so far: getting away.

Behind me, Zoë calls out, “Where are you going?”

I follow along whatever wide hallway I find first, blowing by a salon, and a restaurant, and windows overlooking the enormous pool area. Air clatters around in my chest, and I press a hand to my stomach. When I blindly round another corner, what I see in front of me freezes my struggling lungs.

A young bride—not Sonia; I tell myself she’s not Sonia—and another girl are standing, huddled together, in front of a large, gilded mirror on the wall. The bride is in a floor-length, eggshell-white dress with lacy cap sleeves; her friend’s is navy
blue, the hem hitting at midcalf. Instead of passing them, I scuttle backward, farther into a corner. The bride’s face tightens in worry while her friend fiddles with the neckline of her gown. When the friend leans away, brandishing a pair of cuticle scissors, they giggle.

“I guess you get what you pay for,” the bride says, smiling and shaking out her skirt.

Her friend dismisses that with a wave. “It was just a stray thread. Besides, you are so not self-centered enough to truly believe today would go a hundred percent smoothly.”

They both laugh again, working jointly to smooth out the delicate embellishments on the bride’s bodice. Their closeness is as tangible as anything else in this hallway. I feel it like bulky hands on my shoulders; I feel it until it wraps around my throat and squeezes.

I’ll never stand like that with Ashlyn on her wedding day.

I’ll never know what dress she’d wear. Satin, organza, lace, cream, ivory, blush—I’ll never be with her when she chooses one.

I’ll never room with her at college, or help her move into her first apartment, or sit next to her on a plane. I’ll never snip a thread from her clothes. I’ll never laugh with her again, or talk her down from a freak-out, or look in her eyes.

Or belong with anyone as much as I did with her.

And the rest of my life will be one never-ending reminder of that.

My brain is doing the news-ticker thing again, and no matter how many breaths I take, it won’t stop or slow down. I’m
off-kilter and the ground is spongy under my feet and nothing is stable or right side up.

I double back the way I came, getting far from the two friends. My legs pump, and my strides get shorter and shorter as a bitter taste crawls up my esophagus and my eyes begin to burn. I make a right and find myself in a dead end—but then I spot the door to the ladies’ room. I burst inside and hurry by the row of sinks, straight into a stall. There’s a loud metallic
clink
as I slam the lock shut.

My spine presses against the door as I fan my face with my hands. But it’s too late. The tears are hot tracks running down my cheeks, singeing proof that I am weak. That I am a liar—not only because of the things I’ve said to other people, but the things I’ve told myself. Because I’m nothing but afraid.

I am. I’m terrified of this—of feeling all of this. I’m afraid of the things I walled away so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. I’m not sure if I can survive it, if I’ll come out the other end. So I’ve shoved it somewhere, cramped and neglected, until I didn’t miss Ashlyn anymore.

But I miss her. I miss her. No matter how much I force myself not to, I miss her.

The stall goes blurry and my lips part in a sob. My shoulders push back into the stall door once more; it makes a shaky noise but barely budges. After all the escaping I’ve done, I’ve managed to end up here. Trapped. And now there’s only me, alone, with nowhere else to run.

B
ack when my dad brought me to Las Vegas, we watched fountain shows at the man-made lake outside the Bellagio but never came inside the hotel. Now, as I’m stepping into the Bellagio’s lobby with my nerves rattling, I’m hit with the scent of fresh flowers, and all I can think is that Cloudy would love it here.

Aunt Robin and Uncle Matthew’s time-share is nice. But this? This is so far beyond. It’s gold and cream and white and marble as far as I can see. It’s hundreds of blown-glass blossoms in every color of the rainbow mounted to the ceiling. It’s pillars and archways and extravagant floral arrangements and potted plants taller than I am.

This is the very definition of
whoa
and Cloudy has chosen to miss it.

When I woke up this morning, I’d wanted to explain why I lashed out about Oatman. I’d wanted to tell her that I know she took me on this trip and to Shannon only because she was trying to help me. I’d wanted for us to head outside, find Arm together, and bring her safely back to the condo. Basically, my
intention was to try to reverse everything I did wrong yesterday before the wedding at eleven o’clock today.

