The song continues to play.
“If you have been married one year or less, please leave the dance floor!”
A few couples leave the dance floor, reminding me how much getting married right after college is par for the course—the rule not the exception. As I sway methodically with John, I watch the young, fresh-faced twenty-three-year-olds return to their tables and cocktails.
“Five years or less, love birds!” the DJ prompts, and more people leave the dance floor.
We stay painfully put.
“If you have been married for ten years or less, please make your way off the dance floor!” the DJ announces.
Relief floods my chest. I hate faking it. I always have. I want every moment of affection and intimacy to be authentic—whether it be dancing at a wedding or kissing under the stars.
We pause and separate as we make our way off the dance floor. But just before we reach our children at the table, he runs a finger down the back of my arm, gaining my attention.
“I’m sorry, Anna,” he whispers.
I’m tired of the line. I’m tired of forgiveness. I’m just tired of explaining. “I know, John,” I say. “I know.”
I step away, let out a low breath, and make my way outside to the patio for some fresh air. Stepping off that dance floor felt like a final step. The last time we’d dance, knowing the last time we truly loved each other was years ago. People often say you get one shot at love. It’s not true. There are many. Some last for a lifetime. Others for just a night.
I breathe in as the memory washes over me. It was so long ago, yet I can still taste the wine and the kisses. I can still feel him brush my hair over my shoulder and run his fingers down my back. I let out a small laugh to myself. There’s no way he remembers the way I do.
I turn around to head back inside, and time stills when I first see him because I’m not quite sure it’s really him. Between the years and the champagne, not to mention the context, my mind can’t fathom how it’s him or why he’d even be here.
But when his deep blue eyes meet mine, I’m certain it’s really him.
twelve
THEN
“THIS IS THE BEST NIGHTof my life!” my father said.
I laughed as Isaac took another shot with him and my sister, Jenn’s new husband Joseph.
“What. Is. Happening?” my mother came over, cheeks flushed, hands on her hips, and an astonished smile.
“We love him!” Joseph said, slinging an arm over my fake boyfriend.
“He’s pretty great,” my mother agreed. I caught the gaze of Marie, whose jaw was tight and her eyes narrowed.
I knew it was because Isaac didn’t fit the mold of anyone I had ever dated. He was more handsome. More fun. More friendly. All of it was so much easier, even if it was all pretend.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said to my father and brother-in-law, then turned to me, “And my lady. I have to find Aunt Marla. I promised her a dance.” He held a hand to his chest and winked at me before stepping away and dancing with my eight-two-year-old great aunt.
“This is for real?” Marie asked, entirely skeptical.
I rolled my eyes. “Please stop analyzing and let me have fun tonight.”
“It’s just... you never mentioned anyone, and you two seem like you’ve been together for years,” she explained and I chewed on my lip, unsure what to say. “I mean, I guess when you know,you know, but...” She shook her head like she was trying to wrap her brain around her sister having a boyfriend she never knew about who seemed crazy about her.
“I’ve decided not to overthink it and just enjoy it. We’re having fun together. No long-term commitment or anything... just fun, and it’s working,” I answered with a shrug.
“Right, but...” Marie hesitated. “He seems like a lot of fun now, but one day, down the road, you’re going to need someone to ground you. Keep you steady, you know?”
I narrowed my eyes on my sister. I knew what she meant, but I didn’t want that. “I’m not looking for someone to keep me on the ground right now. I very much prefer flying.”
“Well, maybe one day, you’ll need that.”
