My therapist would have told me it was okay to feel the feelings, whatever they were—but I couldn’t, still, a lot of the time. They felt, mostly, like they didn’t belong to me at all. Today they were far too close to the surface for comfort. I felt fragile and on edge and far too raw to be out in public, exposed and on display.
“Come here, Mom!” Aimee stretched out her hand, smiling, and Mrs.Wells came in, shutting the door behind her. They touched cheeks and held hands and there were more wet eyes and whispered words and tissue, the camera snapping away. The music outside grew louder, insistent.
“It’s really time?” Aimee asked, glancing around at the circle of women.
“The boys are out there,” her mother replied. “Line up. Wendy, Carrie. Then Sara, as maid of honor. And finally, the bride. We’ll go out into the back hall and pair up before you walk down the aisle. Your father’s waiting.”
Aimee’s father was giving her away. Her parents been divorced for years and had their issues but it was funny how a wedding broke down all those barriers. I had seen them talking earlier, two people who could barely stand to be in the same room together, clasping hands, eyes bright, talking about the child they had brought into the world twenty years ago, happy for their daughter in spite of whatever had happened in between.
“Matt’s out there,” Aimee whispered.
“He’s waiting.” I nodded, thinking of Dale, who wasn’t.
Was he?
I saw a stray eyelash on Aimee’s cheek and instead of brushing it away, I plucked it up between thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, quick Sara, make a wish!” Aimee insisted. “Hurry!”
I didn’t believe in fate or superstitions or any of that stuff. But Aimee did.
Just this once, I wanted to believe too.
My senses were full of Dale, imagining him right there, bigger than life. The thought of him being out there, right now, waiting for me, brought gooseflesh up on my arms. Everything looked hazy and far away and I closed my eyes for a moment, making a wish, the one Aimee had taught me when we were kids, before opening my eyes and blowing the eyelash gently off my finger.
“It will come true,” Aimee urged, looking at the door. We were both thinking about what might lay beyond it for us. “I wonder what he’s thinking,”
I knew she meant Matt, Aimee’s future husband. Her very near future husband.
“He’s going to think you look BEE-utiful!” Carrie snorted, nudging her future sister-in-law with an elbow, dredging up an old joke—the one Matt and Aimee had met over.
I couldn’t help laughing but Aimee gave me a quelling look so I turned my face and tried to hide my smile. Aimee was irrationally terrified of bees and had made a fool of herself in front of Matt trying to get away from one. He had, like most boys, picked it up and run with it, creating the most interesting bee puns imaginable to mercilessly tease her about it.
Which only proved, of course, that he liked her after all. Just like their kindergartner teacher, Mrs. Stowe, had once told them.
In fact, Matt had liked her enough to marry her.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Mrs. Wells ushered us toward the door, the photographer following, camera still going. There were two more photographers in the church, along with a video camera. Aimee wasn’t missing a moment of the day.
My heart dropped when I got to the door and saw the guys in their tuxes in the hallway with their matching pink cummerbunds—two of Matt’s brothers. No Dale. It was time and he wasn’t here. The music swelled. I could feel the church, full and warm, the congregation restless, waiting for the show to begin. My belly fluttered, excited, nervous. But there was a hollow space there, a holding cell, something missing.
Dale, where are you?
Aimee’s father took her arm, whispering something into her ear, making her blush and smile. It was such a simple, sweet thing, and my heart felt like it was being torn from my chest. My father would never walk me down the aisle—if I ever made it to one.
“Oh! My bouquet!” I remembered—I’d left it sitting on the counter.
I rushed back into the room. It was quiet and still now, the bustling energy all gathered out in the hallway. My bouquet was on the counter and I grabbed it, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. It was the spot where Aimee had been standing, the bride-to-be, just moments before. My maid-of-honor dress was lovely and I smoothed it over my belly. It thankfully hid all my scars. Aimee had been very cognizant of that. Besides, Aimee had insisted there would be no half-undressed Madonnas at her wedding.
Just long, pink, flowing dresses and a perfect June wedding day.
I had gone early that morning to the hairdresser with Aimee—after a night sleeping over, of course, just like we used to before Tyler Vincent concerts. We’d giggled and stayed up talking just like old times, too excited to sleep much. We’ve even watched MTV, although now I was waiting to hear Dale’s music, not Tyler’s. It was Dale whose dark looks and deep blue eyes made me swoon. I’d spent so much of my adolescence on Tyler—when I looked back, it felt like a wasted life. But I knew it had served a purpose. Tyler had gotten me through some tough times. And if my obsession with rock star Tyler Vincent felt like a million years ago, it was still part of the thread of our past. And, in some ways, our future. I couldn’t just forget him, but he had faded, like so many things.
Like my scars.
I twirled the blond tendrils at the sides of my face, adding a little extra curl and bounce. My face was flushed, eyes bright—I looked for all the world like a happy maid-of-honor, and on the outside, that was perfect. But it was always the things hidden underneath, the darkness no one else saw, that mattered most.
The door opened.