None of it ended up happening. Cloudy left before I dragged myself downstairs for the breakfast buffet at eight a.m. (The only reason I know she slept in our suite at all is because the clothes she wore yesterday are in a pile and her bed’s unmade.) Cloudy has no clue Arm is lost; she never came back during the two hours of my (once-again failed) search during daylight hours, or while I was ironing my shirt and slacks and getting ready.

Obviously, she’s avoiding me and I deserve it. I wish I hadn’t shut her out. But for her to text that she’s not attending the wedding? To refuse to pick up when I call? Why would she be like that? We don’t know the soon-to-be-married couple, but truthfully, us coming here was more about Ashlyn than them anyway. And Cloudy
not
coming here shouldn’t be about her and me.

Even though it feels impossible, I have to accept that Cloudy made her own choice. I have to stop thinking about Shannon. I have to get through this alone.

Keeping in mind the directions to the chapel the Bellagio valet listed off when he took my car, I make my way across the lobby, spotting people wearing business suits, tank tops and shorts, and everything in between. The sign I’m supposed to keep an eye out for is “Convention Center.” (I’m guessing they don’t have a “Chapel” sign in the main lobby so fewer random weirdos will try to sneak into weddings.)

I’m not sure if there’s going to be a guest check-in for the
ceremony, or if attendees will have to show invitations to be allowed in. No matter what happens, though, whether I’m able to witness the wedding or not, I just want to catch one glimpse of Sonia. I want to know without a doubt that she’s happy on this day, which was made possible with the help of her seventeen-year-old heart.

As I approach the far end of the lobby and walk past a fountain designed with cherubs on pillars, the fragrance in the air becomes even more noticeable, and strong incense now competes with the flowers. I slow my steps to stare ahead into the huge indoor garden spread before me. The theme is entirely Asian, with a gazebo, paper lanterns hanging everywhere, bamboo stalks shooting toward the domed-glass ceiling, and . . .

Two life-sized panda bears constructed from flowers and leaves!

I don’t believe in fate, but coming across plant sculptures of Ashlyn’s favorite animal at this time when she’s so very much on my mind makes me glad I’m here.

Stepping into the garden for a closer look, I breathe deeply and stand perfectly still, taking it all in.

Beside me, Matty says, “Ashlyn would have loved this.”

My words come without thought. “I know.”

Then I turn and gape at my cousin.

“It’s rad that they have the Chinese New Year decorations up.” There’s worry in Matty’s eyes, but his lips are upturned. “Except, I don’t know about you, but I’m fighting a
serious
urge to hug that baby panda. I don’t even care that it’s made of flowers.”

And just like that, I’m fighting a serious urge to hug him. “Matty. Holy crap!”

“I know, I know. I get that this is yours and Cloudy’s deal and you’re pissed that I’m—”

“No!” I shake my head. “I’m not pissed.”

He drops his hands. “You’re not? Because I have, like, a whole argument ready if necessary.”

“Not necessary.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Of all the places in the world that either of us could be right now, we both ended up in Bellagio Las Vegas. Somehow, he managed to show up when I needed someone. And now I’m not alone.

Matty breaks into a grin. “I’m tempted to check you for a fever, but I’ll just go with it instead.” He lightly punches my arm. “Hey, Zo! Look who I found.”

Ten feet away, Cloudy’s sister has on a red ruffled dress and is resting her elbows on a fence. She glances up and, spotting us together, grabs the very old suitcase at her feet. The way her shoulders are hunched gives me a clue that either it’s much heavier than it looks, or she’s not as enthused as Matty.

“This is such an amazing surprise,” I say as Zoë comes to stand beside us.

“
Aaaand
we’ve officially arrived in Backward Land.” Matty is still grinning as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “It’s a magical place where my cousin is happy to see us, and your sister wants to cut our hearts out with a spoon.”

