“Go Skylar! We love you!” from my own father, practically put me down for the count.
We were not the only ones making a racket, we had competition in the riser adjacent to us. The Valor MC Club members were also rooting for Skylar and letting the entire school board know how very proud they all were of her academic achievements. I was just glad, for all our sakes, that they weren’t launching beer bottles. From the stage, Skylar waved enthusiastically at both groups.
“Why does Skylar have so many biker friends?” my mother asked with disdain. She appeared aghast at their appearance, their enthusiasm, their beards and just about everything Valor was bringing.
“Those guys aren’t bikers, they’re all former military,” I told her. Isla looked like she was about to die and covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“Military? All of them?” My mom asked me, perplexed.
“I think so, yeah. The cute one is also the District Attorney.”
My mother’s mouth hung open enough for a swarm of bees to land.
Isla had kept me up to date on Malcolm and his impressive promotion. Once Skylar was off the stage it was hard to keep my eyes off him. I felt like every time my eyes wandered his way, he was either looking back at me or focused on Skylar. This simple fact both pulverized and rejuvenated my heart. Malcolm Miller was who he was to the core and his watchful gaze told me that he still loved us.
Pictures were painfully awkward and also wonderful. Skylar wanted a million with Malcolm and me in them. The three of us posed like a united little family, confusing the hell out of my parents, but making Skylar happy, which was, what Malcolm and I wanted more than anything. Isla obliged us by being our photographer, both she and Sky begged for one with just Malcolm and me.
“Hey, stranger,” he said as he put his arm around me.
“Hi, Miller. You look dashing as always.”
“Me? You’re in a skirt and heels. Baxter, you are really something.”
“Thanks for coming” I meant it in earnest.
“Would not miss this for the world. My two very best girls.”
Throat. Heart. Holding in tears. Smile. Click. Smile. Click.
At the reception, he gave her yellow roses, enough to fill up an entire bath tub. They danced together and I sort of hated that Miller could actually cut a rug. Why’d he have to be so perfect?
My sister Sybil caught on, nothing got past her. She cornered me by the cake and subtly asked me.
“What happened. It’s obvious you’re in love. That man adores you, looks at you like Dad looks at Mom.”
“Guns,” I said, giving a small shrug.
“Cause of the motorcycle club?”
“Not really. Traumatic past. But for me it’s a deal breaker.”
“I hope that’s not because of what happened to me. That was a long time ago. Claire, I agree with you, but love doesn’t come in a perfect package. It’s got bumps and grooves, and sometimes even craters. Part of love is smoothing those rough edges, building the shape together.”
I nodded at her and continued to slice the huge cake that said: Happy Graduation Day, Graduates!
“Remember how Mom used to tell the story of how she first rejected Dad’s proposal because he was a firefighter and she didn’t want to lose him? How sad would it be if they never got together? Never had us because Mom was preemptively trying to stop something from happening that might never happen? That’s what you’re doing. Trying to control your fate even though it hasn’t been written.”
My sister was right. Goddamn Sybil and her insight.
“When I walked out, he didn’t try to stop me.”
“Yeah, but maybe because he respects who you are, not because he doesn’t want you.”
I hugged my stupidly brilliant younger sister and finished my champagne in one unladylike swig.
“Soldier of Love,” the version by Pearl Jam, happened to be the next song ironically chosen by the in-house MC, a homeless youth aspiring to someday become a DJ. I turned away from the table to see Malcolm striding toward me. I set down my glass and met him on the dance floor.
“Come back to me. I got rid of the guns. I want you more than any hunk of metal,” he immediately said as he wrapped me in his huge arms.
“Even your Harley?”
“Claire, baby, don’t push me.”
“Maybe I can live with guns in a safe, or a really secure location.”
Malcolm dipped me almost all the way to the floor and breathed in the scent of my neck with vigor. Upside down, I saw my mother’s shoes and could imagine the scandalized expression on her face.
“Your mother hates me.”
“My sister apparently loves you.”
“Sybil is smart. I could tell when I met her.”
I smiled at Malcolm’s wisecracks. Being in his arms felt natural. Natural and necessary, like my next breath.