When her picture appears on the screen, I let out a breath. Both Zander and Claire give me a half hug as my eyes well up with tears. I chose a happy picture. One long before the cancer really took hold and ripped apart a family I once thought was unbreakable. But like anything precious, being destroyed is always a real possibility.
I am thankful when the slideshow ends and the soup and salad course is served. Doing something other than thinking about all I have lost is welcomed right now.
We chat and eat and enjoy the soothing live music. On occasion the host comes around and welcomes individual tables personally to the event while making small talk and schmoozing with the guests.
After all the food is served, the aura changes in the room, as the music becomes louder and people gather on the dance floor. This is why it helps to bring a friend, I remind myself.
Zander stands, places his cloth napkin on the table, and then extends a hand to me. “Will you dance with me?”
I smile up at him and nod.
He escorts me to the dance floor where there is a break in the crowd already gathered. Resting one hand on my waist and the other laced with my right hand, he turns me clockwise to the melody of the song, bumping feet with mine on accident. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. His height makes me stretch up to put my left hand on his shoulder, balancing myself from falling down.
I giggle. “It’s okay.”
Zander’s arms around me are comfortable and stress-free. He is my best male friend, and we care for each other. I look over at Claire—with her knowing glances—and can only guess what she seems to think. I make a point to avoid eye contact with her.
Friends. Just friends.
Another song starts. Zander maintains his grip on my waist and hand. His fingers fidget with mine, drawing attention to the sweat forming from the close contact.
I barely hear the word “beautiful” breeze past his lips, choosing not to comment or act like it registered. I keep my focus on his jawbone and not his eyes—trying hard not to have awkward staring between us.
“I’m really sorry that you lost your mom, Angie,” he whispers into my ear.
“I know.” My words come out choked.
“But I’m glad I’m here to honor her tonight.”
It’s hard not to draw comparisons between how sweet and tender Zander is and how intense and unapologetic Graham can be. Two men who seem to maintain a place in my life—yet are vastly different. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you as a friend. You are too good to me.” It is the truth.
Zander stops moving to level his eyes with mine. “Don’t ever think that, Angie. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you.”
Precisely—this is why you are a better friend.I smile at his tenderhearted soul, hoping that he can find someone one day who will appreciate all he has to offer. He deserves someone good and baggage-free.
As we continue to move to the music, I see a shadow on Zander’s face and look up to see Graham’s tall statuesque features in full glory. What the hell? What is he doing here?
“I’m cutting in,” he states.
It is not a question—just a demand.
16
Zander glances at Graham, and I can tell he is pondering whether or not to argue. Both men size each other up, but neither moves. Graham’s steel eyes cement his order to the ground, and Zander eventually breaks our hold.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him, not quite sure my words were audible.
“I’ll catch another dance with you later, Angie,” he promises, locking eyes with Graham in some wildly inappropriate showdown. If I wasn’t in the middle of yet another pissing contest, I might find the whole situation comical. But I am in the middle. I continue to find myself in the same position in many areas of my life.
I smile at Zander and mouth a thank you to him for his good sportsmanship in dancing with me and for backing down to avoid a potential throw down. He retreats back to our table and finds a seat.
“There, that was easy,” Graham says with a smirk. He links his fingers around my waist and picks up the rhythm of the music.
“You do know that stalking is illegal in all fifty states, right?” I ask, glaring at Graham for his rude behavior.
“Is that so?”
“It is so. And thanks for being so nice to my friend.” My words sizzle with sarcasm, as I stare at the ill-mannered man. “Such a gentleman.”