Zoë gasps and looks around, as if Matty was shouting curse
words in front of the three little kids running past. Her voice is hushed and urgent. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that where Sonia or her family might hear you.”

For a second, Matty falls silent, mulling it over. Then: “Oh, shit! I wasn’t even thinking about”—he lowers his voice—“
the heart thing
. I was quoting a movie.”

She lifts her eyebrows high over the top of her glasses.

“I swear!”

I want to grill Matty about when it was that he talked to Cloudy and what she told him, but he isn’t ready to let Zoë’s scolding go. “You’ve seen the Robin Hood movie that’s always on TV, right?” he asks us. “
Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves
? It takes place in England, but Robin Hood sounds American because Kevin Costner couldn’t get the accent right.”

Zoë shakes her head, but I nod.

“Well, there’s this one part. It’s classic. Professor Snape—as the evil Sheriff of Nottingham—gets slashed across the face with a knife by Robin Hood. So he yells, ‘I’m going to cut your
you-know-what
out with a spoon!’”

“‘You-know-what’?” Zoë asks. “That’s what he yells?”

Matty heaves a playful sigh. “No. It’s that one word, which starts with an
h
and rhymes with
dart
. Can you please try to keep up?”

She giggles, almost against her will, it seems. “I read somewhere that modern American accents are more similar to Old English than modern English accents. So it’s possible Kevin Costner was the actor in that movie who spoke most authentically.”

Matty’s jaw drops and he turns to me. “Wow. This is what
this girl does. Turns a person’s whole world upside down. We were by the little pond around the corner and she told me ‘koi’
isn’t
the Japanese word for
goldfish
. They’re two totally different kinds of fish. Who knew?”

I clear my throat, anxious to steer the conversation back to where it started. “So, you were saying you talked to Cloudy?”

Zoë deflates again, and Matty shoots me a look, like that’s the one question I shouldn’t have asked.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Cloudy isn’t the best at handling surprises. That’s
all
that’s going on,” Matty says, firmly. “It’s something we’ll need to keep in mind the next time we take a Greyhound bus adventure behind her back. I do have to give her credit for the dramatic exit, though. The flowers wilted in terror.”

“Are you saying you saw her? Here in the Bellagio?”

“Here in this very conservatory,” Zoë says. “Five minutes before you walked in.”

“Don’t you love being able to say we’re
in the conservatory
?” Matty asks. “It’s like the game of Clue, except it’s our lives. I accuse Miss Cloudy Marlowe of committing the crime. In the conservatory. With the spoon.”

Zoë rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile has returned.

“And Cloudy’s coming to the wedding now?” I ask.

“What do you mean, ‘now’?” Matty rests his hand on Zoë’s shoulder. “Isn’t that the whole point? We’re
all
going.”

Behind them, a streak of white catches my eye. A woman in a long wedding dress is walking beside a man in a navy-blue tuxedo. While their wedding party (three women in matching
navy-blue dresses and three men in tuxes) stays out of the way, a photographer directs the couple to pose in front of the bridge.

I nod in their direction. “Hey, you don’t think that could be
them
, do you?”

“It isn’t,” Zoë says, shaking her head. “Mrs. Montiel showed me a picture the other day, and Sonia has a darker complexion.”

Matty lifts his sleeve to peek at his watch. “About twenty-five minutes until the wedding. We should check out the seating situation at the chapel.”

“You guys go ahead.” Zoë gestures toward the outer perimeter of the garden. “The World’s Largest Chocolate Fountain is over there, and I want photos of it.”

“And you’ll come find us right after?” Matty asks.

Tracing a curlicue on the floor with one of her glossy black shoes, she shrugs.

“If you’re not there in fifteen minutes, I’m hunting you down. In fact”—he holds out his hand—“give me one of your dirty socks, so I’ll have it ready for the hounds.”

She snorts. “I’m not giving you a sock, you sicko. But I’ll be there.”

Then, swinging her suitcase, she walks away.

MATTY AND I set out together, and start down the long hallway I was preparing to take before I got distracted by the pandas in the conservatory.

About a minute into our stroll, Matty says, “I’ve only ever seen Cloudy go off on, like, soccer players and miscellaneous douchebags the way she was going off on poor Zoë. And she’s
wearing jeans. To a wedding. What is
up
with her today?”

“Not sure. What was she saying to Zoë?”

“‘Go away!’ ‘Stop texting me!’ I had to avoid eye contact so she couldn’t turn me to stone.” He shakes his head like he’s undoing the memory. “Why did you guys come here separately?”

I want to explain everything, but since we’re going to be running into Cloudy at the chapel soon, this isn’t the time to get into it. “I actually haven’t seen her since last night. She needs space from me, I think. Anyway, how was
your
week? Why’d you take the bus instead of driving?”

Halting abruptly, he lets his head fall back so he’s staring at the elaborate light fixture above us. “Either because my parents love me, as they claim, or because they curse the day I was born. I’m leaning toward option two.”

“Meaning?”

He expels a half sigh, half groan and resumes walking. “Meaning, I got a ticket on the pass on Sunday for ‘driving too fast under the conditions.’ It was completely bogus and I’m going to fight it. In the meantime, my car’s in purgatory.
Again
. I’m sure Danielle’s going to get sick of driving me around.”

We continue following the signs, and turn down an even longer hallway where sections of marble flooring now border patterned burgundy carpeting. “Danielle didn’t mind you taking off with another girl for a few days?”

“Of course not,” he says. “I mean, I didn’t ask her permission, but everyone knows it would never be like that with Zo and me.”

“Because she’s Cloudy’s little sister?”

“Because she’s practically mine. But sure, there’s that, too.” Matty laughs. “Oh, man. Can you even
imagine
the many ways Cloudy would murder me if I ever did anything with Zoë?”

Maybe in as many ways as he’ll want to murder me when he finds out what I did with Cloudy?

After the accidental kiss at last year’s WinterFest, I would have been okay with telling Matty. I figured he’d understand that Cloudy had had way too much to drink and got confused. But the kisses with her the other night
did
mean something, which is a different situation. Even if Matty thinks they’re better as friends, that doesn’t mean he’d ever want me to be with her.

The Wedding Chapel sign is now in sight, as well as dozens and dozens of people all dressed up and chatting in small groups outside the closed doors.

“It’s our lucky day,” Matty says, rubbing his hands together. “Blending into this mess is going to be
cake
.”

I follow him to roughly the center of the action and scan the area for Cloudy. Then the doors push open from the inside. A woman wearing a pink dress and a name tag steps out and projects her voice to announce: “Welcome! The invited guests of Sonia Jimenez and Francisco ‘Paco’ Peña Rivera may now be seated in the South Chapel.”

Adrenaline floods through me, like the moment when Cloudy and I saw Ethan walking toward us after his play. This is real.
Sonia
is real. It’s all about to happen, but there’s no sign of Cloudy.

The crowd trickle through the entrance, so Matty and I shuffle along with them. Inside the first set of doors is a waiting
room with glass tables and cushioned chairs arranged against the walls. In the center of the room sit two upholstered couch-type pieces, which remind me of four-leafed clovers. At the next set of doors, which leads to the actual chapel, three guys in black tuxes and coral bow ties are greeting each and every guest with handshakes, hugs, and conversation while harp music plays through the sound system.

Matty and I wander to a table at the corner of the waiting room. He slides off his backpack and we sit across from each other. Here, we have a good view of everyone coming in, but no one will pay attention to us. Or so I hope.

“Which one is marrying Sonia, do you think?” I ask.

“Hmm.” He studies the tuxedoed men. “I’m guessing the older guy must be his dad. Or her dad. The one on the left has to be the best man; no woman’s going to marry a dude with that mullet. So that leaves the nervous-looking one everyone keeps congratulating.” He pokes my arm. “Imagine how much more nervous he’d be if he knew you were here.”